#my mother asked ONCE if i had heard back in AUGUST

[lvllns]

well that’s one way to find out everyone apparently thinks i’m already in a master’s program

[iknityounot]

(Long post, sorry y'all)

A little more than two years ago now, my grandmother passed away. She and my grandpa had moved down to my home town a few years before so we could take care of them. I brought them groceries once a week, helped them write checks, fixed tvs, and found lost things. I was really close with my grandma.

In addition to her hilarious personality and dry wit, one of my favorite things about her was that she was a painter and a crafter like me! She used to crochet, and I took her to the craft store a couple of times so she could get more yarn and books on crochet. But her arthritis and the shaking in her hands kept getting worse, so she eventually had to stop.

She kept her most recent project, a granny square blanket, safely packed away in a plastic bin. She told all of us she was going to finish it one day.

Her hands never got better, and when she got sick, and we found out it was cancer, she rapidly deteriorated.

After she passed, I went to work helping my mom clean out my grandparents apartment so we could move my grandpa in with her. In our frantic cleaning, I found that bin again:

DOZENS of granny squares, dozens of half used skeins. I asked my mom what she wanted me to do with it, and she said she didn't care. I set it aside and later took it home.

Maybe a month later, that tumblr post about the Loose Ends Project was going around. It felt like a sign--I was never going to learn to crochet in order to finish my grandmother's blanket. But they might be able to help!

So I filled out the interest form. They got back to me SUPER quick. And maybe 2 weeks later, I was paired with volunteer in my state (only 2 hours away!) and the box of yarn, granny squares, and my grandmother's crochet hook were in the mail. That was at the end of January this year.

Over the next couple of months, my "finisher" emailed me regular updates on her progress, and asked me questions on my preferences for how she constructed the final blanket.

At the end of August, the blanket was done!

I had always intended the blanket to be a gift for my mother. So I cleaned it up, put it in the only bag I had big enough to fit it, and drove to my mom's. I gave the blanket to her and she was gobsmacked. I explained to her all about Loose Ends, and how someone volunteered to finish the piece for us. She was speechless. (I was quite pleased with this, because I am not the best at giving gifts, so this was a pretty exciting reaction!)

She said that it was the most thoughtful gift she had ever been given. She said "your grandma would love this". To which I replied, "yeah, I know she really wanted to finish it a couple of years ago". But that was when my mom dropped the bomb of a century on me--she told me that my grandma had started making those granny squares OVER 30 YEARS AGO. She had started the blanket when my grandpa was staying in the hospital, but that was back when my mom was younger than I am now! My grandma had packed them all away, planning on finishing it, when my grandpa was sent home from the hospital. Then it went from house to house, from condo in Chicago to their apartment in my hometown. All that time and my grandma had wanted to finish it, but couldn't. First because she was busy, then because she forgot how to do it, then because of her arthritis, and then because of the cancer. My mom said she had given up on expecting my grandma to finish it. 

She said I brought a piece of her childhood with her mom out of the past.

And really, all of this is to say, if you have seen or heard about the Loose Ends Project and have an uncompleted project or piece from a loved one who has passed away--these are your people. They were so kind and treated my project with such care. That box probably would have been found by my own grandkids one day if I hadn't heard about Loose Ends.

Five stars, absolutely worth it!

(From what I understand, you can sign up to volunteer too! If you have time to share, it might be worth checking out!)

[sepulchralblues]

@jilymicrofics A My Lady Jane AU for Jily in august - elegant, bride, knight, royalty, soulmate

“I didn’t ask to be his bride, Petunia.” Lily wanted to tear her hair out its elegant crown-braid, half out of frustration, half to piss her sister off further. “Just because I’m going through with this doesn’t mean I want to be stuck in a loveless marriage with some doddering old fool I’ve never even met before.”

She stood before a large mirror, edges gilded a brown that once used to be gold, in a floor length wedding dress. If she held any care for the day itself, she’d notice the gown was rather stunning, a similar fashion to the royal wedding gown from last season. Instead, she was spending the morning of her wedding like any other day growing up with her darling dear sister – arguing.

“You could at least try to appreciate the effort Vernon’s parents put into securing this match for you,” Petunia returned with venom. “You’re nearly five and twenty summers old, Lily. You’re practically a spinster. After Mother died last year, you weren’t able to secure any prospects for yourself. Without Vernon stepping in, who knows what state you'd be in a year’s time from now.”

Anywhere but here sounded absolutely lovely to Lily at the moment, but she refrained from antagonizing Petunia anymore.

Lily sighed and turned away from the mirror. She waved off the handmaiden who stepped out of the shadows to help her down from the platform the tailor had her stand on for the final fitting of the gown. 

Stepping closer to her sister, Lily said softly, “Understand that I am only doing this for the sake of my inheritance. If this stupid clause had not been in the will, I would have taken the money and left for Paris the minute I could get my hands on it.”

Petunia smirked. “Would you have waited for a knight in shining armor to come along before you got married then? Someone who was, perhaps, your soulmate?”

Some childish part of Lily was stung, hearing the dreams she’d once whispered to Petunia under the covers of darkness in their childhood bedroom thrown back in her face so mockingly.

But her sister was not wrong. As stupid as it sounded, Lily had spent her entire life dreaming of a love that felt like an adventure, rather than one built and bred in the stuffy castles and manors they had grown up in. It was the dream that Paris had held, and the hope that had shattered the day their parents will was announced in full.

Neither child would gain access to their portion of the (significantly large) inheritance until after they were married. And they had to be married before the age of twenty-five.

Hence the stalemate the Lily found herself locked in – a marriage to one James Potter in return for her inheritance. She’d wait the minimum period out, call for a divorce, and finally – finally – leave this place for good.

The double doors at the far end of the room burst open before she could reply. It was the Butler.

“My ladies,” he bowed deep, “it is time. The ceremony will begin shortly, and your presence in required in the garden.”

“Well then,” Petunia said. “Off we go, before you change your mind and embarrass our family again.”

Clenching her jaw, Lily followed Petunia out of the room.

–

James ran a finger along his collar in an attempt to find respite from the sweltering heat of the garden. He failed remarkably, but it was yet to be seen whether it was really the summer heat or the prospect of what was to come that was making him sweat.

Sirius Black, his best man and best mate, heard his annoyed huff and chuckled. “Heat of the moment getting to you, Prongsie?”

James ignored the taunt and focused on straightening his cuff links.

While he’d always known the day was coming, he hadn’t quite let himself wonder what it would be like. He’s never been one for stage fright, but they don’t really prepare you to stand in front of a crowd of two hundred-odd nobles and minor royalty to say the most damning two words of your life.

And damning they were, because whoever this Lily Evans was, he doubted she was any match for the girl he’d been eyeing up at the pub last night when out celebrating the last of his bachelorhood with his mates. Or the girl from the week before, her raven hair spread like ink on his bedspread, her moans like ecstasy in his ears. Or even–

The band began its tune, and the guests shuffled to their feet. He shared a final glance with Sirius. It was time.

First came the sister (he thought it was the sister at least), in a gown of deep scarlet with her arm looped around Vernon’s.

Sirius coughed something that sounded like that slug beside him, and James could only agree.

It was when he saw the white gown brushing the navy carpet that James looked at his parents. His mother met his gaze, a grave look on her face.

They couldn’t screw this up, she was trying to say. This was the last chance they had to fix things, their last attempt to root the problem out before it came back to destroy his entire family.

Sirius inhaled sharply, causing James to finally look at his bride for the first time.

Except he’d seen her before. Nine hours before, to be precise, in a badly lit pub, with a glass of ale in his hands and the golden daze of drink highlighting the arch of her eyebrows, her delicate collarbones.

Lily Evans was, in fact, the very girl he’d been flirting with last night.

Judging by the shock that stole across her face and the slightest pause in her steps, his identity was news to her too.

Suddenly everything that had seemed too daunting and painful about this marriage didn’t seem as bleak.

–

Oh, thought Lily. Oh, fuck.

[21stcenturysovietsherlockian]

AU where Dipper and Mabel are Billford's children but things get pretty wrong

I heard someone's idea abt an AU in which Dipper and Mabel are Billford's children so here comes my idea!

English is not my mother tongue, therefore my words can be crappy sometimes.

TW: pregnancy, Bill being a bad parent, SUPER DRAMATIC, TBOB spoiler, wot

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Basically during the birthday night, Bill and Ford went "a little" two far that Bill got his Sixer pregnant, but both of them were unaware of that until signs of pregnancy cause Ford more pains that he asked his muse. Of course Bill had to check his Sixer's health to ensure that Sixer wouldn't die before finishing the portal, then he figured out that the scientist was pregnant with his child, but Bill decided to not tell this with Ford cause he prioritised the portal than anything and he didn't want Ford use the child as an excuse not to finish his work, not until the night Ford dreamt of something say he was maddened had he felt a horrific pain and he woke up next day, found two creatures with appearance of a pine tree and a pale yellow star.

As the conflict between Bill and Ford was more serious when Ford closed the portal, they still didn't know these two creatures were their children, not until Ford was threatened to have his eyes be taken by his muse had he really seen the twin, he remembered and felt painfully unacceptable the fact that these two are his children with Bill, he hated Bill so much that he wanted to destroy everything related to him, even these children, but their cuteness made Ford no longer want to kill them. Instead, Ford tried to carry the twin singlehandedly as he didn't know exactly how to take care of these half-blooded 2D children, he could tell neither Fiddleford nor Stan as he couldn't truly believe their abilities.

Even after getting stucked outside the Earth's dimension, Ford kept on taking care of the twin while trying to stop Bill. He met Oracle and she helped him a lot in carrying children, include temporarily stop the Euclydian form of them and making them once enter the Earth, they will exist only in human form, besides of that, the twin grew pretty slow as an impact of being half-blood. Ford randomly got a chance to back to the Earth, but he decided to send the children back because he still had to prevent Bill from enslaving spaces. On August 31st, 1999, Stan and Shermie accidentally found the twin as 3-month old toddles while they were talking to each other, along with Ford's letter abt the origin of the children. They named the star as Mabel and the pine tree as Dipper, took the day they found them as their birthday and Shermie adopted the siblings, so Dipper and Mabel lived on this dimension with no knowledge abt their true identity as their grunkles kept the secret from them.

[liminalmemories21]

2023 Writing Round Up!

tagged by @jesuisici33. Thank you!

Writing Round-Up: Share what you wrote this year! It can be works you posted to Ao3, Wattpad, Tumblr, or anywhere else! You can share everything you wrote or just the ones your most excited about.

Fewer stories this year, but they were all mostly much longer. I genuinely cannot believe that Knave 2 was this year, it feels like so long ago, but apparently was just February. I also can't believe I wrote it in two months. I think maybe Knave 3 kicked my ass so much I forgot that Knave 2 wasn't longer ago.

February

The Knave of Hearts . . . he said he'd steal no more (February 25, 2023 | 60,161 words | Rated E | Tarlos | White Collar AU)

Do you know where Tyler was the night of the 10th?"

"TK," he repeats stubbornly.

Mattheson looks up. "What?"

"His name is TK. Nobody calls him Tyler except his mother.”

Mattheson makes an ostentatious show of noting the correction in the file, although it hasn’t made a difference the last seven times Carlos has said it. "So, the night of the 10th, do you know where Mr. Strand was?"

June

We Were in Screaming Color (June 25, 2023 | 66,639 words | Rated E | Tarlos | Season 4 Interstitials)

All the conversations we didn't see in Season 4

July

The square root of sixty nine (July 6, 2023 | 11,630 words | Rated E | Tarlos)

5 times TK asked for consent + 1 time Carlos did

August

A Secret is a Strange Thing - Owen, Gwyn, Enzo (August 5, 2023 | 5,793 words | Rated T | Tarlos adjacent)

character studies - six kinds of secrets each person kept

October

to be at home in fragments (October 9, 2023 | 3,488 words | Rated G | Tarlos)

collection of tumblr prompts

November

The Knave of Hearts . . . brought back the tarts (November 17, 2023 | 65,951 words | Rated E | Tarlos | White Collar AU)

It starts so innocuously that it’s hard to pinpoint, even in hindsight. But he thinks that maybe it was his father’s birthday, sitting on the porch waiting to digest lunch before they embark on cake. TK is sketching a line of Steinlen style cats to march along the walls of Marisol’s bedroom. [ . . .]

His father laughs at the two of them. “That reminds me actually, a friend of yours stopped by to visit me the other day." TK freezes in reaching for his ice tea, and Carlos’s father arches an eyebrow. "Tulson. Agent Tulson stopped by my office. Who did you think I meant?”

TK exhales and picks up his glass. “The mind boggles. What did Matt want?”

“Wanted to ask if I’d heard any rumors about a new art thief nosing around town for targets.”

Think It Over, Think It Under (November 30, 2023 | 12,864 words | Rated T | Tarlos adjacent)

6 conversations TK had with his sisters-in-law + 1 conversation Carlos had with his sisters

December

Once Upon a Bus coming soon - the bus driver AU

tagging @ladytessa74, @chicgeekgirl89, @chaotictarlos, @strandnreyes, @paperstorm, @rmd-writes, @louis-ii-reyes-strand, @reyesstrand, and @welcometololaland

[discopaddock]

CHILDHOOD NIGHTMARE - PIERRE GASLY

PAIRING: dad!pierre gasly x fem!mom!slavic!reader

GENRE: angst

NOTE: have to post again since i lost my account :(

WARNINGS: childhood trauma, baba yaga

Since Y/N could remember, she was always scared of the forest that was nearby her family house. Of course she loved her household but since she turned five, she never stood again in that forest, even if her whole family was going there.

Her childhood trauma was increasing with her growing up – at some point she stopped going to any forest and then Pierre decided that she had to meet with a psychotherapist.

She had been going to therapy for four years now – she was getting better and better with going to forests. Pierre was proud of her like no-one other.

And then, in August, Y/N's parents had their wedding anniversary. Because it was their twenty-five anniversary, they decided to make a huge party for their whole family. And with that, Y/N, Pierre and their kids just had to be there (even though it was hard to travel being heavily pregnant, Y/N just had to be there).

It was two days before the party when Pierre decided to go to the forest for a walk with kids and his wife.

Y/N didn't want to go there. She was still terrified of this forest and Pierre was going to know why she was scared of this forest in near future.

“But look, mon cœur, it will be healthy for you and bébé” he tried to convince her for the last time. baby

“I'm not going anywhere, Pierre” she said, almost sitting in the wardrobe because of the terror that she was feeling.

“Okay, but go out of this wardrobe, c'mon” he helped her get up and sit on the bed. “We'll be back in an hour, cœur. I'll take care of all of us, I promise” he prepared a kiss on Y/N's lips and left the room.

“Can I stay with maman?” Frederic, the younger sibling, asked just before leaving the house. He once had heard why his mother was so scared of forests.

“Okay, but be good, understand?” Pierre asked and the boy only nodded and ran to the room, where his mother was resting. “Let's go then” he said to Odette, who only held his hand.

They were walking for a half an hour when Pierre cottoned on that they were lost. He quickly picked up the girl in his arms, who laughed a little.

“Hold me tight, fille” he said to his girl who only hugged him harder. daughter

The man turned on his phone and sighed when he realised that he couldn't use Apple Maps because he didn't have any reception.

Pierre was trying his best to find way back home, but he was only getting lost again and again. And then he stood in front of a wooden house on chicken legs.

At first he thought he was dreaming and then he felt a hit flush. He knew he had to go back and he was thanking God that Odette fell asleep. He had always been a Catholic and when he heard for the first time why his wife didn't go to the forest, he just didn't believe her.

But now he was scared for his life and he wanted to start running so badly but he could only walk.

He finally found his way to the house and when he was on the road he started to run.

“You said you'll be home in an hour” Y/N said as she saw her husband at the threshold. Pierre only hugged her without saying anything. “Something happened?” she asked, hearing his precipitative heart beat.

“I'm so sorry” he whispered in her arm and let her go. “I'll change her clothes and put her in bed” he announced and went to the little Gaslys' room.

“Maman, can we get a smoothie?” Fred asked as he was descending the stairs.

“Sure, lover boy,” the woman answered, looking after her husband with a worried look.

After a few hours Y/N and Pierre were finally alone in their bedroom, so the woman could ask her husband what happened.

“Do you want to tell me what made you look like this when you got home?” she asked, sitting in front of him. He didn't talk a lot after his comeback. And he always used to be the most talkative person around. He didn't even want to look at his wife, which was hurting her heart. “Pierre, baby” she grabbed his face in her hands, making him look at her. “There's no shame, baby,” she smiled.

“You were right,” he whispered, looking at the curtained window. “You were right this whole damn time” he added and finally got his eyes on her. “I found a house in the forest” he didn't have to say anything more.

Y/N would always remember how she felt after she came back home that one red-letter day with all her face in tears and clothes ragged and dirty from the ground.

It was the most dramatic moment in her life.

She was playing with her siblings in the forest in hide and seek and this time the eldest one, her sister, was the one who was looking for the others.

Little five year old Y/N thought that it would be a good lodge behind a blueberry bush. But then she sneezed. Her eyes were watering because of a black cat that was sitting next to her.

Little one tried to drive the cat away with her hand but it was still sitting next to her.

“What are you doing?” the girl heard a hoarse voice so she turned around and saw someone that caused the biggest trauma in her life.

Y/N started to shriek with terror and tried to run but the woman with a huge, hooked nose snatched her arm and smiled ominously.

“Leave me alone please!” the girl cried, trying to bulldoze the woman's hand. The woman looked like Y/N's worst nightmare, her nose, sinister eye look, her dirty clothes and everything else. “Please!” she cried again and by accident hammered the woman's leg, so she left the girl's arm.

Y/N without hesitation started to run away. She didn't know for how long she had been running. Sometimes she was falling on the ground because of the roots but she never looked behind her.

So she didn't know if the woman was chasing her.

Y/N finally got to the home and started to knock on the door with her little fists. She had no idea that she started to cry at some point.

“Y/N, what happened?!” her mother asked as she saw her little daughter. The girl didn't say anything but hugged her mum's legs and started to hyperventilate.

Little one finally told the whole story when she was finally clean and was wearing normal clothes.

At first no-one believed her. Her parents thought that it was only a bad dream but when they talked with the girl's great-grandma, they believed their daughter.

“I've never seen anything like this” Pierre announced, when they were lying in the bed, his head tucked in his wife's chest.

“You're as much in this as I am” she laughed only and next they heard a knock on their door. Odette and Frederic were standing on the doorstep with their teddy bears.

“Can we sleep with you?” the boy asked and the man only waved his hand, so the kids jumped on the bed.

That night Pierre was the last person to fall asleep. He finally fell out after like three hours of having nightmares and hearing odd sounds in the bathroom, the hall and outside.

On that night Pierre promised himself that he will protect his family at all costs, no matter if it was just a bee that his daughter was scared of or some creepy woman, who lives in the forest.

[ryuukeymir]

Posted on August 13th, 2024

` Bandages `

— m!reader

— Pairing: Reader x Draken

— Info: Fluff

— A/N: Something short with little plot to get my mind back into writing.

— CW: None

You heard a knock at your door. "i got it!" You called out. Getting up from your bed, you left your room and headed to the front door. You opened it to reveal a battered Draken with bruises and a few bleeding cuts. You felt yourself stiffen. "Draken? What happened?"

"I got into a fight with a gang and their leader pulled out a knife when I won. He wasn't fast enough to actually stab me, though," the tall boy said. You sighed in relief, eyeing his injuries. "You should get those treated. Here, let me— "

"I probably shouldn't stay since your parents are here." He cut across your words with a glance inside. As if on cue, your father called out, "Y/N, who's at the door?"

"Just a friend stopping by!" You answered, which seemed to mollify him and he didn't question further. Your dad was a cop, so you had avoided introducing him to any of your gang-affiliated friends, and you knew he'd be pissed if he found out you were dating one of them.

"I'll go stop by—" Draken started, but you grabbed his wrist and, with surprising strength, pulled him into your house and shut the door behind him. "I have homework to do, so I'll be in my room," you said as you poked your head around the corner of the dining room. Your mom was busy cooking, her back to you, and your father was writing up a report before dinner. Your mother gave a noise of acknowledgement to your words, and seeing that your parents weren't paying attention, you led draken quickly down the hall to your room, shutting and locking the door.

"Why did you do that? If we're caught, we'd both get in trouble." Draken stated, crossing his arms and probably thinking about how reckless you are. You shushed him. "Those cuts could get infected, better to treat them sooner rather than later."

You slipped out of your room and returned a few moments later with a first aid kit from your bathroom. You opened it and directed Draken to sit down while you rifled through the contents of the box. Your boyfriend complied and sat down on your floor, though he still was frowning. You retrieved a small cloth and started to remove the blood. After that, you pulled out a few antiseptic wipes and rubbed them on the small cuts. Draken winced but he didn't make a sound.

After the cuts were clean, you applied bandages where needed. "I'll get you an ice pack for those bruises," you said, getting to your feet and heading out of the room. You successfully grabbed one without suspicion, telling your parents that you hit your head on your desk when grabbing a pencil that fell. You returned to your room again and handed the ice pack to Draken while you replaced the first aid kit. Now that your boyfriend was properly treated, you sat down beside him.

"Thanks." Draken wrapped an arm around your waist while holding the ice pack up to a bruise on his face with the other. You smiled. "No problem. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you leave while you were injured?"

Draken chuckled and leaned his head on your shoulder. Given his taller frame, he ended up knocking shoulders with you and you both ended up leaning to the left. He straightened up while you fixed your position, pouting at him. "Well don't crush me to death. Otherwise, who will treat your sorry ass when you get hurt again?"

His only response was a sigh. You draped yourself across his legs, your back resting in his lap. "Do you want to stick around 'til after dinner, then we can go to your place?" you asked. You knew he was a bit iffy about bringing you to the brothel, but you'd convinced him to before once or twice and nothing bad had happened. As expected, he took a minute to decide, but eventually relented. "Fine, but after your parents go to sleep."

You grinned and leaned up, snagging a quick kiss from the blonde. Draken wasn't altogether used to such blatant affection, but you did this so often that he wasn't surprised anymore when you did it. Unfortunately the moment was ruined as your mother knocked on your door. You both scrambled to get up as quietly as you could. "Y/N, dinner's ready."

"Alright, I'll be out in a second," you answered and you heard her footsteps retreat down the hall. You left draken in your room and you hurried out to the dining room to eat. You ate quickly, so fast that your mother had you slow down and even asked what the rush was about. "I'm only halfway done with my homework and I don't want to be too tired to finish it," you lied.

Your father grunted. "You wouldn't be in that situation if you learned to manage your time more wisely." Your mother frowned at him but didn't say anything. Luckily, your father went back to his food and didn't comment further. You finished what was left on your plate and went to the kitchen to wash the plate. After putting it in the cupboard, you went back to your room.

Draken was sitting down on your bed, holding the ice pack to a bruise on his arm. He seemed to be feeling better now. "So," you plopped down next to him once more. "How'd the fight happen?"

"A punk in a gang started throwing punches, then got his buddies to back him up when he got thrashed," draken said, almost boastfully, as he described the fight and that he won. You nodded thoughtfully, imagining the scene. Draken suddenly grabbed you by the waist and laid down, dragging you with him. Your noise of surprise was cut short as he put a finger to your lips.

"Sorry, sorry," you said sheepishly. You placed a kiss on the bruise on his face, which caused him to blush slightly. "Aren't you worried my parents might walk in?" you teased. Draken must have been more tired than he let on, because his response was drowsy and slow. "Whatever..."

You couldn't help but giggle, seeing that the boy was struggling to stay awake. "Just go to sleep, Ken."

The effect was almost instantaneous. As soon as the words were out of your mouth, his eyes closed and you could hear and feel his soft breathing. His breath was tinged with the scent of copper, which you realized was actually the smell of blood. It was likely from the fight. feeling tired yourself, you turned over. You heard your parents muffled talking from the dining room, but their words were unintelligible from where you lay.

You woke up to find that the two of you had shifted dueing the night. Draken's chest pressed up against your back, and his arm was slung haphazardly over you.

"Are you awake?" Draken asked. A tired groan was your reply. Yours and his legs had tangled together at some point during the night, but neither of you bothered to untangle them. You were plenty cozy snuggled up against your lover.

About ten minutes later, your mom knocked on the door to make sure you were up. Luckily, she valued privacy in her home, so she didn't open the door or enter your room. "I'm awake!" you told her.

"Alright, just make sure not to fall back asleep. You'll be walking to school, right?"

"Yep." You got up and strode over to your closet. Draken closed his eyes as you quickly got dressed in your school uniform. You went around the room, gathering the things that you'd taken out of your bag the night before and stuffing them back in. When you were done, you dropped your bag next to your door and returned to Draken, who was now standing by your desk.

"Man, we didn't go to your place," you remembered.

"My room's nothing special," Draken said, then added, "but if you're so set on it, you can come over after school."

"Alright!" You said cheerfully. You pointed to the window above your desk. "You should probably leave through there so my parents don't see you trying to sneak out through the front." Draken nodded and opened the window. Your house was only one story, so there wasn't much of a drop.

Before he left, you directed his face toward you and gave him another kiss on the lips. "See you later!" You grinned and went to close the window, forcing him off of the windowsill and onto the grass. He didn't waste any time getting off of the front lawn and onto the sidewalk, acting as though he was just passing through. Before he turned the corner, he gave you a small wave, then disappeared.

Do not copy, steal, or repost any of my works.

[xxgwenstacyxx]

Day 1: Loyalty

They’d come back for me. 

The words burned at the back of my throat like salt water, but they didn’t make any sense. They didn’t fit together with everything else I knew, refused to click into place, clogged up my airways like I’d already gone under. 

The water now reached up to my thighs. The narrow gap where it flooded the cabin forced it into a current that lapped at my legs like a clingy turtle ray. If I weren’t chained up and about to drown like the deceased rats we tossed overboard on the first days of a voyage I might have found something relaxing about it. The ocean had always had that effect on me. 

I had to yell to be heard over the mournful groan of the sinking ship. “What are you doing here?”

Surya didn’t answer. Of course they didn’t. The stupid thing had never once listened to me since we’d gotten stuck with each other, and they sure weren’t starting now. Not even with the ship sinking faster and faster, wooden planks creaking and breaking. Not even with the water sloshing around their chest when it only just finished engulfing my hip. 

“I told you to stay back,” I snapped, because I was stuck and the current was now slapping against my belly, and now Surya would die with me. Brainless, ridiculous child.

It made no sense. I’d yelled at them to leave. I’d told them I’d never cared about them. I’d thrown their mother’s death in their face like you tossed stones after seagulls to shoo them away. If there was one thing I excelled at, it was turning people away. Just ask Basilica.

“Why’d you come back?!”

The water now circled my waist, and Surya was too busy tugging at the chains to answer me. Like a squirt like them had a chance breaking apart metal. All they’d accomplished was to give the ship two rats to drown.

x x x

I wanted to give the August writing challenge from @problematicprocrastinator a go! :) I'm still getting to know my characters, so even though these snippets probably won't be in the final version, I'm hoping they'll let me get to know them a little better!

This first scene would take place all the way in the third arc of the novel. My main character Maryan gets herself in some trouble and isn't exactly thrilled about who comes dashing to her rescue.

[bluedalahorse]

What is this midnight sun bullshit???

(also hi :)

Hi friend! I have returned from Colorado.

Ooh, I’m glad you asked about this one.

So “what is this midnight sun bullshit” was a file started in the autumn of 2021, shortly after I’d posted Terrain Boundaries Territory to A03. Good lord, I wrote TBT before I learned how to punctuate poetry. I am much better at poems now. Also there’s just some really early show weirdness in it! Season 1 had just aired and we might have barely heard that season 2 was happening, but had minimal idea of what it would involve.

Anyway. Terrain Boundaries Territory is basically about Sara infiltrating the circle of elite kids to become August’s girlfriend so she can find out his dark secrets and get revenge on him for what he did to Simon. Of course, there is also some lingering attraction and horniness wrapped up in that angry plan. August falls in love with Sara when they’re together, and she realizes the best revenge she can get is thoroughly breaking his heart.

Now, I was writing this immediately post season 1. From my past fannish lurking, it seemed like most fans thought it impossible that August would ever fall in love with Sara, and fall in love with her hard and fast. However, I was convinced that he would fall in love with her in season 2, though I didn’t know exactly what that would look like. I could just feel it in my gut.

So I started writing this fic as August’s B-side to Terrain Boundaries Territory. I wanted to understand the process of him falling in love with Sara, and also just how his brain worked. The more I started writing in his POV the more I enjoyed it, even if it was a messed up, thorny place. Also, there was a whole subplot where August’s mother Louise was Kristina’s Unfortunate Romance during their teens.

I called the file “what is this midnight sun bullshit” as an allusion to the time Stephenie Meyer rewrote Twilight from Edward Cullen’s POV. Note: I have never read a Twilight book in my life. However, back when I could drink, I would sneak mini bottles of vodka into the movie theatre, dump them into a slushie, and drunkwatch the Twilight movies. Hence me using the reference.

ANYWAY. I am including an excerpt of the midnight sun bullshit in question below, so you can get a sense of the generally angry-horny-angsty vibes that dominated this fic.

Shortly before this scene, August got hit in the face and learned a little bit about Sara having been bullied by kids at Marieberg. He also learned that Rosh and Ayub are Simon’s friends, but that Sara thinks they’re only nice to her because of Simon, and wouldn’t like her otherwise.

Now, Sara and August are hiding away in August’s room. Simon and Felice happen to be away on a choir trip, and have just posted a selfie of the two of them together.

—

Sara swipes up, then down, before an image stops her. Simon and Felice side by side in their Hillerska uniforms—on their way back from the choral festival, probably. Simon’s got his elbows on the table like no parent’s ever told him off for it, and Felice has left behind her pizza crusts on her plate. They’re laughing together. Friendly. Friends?

Sara draws a ripped-apart-heart curve around the edge of the picture of Simon and Felice. She presses her lips together, tight.

“What are you thinking?” August asks her.

“Only that I’m so angry,” Sara answers. “All the time.”

“I know.” Now August leans closer. “Me too.”

He kisses her, like really kisses her, like for once it isn’t to say notice me but instead I understand. Sara is the only mirror August can stand to look at right now, if he can call her that, and part of him wants to drown in all of her—their—fucked up emotions. She’s kissing him back as many times as he kisses her, giggles in the gaps between. Then Sara dips down, presses her mouth to his neck, does something with her lips and teeth that will leave a mark, the way he’s only done to girls before. August’s breath catches. Things are even more fucked now because he didn’t even know he was into that, or what it means that he’s into that. He wraps his hands around Sara’s, coaxing her phone out from between her fingers. Pulls away.

The phone is already lighting up with another text from Felice, so August sets it face down on his nightstand. He opens the nightstand drawer and takes out a box of condoms, glances sideways at his window and checks to make sure he closed the curtains.

He looks back at Sara, reminds himself how much she hates euphemisms. Asks if she wants to have sex.

“Okay. We can do that.” Sara scoots closer and pinches the hem of his shirt. “As long as your face doesn’t hurt too much.”

“I’m fine.” What August actually means is, I really don’t care about my face right now, and that’s rare enough that it might translate to fine.

Sara kisses him again, which gives way to touching skin and tangling arms and legs and everything else together. The physical release of being with her should be enough. Should be, except. After everything, when Sara’s noticed the time, and after August has watched her pull her clothes back on and arrange her hair, and long after she’s gone back to the working class house she can’t stand, and after lights out has been called in the Hillerska dorms—after all that, August can’t bring himself to sleep in the center of his mattress. Awake, with his back pressed against the cold wall, he observes the space where he wishes Sara still was. He doesn’t even dare smooth down the wrinkles she left behind on the bedsheets.

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Who Cares for You (m)

Guess who’s back with YET ANOTHER fic lmao. This is based on 2 prompts, one from @waterfallofspace and one from an anon, the prompts are kinda long to put here but essentially the idea was that Elijah comes to work sick and refuses to go home, so Greyson has to figure out a way to get him home and take care of him. THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPTS!! <3 This one was a little out of my comfort zone, and I LOVED writing it so I hope you guys like it :) A little over 3k words because I just cannot be concise, it isn’t in my nature lol. 

OH and if you’re the anon who sent the Greyson-centric prompt, I’ll be filling that one later this week >:)

cw: male, cold, coughing, light mess. 

Who Cares for You

In the five years Greyson had been the executive chef at Elliot’s, many thing had changed; he’d become a partner; they’d expanded into the storefront next to the original, tiny space; and they’d seen about a dozen cooks, servers, bussers, and dishwashers come and go. One thing always stayed the same, though: August was always, without fail, maddeningly slow.

Greyson was sitting in the office, throwing a ball against the wall while attempting to come up with the fall menu they were supposed to be rolling out in the next few weeks. Was it an urgent task? Definitely not. But, his cooks were on prep projects, his sous chef was sorting through the walk-in, and truly, he had nothing better to do.

Unfortunately, his creativity was about as lukewarm as the office today.

Just when he was about to say fuck it and click out of the near-empty word document he had open, Greyson heard his boss swing open the back doors of the kitchen and stomp inside.

“Christ, it’s hot,” Elijah said, pushing past the chef and into his seat in their shared office. “Is August always this hot?”

“I mean, I’m sure climate change doesn’t help,” Greyson said, cracking his neck and turning toward Elijah. He raised both eyebrows when the two of them locked eyes. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh, what?” Elijah asked, sitting down and turning on his computer. Greyson motioned to his own face, then at Elijah’s. “What?” Elijah asked again.

“You’re wearing glasses,” Greyson pointed out. “You’re not feeling well?”

“Oh. Yeah, I have a headache, didn’t want to put in contacts,” Elijah explained, pawing his nose with the back of his hand absentmindedly. He glanced again at the Chef, who had a cheeky half-smile on his face. “What?”

“Who the fuck gets a cold in the middle of August?” Greyson asked, laughing. Elijah rolled his eyes, then grimaced.

“Fuck off, Grey, I do not have a cold. It’s a headache. Not everything is a -,” Elijah cut himself off when his breath hitched, seemingly out of nowhere. “Huh! HUTSCHH-oo! Snf.” Elijah cleared his throat, and turned back to the Chef, high spots of embarrassment blooming on his cheeks. “A thing,” he finished, lamely.

Greyson snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, not everything is ‘a thing’, but this,” he gestured at Elijah’s entire presence, “is most certainly a thing. I’ve known you five years, Lij, you think I can’t tell when you’re sick?”

“What is this? What is happening?” Elijah turned his chair to fully face Greyson and gave him a look of disbelief. “Are we an old married couple now? You gonna start organizing my pills in little containers and making sure I take them with oatmeal every morning? Putting my coffee on the night before my early-morning shift down at the mines?” Greyson sat back, arms behind his head, and shrugged, clearly amused. “Do people still do the coffee thing? I thought that was eradicated by Big Keurig.” Elijah couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that. “For real though, boss,” Greyson continued, “It’s gonna be slow as hell tonight. If you’re sick, just go home; Mark can handle the front. Hell, Matt could handle the back, to be frank.” Greyson sat back up and clapped a hand on his boss’s shoulder. “No need for you to martyr yourself. For once.” An insult, but said without malice.

Elijah wasn’t having it. “I’m here. I’m not sick, I’ll take an ibuprofen. I don’t need you to mother me, Greyson, though God knows you love to do it.” He stood up then, clearly looking to finish his tirade strong, but instead crumpled to the side to muffle a volley of sneezes into his sleeve. “Huhh! HuhNGSTSHH-ue! HhDTSHHH-uhh! Hhh...HNSTCHHOO!” Elijah sniffled and looked up from his sleeve at Greyson, who was clearly basking in the thought of being correct. “Fuck off,” Elijah said again.

“I didn’t say a word,” Greyson said, holding up his hands to proclaim his innocence. “But I feel like you might want to bring these,” he handed his boss the box of tissues from behind his computer, “with you.”

Elijah looked, seemingly longingly, at the tissues before pushing past the chef once again. “Not necessary,” he said, opening the office door. “I have to go get inventory done.”

***

“Chef?”

Greyson snapped his head up at the sound of his sous chef’s voice and gave him a half smile and wave. “What’s up, Matt?”

Matt shrugged, leaning against the door to Greyson’s office. “Just checking on you. Thought maybe you’d fallen into a trance or something,” he said. Greyson laughed and swiveled his chair away from the computer.

“Nah, just trying to get this goddamn menu written, but I have literally not one single idea,” he said, pushing his hair away from his face. Matt raised an eyebrow.

“Why not have Elijah help? Don’t you guys usually bounce ideas off each other?” Matt asked.

Greyson huffed out a laugh and turned back towards the computer. “Elijah is currently ignoring me for calling him out. He has a cold and desperately needs to martyr himself on this, the slowest week of the year.”

Matt snorted. “Sounds like Elijah,” he said, picking at a loose thread on his chef’s coat. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy leave early – well, unless you count leaving to take other people home sick.” The sous chef shrugged and pushing himself back to a standing position as Greyson slowly turned toward him, a look of bemusement on his face. “What?” Matt asked.

“Matt, you absolute genius,” Greyson said, pushing himself to his feet. “You just gave me an incredible idea.”

“About… the menu?” Matt asked, confused. Greyson placed a hand on his sous’ shoulder and shook his head.

“Not about the menu,” Greyson said. “Do you think you can hold it down tonight?”

“Uhh… yeah, Chef. I’ve got it covered. Are you...going home?”

“Not exactly,” Greyson said. With that, he swung open the doors to the dining room, leaving his bewildered sage in the dust.

***

Elijah slammed down his clipboard in frustration for about the tenth time that morning – there was no way in hell this inventory was going to get done today.

It had started fine enough; he’d inventoried the wine and beer relatively quickly, but once he got to the liquor his body apparently had other plans for him.

“HUHGSTCCHH-oo! HUTSCH-oo! Hhh...hnGTSHZUE!” Elijah sneezed into his rolled-up sleeve again and cursed himself for being too proud to take the tissues Greyson had offered with him. He wiped his nose gingerly on his sleeve, sucked in, and sat down on one of the thirty milk crates adorning the liquor room.

Much as he didn’t want to admit it, Elijah felt like garbage. He’d known for days that he was getting sick, and despite all of the preventative measures he always took it had bloomed into a Whole Thing, just like what he’d told Greyson it wasn’t. He would’ve laughed if he was thinking of it in hindsight, but in the moment he just felt miserable and sorry for himself.

Elijah went to stand and try to count the bottles once again, when he heard an unmistakable sound in the stairwell leading to the liquor room.

“Huh...UTSHH-oo!”

Elijah turned to face the closed door. Was that...Greyson?

Without warning, the door flew open, and there stood Greyson. Elijah had seen him only an hour before, but for some reason he looked different than earlier. Upon closer inspection, Elijah realized it was his eyes – they were rimmed red, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Grey? What’re you -”

“HUTSHH-oo!” Greyson turned to sneeze into his elbow. He shook his head as though to clear it and turned to Elijah. “Sorry, ’scuse me. I was just looking for you to help me with the menu – HUSHH-oo!” Another sneeze, and what sounded like a muted sniffle from the crook of his elbow.

Elijah couldn’t help but cringe. Maybe this was why Greyson seemed so adamant for Elijah to admit to being ill earlier; because he was himself. “Bless you,” Elijah said, his voice low and congested.

“Thanks,” Greyson said, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Sorry, not sure where those came from.”

Elijah swallowed hard to clear the cough he knew was forming in his throat. “Are you sick?” he asked, expecting Greyson to deny the claim. Instead, the chef just shrugged.

“Dunno,” he said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Just started out of nowhere. Anyway,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair and sniffling lightly. “I just came to see if you’d come help me with the menu, but I see you’re...busy. So I’ll leave you to it.”

Greyson turned to leave, prompting Elijah to call after him up the stairs: “If you’re sick, you should go hombe!”

Without turning to say anything, Greyson held up two fingers as an acknowledgment and headed through the door back into the dining room.

***

“HSTHH! USHH!! HTSSSH!!” Greyson barreled back into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes relentlessly.

“The fuck happened to you?” Matt asked, moving towards his chef with concern. Greyson shook his head and turned on the water at the sink.

“I’m playing the long game,” Greyson explained, leaning down to splash water onto his face. “I may have made a slight miscalculation though because holy fuck.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Matt asked, pulling some paper towels out of the dispenser and handing them to his boss. Greyson took them gratefully, and pressed them into his face.

“Well, like you said, Elijah will only leave if he thinks that he needs to take someone home. So. I’m going to be the someone he takes home.” Greyson pulled the paper towels off his face and looked at Matt with bloodshot eyes. “How do I look?”

“Crazed. Like a madman. What did you do? Spray yourself with pepper spray?”

“Ooo, so close. I snorted some white pepper.”

Matt’s eyebrows creased together and his mouth opened in confusion. Whatever question he had next clearly died on his lips at the incredibly odd admission from his boss. “White...pepper.”

“Yeah,” Greyson said, scrubbing at his nose. “I need Elijah to think I have whatever he has. Thus, white pepper.” He smiled at his sous, who was continuing to give him an unbelieving look. “What?”

Matt shook his head. “The two of you were made for each other, I swear to god,” he said, walking back to his station and picking his knife back up. “What are you going to do when he comes back up and you’re miraculously cured?”

Greyson chuckled softly in the back of his throat. “Trust me,” he said. “I’ve got this all under control.”

***

After another twenty minutes of attempting to finish inventory, Elijah gave up and stomped up the stairs. He knew he’d hate himself for it in a few days, but he just couldn’t fathom counting any more bottles with the absolutely insane headache that had bloomed in his temples.

While walking towards the office. Elijah allowed himself to fantasize about his bed. About wrapping himself up in a blanket, watching TV for hours on end, sleeping as long as he wanted. Was it pathetic? Yeah, maybe a little, but he always felt like it helped get through particularly difficult days.

When he stepped into the office, the first thing that struck him was Greyson, slumped over on the chair with his head in his hands. Elijah cleared his throat, and Greyson sat up.

“Shit,” he said, “sorry, boss. Headache.”

Elijah’s head pounded at the mention of a headache. “Do we have any ibupro – hh..hnnNGSTHH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side and attempted to stifle the sneeze, making the pain in his head explode.

“Bless,” Greyson said, and pulled out a container of pills. “Always stocked and ready. Want some?”

Without thinking, Elijah held out his hand. “Thandks,” he said, dry-swallowing four pills. Immediately, he cringed at the pain in his throat, to which Greyson gave a small grimace of solidarity.

“I feel you. Sore throat,” Greyson said, touching his own and pouring out some pills. He swallowed his with a sip of something from a paper cup, then dipped into his elbow to sneeze. “HUSSHH-uhh!”

Elijah sat down next to the chef and cleared his throat. “You should go,” he said, gently. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Greyson shrugged at his boss and turned back to his computer. “Nah, I’m alright,” he said. “Besides, I didn’t bring my car today, and I’m having my apartment cleaned. The woman who cleans for me doesn’t get there til noon, and it takes her a few hours to clean it.” Greyson smiled tiredly and said, “Thanks, though.”

Elijah swallowed around the pain in his throat and said, “I cand drive you. You cand stay at mby apartment for a few hours, too, if you wandt. I mbean, it’s like ten mbinutes from yours.”

Greyson raised an eyebrow at his boss. “Really?” he asked. “You’d do that?”

Elijah nodded and sniffled a bit. “’Course, Grey. Hhuh…” Elijah’s breath hitched then, and Greyson pushed the tissue box towards his boss, who took a few in anticipation. “HhhGTSHHH-ue! Huh! HUHESZCHUE!” Elijah sniffled again, his sinuses too blocked to attempt to blow his nose, and threw away the tissues.

“Bless you,” Greyson said again. Elijah just ignored him.

“Grab your backpack. Let’s go before the traffic hits.”

***

This is going to work, Greyson thought as they swerved through the city traffic towards Elijah’s apartment. I can’t believe this is really going to work.

After they’d left the restaurant – with Greyson waving to his staff dramatically and Matt rolling his eyes at the theatrics of this whole charade – Greyson had asked if Elijah could stop at Walgreens.

“Don’t want to use up any of your stuff,” he’d explained, though truly he’d wanted to stop because he knew in his heart of hearts that there was no way Elijah, King of Denial, had any kind of cold supplies at his place. Elijah had nodded silently, and stayed in the car while Greyson hopped out and shopped.

The issue was, he wasn’t exactly sure what kind of illness Elijah was dealing with – no clue if he had an oncoming cough, or a fever, or abject sinus pressure – so he was forced to buy pretty much the entirety of the cold and flu aisle. The cashier raised both eyebrows when he placed the mountain of medicine, tissues, and lozenges on the counter.

“Wow,” she said, “someone must have one hell of a cold.”

Someone sure does, Greyson thought to himself when he threw open the door to the car and saw that Elijah was once again stuck in a pre-sneeze.

“Huhh...hhh. Huh, huhhh…!”

“Uh, boss - ?”

“HhNGSTHHZUE! ITSZCHUE! Huh! Hhuh-GTSSHH-oo!” Elijah doubled over his lap to sneeze, and cringed into his sleeve when he was finished, clearly trying to figure out if wiping his nose on his sleeve was too gross when Greyson was going to be sitting next to him.

Greyson dug into the bag of supplies and pulled out a box of tissues, which he ripped open and handed to Elijah. The GM silently pulled a few from the box and blew his nose towards the driver’s side door before turning back to Greyson.

“Thangks,” he said, his voice low and congested. Greyson winced at the sound of it.

“Do you, uh… do you want me to drive the rest of the way?” Greyson asked, placing the bag in the back seat. Elijah cocked his head, confused.

“Thought you were sigck,” he said, sniffling. Greyson pursed his lips together not to laugh.

“Yeah,” Greyson said, biting his cheek at the complete absurdity of this situation. “Let’s, uh… let’s just get to your place.”

Greyson had white-knuckled most of the remainder of the drive, as Elijah seemed to delve deeper into illness with each passing mile. After one particularly harsh sneeze had almost propelled them into a semi, Greyson had nearly screamed, “Oh, Jesus Christ please don’t kill us!” to which Elijah just rolled his eyes.

Finally, they arrived at Elijah’s building and parked in the garage underground. They rode the elevator silently – with the exception of Elijah’s coughing and sniffling – to the floor of Elijah’s apartment, and continued their silence until they reached his front door.

Elijah opened the door and Greyson marveled, as he always did, at how clean and organized his boss’s apartment was. Even the large window in the sitting room was unsmudged by fingerprints or bird shit. It wasn’t like Greyson’s apartment as a dump, not by any stretch, but it was certainly a bachelor pad; Elijah’s, in stark comparison, was styled—cozy and lived-in, but everything in its place. It was a home.

“You seemb to have mbade a miraculous recovery,” Elijah rasped as placed his keys in the bowl by the door. “You sure you’re ndot just allergic to wooorKSHH-uhh! NGTSZH-ue!”

“Lij,” Greyson said, holding the box of tissues out for his boss once again and placing the drugstore bag on the kitchen table, “I made a miraculous recovery because I’m not sick.”

Elijah turned to the chef and raised an eyebrow from behind a tissue. “But...you said you had a headache. And a sore throat, and you were sndeez – INGSTZUE!”

“Elijah,” Greyson said quietly, stepping towards his boss. “I’m not sick.” He slapped a hand onto Elijah’s forehead and gave him an accusatory smile, eyebrows raised. “You are.”

“I’mb – HNGSTHH-uhh! God-fuckigg-dammit,” Elijah cursed, pulling away from his friend to sneeze, once again, into his sleeve. He ignored Greyson’s offer of the tissues this time, in lieu of sniffing, hard, and meeting the other man’s eyes with a watery gaze. “You lied to mbe.”

“Oh, please, don’t be so dramatic,” Greyson said, pulling the supplies out of the bags and placing them pointedly on the table. “I didn’t lie to you. I tricked you,” he smiled at Elijah and offered him a bottle of nyquil – a peace offering. “Big difference.”

Elijah took the nyquil tentatively, and gave Greyson a look of confusion. “I dond’t… I don’t get it. Why?” he asked. Greyson shrugged.

“You’re a good boss, Lij, and an even better guy. You drive your staff home anytime they’re sick – hell, anytime they’re even hungover. But you refuse to give yourself the same treatment,” Greyson took the nyquil bottle back from his boss and cracked it open. He handed it back, along with a bag of lozenges, and the box of tissues. “You care for everyone in that restaurant. Who cares for you?”

Elijah felt his voice catch in his throat, so he closed his mouth, unable to form a response. They stood there together for a moment – Greyson sorting medicines quietly, Elijah watching with his arms full of the cold supplies he never would’ve bought himself – until he was finally able to get the words out. “Thangk you, Grey.”

Greyson smiled as he looked up at his boss. “No need to thank me,” he said. “Now take your fuckin’ medicine and get your ass in bed. I don’t trust you to not work, so I’ll be out here guarding the door until I’m positive you’re knocked out.”

Elijah huffed out a small laugh. “Oh, fuck you,” he said without malice. Greyson laughed back, in earnest.

“Get some rest, boss. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

[legacygirlingreen]

August 1890 // Farmer Sebastian Sallow x reader (part 7)

Part 7, full master list and description here

Word Count: 1,500

And to hide that would be so dishonest

It had been well over a month since that day that Sebastian had stormed off. She had hardly seen him since, despite being over at his house most days to help with Anne. She would hope to catch him, often annoying his uncle by wondering where he was. If she had to guess the boy was hell bent on never seeing her again. 

Anne wasn’t much help either, as whenever she asked why Sebastian was avoiding her, the sick girl simply would say “that’s something you need to ask Sebastian” before turning away with a grimace. 

Eventually she had enough, giving up and deciding if he was going to avoid her, she wasn’t going to keep trying. A small part of her had to wonder if he ever even considered her a friend, or if she was simply a replacement for Anne in his brain. Regardless she tried to move on, and get ready for school to start. Her mother had worked hard to get her uniforms for school, the beautiful blue silk looking quite wonderful on her. 

With only a few days left in the summer, she decided to seek out her willow in hopes of getting a quiet moment alone before she would be sharing a room once more. She had grown to like the solitude in the loft without rooming with siblings. Knowing the dorms in Beauxbatons, she’d be forced back into roommates. 

As she sat down at the base of the tree, she heard a noise above her. Looking up she saw Sebastian attempting to cast disillusionment. He wasn’t fast enough and the two made eye contact. 

“I didn’t know this spot was taken. Don’t worry I’ll find another.” she said curtly before picking up her book and lifting her skirt so she could stand, then proceed to start stomping away. 

Sebastian dropped down and followed her, shouting “y/n wait” and she ignored him, much in the same way he’d done the same for almost a month now. Unfortunately she knew he’d catch her eventually but that didn’t stop her from continuing to walk away to prove a point. 

When he finally caught up to her he pulled her wrist, forcing her around. Her eyes showed the venom boiling under her skin and he sulked back slightly, not used to seeing the girl so angry, let alone at him. Her anger caused the words on his tongue to die as he sputtered before her. 

“Do you have anything to actually say, or are you just going to stand there sputtering like a fish out of water Sallow?” 

“Right, I am an idiot… I’m sorry” he said almost as a question, and despite the rushed tone of his reply, she could tell there was a semblance of sincerity buried beneath the awkward nature of the apology. Regardless, a simple apology after so long ignoring her wasn’t going to cut it. And he knew that. 

“What are you sorry for? I’m just the annoying girl next door, not like you need to waste your time on a silly little girl like me, especially since it's my fault you’ll be all alone apparently” she said, forcing the tears threatening to spill due to her anger in her eyes. 

“You’re not, - I don’t see you - I know it's not -” he kept trying to get a proper explanation but he kept coming up short. Frustratingly he ran a hand through his dark hair and groaned. 

“Do you plan to speak to me using complete sentences or just stand there ripping your hair out?” she asked snarkily. 

“I should never have made you feel bad for something out of your control, alright? I had no right to be angry or disappear solely because I was disappointed you weren’t following in my footsteps. I think it's wonderful you can attend Beauxbatons, truly. I apologize for my unpleasant behavior as of late. It was not fair to you.” he explained, finally having collected his thoughts. 

“What made you change your mind” she inquired, tone still blunt with him, but Sebastian could sense a mild amount of acceptance. 

“I overheard you speaking with Anne, that day you came over to show her your school uniform… you seemed truly happy about going back to France. Not to mention the comments you made about feeling connected to your father by attending the same school as him… that you know he’d be proud of you… I suppose that hit a chord with me, as being at Hogwarts, knowing my father not only attended there, but also taught at the school… It makes me feel like a part of him lives on.  How could I ever want anything less for you in that regard. You of all people” Sebastian’s tone shifted often throughout his explanation, first being remorseful, then nostalgic and ending with disgrace directed at himself. 

“I accept your apology.” she said without offering any other commentary. 

“I suppose you’re going to end up in blue regardless. I still think you’d have made a brilliant ravenclaw… but Beauxbatons is fortunate to have you” he said trying to liven up the mood. 

“We still aren’t even sure what house I’d have been in. For all we know it would’ve been a Slytherin.” she joked.

“Absolutely not. You’d have made a terrible Slytherin. I can confirm, I’m sort of an expert.” he commented with mock confidence and she rolled her eyes as they looked at one another before breaking the serious expression, replacing them with soft laughter. After the small chuckles died down, they didn’t speak for a moment, letting the silence loom.

“I got something for you. Got it that day in Hogsmeade and I meant to give it to you but I ran off… sorry again about that.” he told her digging in his pocket. 

Her eyebrow peaked at the thought of him getting something for her. Eventually finding what he was searching for, Sebastian pulled out an object small enough that it could be completely concealed by his hand. Gesturing for her to open her palm, she did as he asked. 

Sebastian delicately placed the wand handle, made of an amethyst so light it was almost clear, in her hands, allowing her to examine it before he explained his thought process. 

“Don’t get me wrong, your wand truly is a thing of beauty, not to mention it has enough character on its own… I still thought it could look more personal to you I suppose. I originally got it thinking you were going to Hogwarts, hoping that french amethyst would be special and could make you still feel connected to that part of you… I suppose now it's not that spectacular–” he started to reason when she hugged him tightly. 

“This is beautiful Sebastian, thank you” she explained, rubbing it gently in her hands, imagining it on her wand, thinking how beautifully the color would look against the natural wood. 

“I hope whenever you use it, you’ll think of Feldcroft, and remember that you’re never alone.” he explained and she smiled. 

“I’m going to miss you, I am sorry things didn’t work out like you had hoped. I truly did want to be there, especially with Anne being sick…” she said remorsefully. 

“I know, but let’s just make the best of the situation at hand. You’ll go, make lots of friends, learn so much, get to speak in your native language for a while, and then come back here for Yule time. I am sure by then I will have cured Anne, and we can all enjoy time in the hamlet” he said, overly hopeful but trying to convince himself it was possible. 

“My owl is going to hate me you know” she joked and he laughed.

“We better start fattening them up now so that they can fly it off going back and forth between France and Scotland” he commented. 

“Their wings may fall off if we aren’t careful” she playfully retorted. 

“They will start a rebellion I’m sure” 

“Could you imagine?” she laughed 

“I can. They will have to deal. I couldn’t possibly go months without writing to my little cabbage” he joked and she laughed.

“What would I do without the obnoxious farmer next door?” she asked rhetorically. 

“Obnoxious?! That fancy French school of yours already has you thinking you’re better than the poor, Scottish, farm boy now?” He pretended to be appalled but she could see the humor in his eyes. 

“Never. And mind yourself: I am half french you know.” she mildly threatened and he laughed. 

“How could I forget? Sébastien this. Sébastien that.” he teased making fun of how she pronounced his name with her accent. 

“Says the boy who calls me cabbage intentionally as retribution for his qualms with my countrymen for making their language translate terms of endearments with vegetables.” 

“Touche” he said.

“Touché. Another word from the French.” she teased pronouncing it correctly. 

The pair of them erupted into a fit of giggles beneath the Sallow tree as the last moments of summer were spent making up for lost time…

[dilf-din]

Safe Place to Land: Part 1

—A Frankie Morales Series—

Summary: Hi friends! It’s finally here. I was inspired to write the story of Frankie and his love starting at high school graduation, through the events of Triple Frontier, and beyond. With a stretch of time that big, I’ve got a lot to work with. I’ve already completed 6 chapters and have much more to cover. Here’s chapter 1, I hope you enjoy it!

WC: 3300

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff, friends to lovers, maybe light language?? No use of y/n

Rating: T, won’t go beyond that, I don’t write smut but there are some ~spicy~ moments, no explicit descriptions of sex though

Part 2

I’ll always be there when you call. Forever yours, Frankie class of ‘03

You shuffled through the papers on your desk to find the stack of graduation party invitations you had collected from your classmates. Just a few remaining before the end of summer. Tonight was Sadie’s, your best friend since fifth grade. Sadie had gotten into the NYU theater program. Her flight leaving in less than a week. She was magnetic, vivacious, the center of your graduating class, the roots holding you all together. You knew tonight would be crowded and you dreaded it, but if anyone was worth putting on a brave face for, it was her.

You chose a yellow sundress and sandals, throwing your hair into a high pony to keep it off your neck. The Colorado summer heat crept late into the evenings so you weren’t worried about catching a cold. Your wrist jangled with the charm bracelet Sadie had given you as a going away present, the sound filling your heart with a bittersweet feeling. Plodding downstairs you kissed your dad on the top of the head on the way to the front door. “Sadie’s grad party is tonight,” you said taking your keys off the hook, “I’ll be staying at her place.” “Have fun,” your dad smiled sweetly. “Let her know we’re sorry we couldn’t make it,” your mom said exiting the kitchen and wiping her hands on an apron before giving you a kiss on the cheek. “She understands,” you said quietly, squeezing her hand before picking up your backpack and slinging it over one shoulder.

She only lived about 5 minutes from you making for an easy drive. The sun was just beginning to sink lower in the sky painting everything with that quintessential orange summer glow. The line of cars was backed up all the way around the neighborhood so you parked at the pool house and opted to walk. The pavement warm beneath your thin sandals, the sounds of sprinklers and laughter coming from up the street. The August air wasn’t too heavy for as warm as it was. Your skin glowing with a thin layer of sweat already.

You followed the sound of pop music coming from a set of outdoor speakers right up to her back gate. The Beck family’s house was massive with a back yard to match. You saw dozens of your classmates and teachers mulling around in groups. The buffet table looking sufficiently dented with enough food to feed another suburban army in the kitchen you were sure. Right on cue, her mother flew out of the double glass doors carrying a plate of sandwiches. You were quickly by her side, “Need any help mama?” you slipped your arm around her waist as she refilled a tray. She smiled warmly and said, “This is for you too. Go have fun!” You were secretly wishing to hide in the kitchen. The amount of overlapping conversations you were catching at once was dizzying. Just when you felt your breathing catching up to you, you felt a hand on the small of your back and heard a familiar voice say, “Hello beautiful.” You smiled ear to ear and turned to face your friend. “Hi Frankie,” you said in a sing song voice, “You always show up right when I need you. How do you do it?” “My spidey senses were tingling,” he joked tickling your arm. “You okay?” he asked more seriously, shoving his hands in his pockets. His big brown eyes were so earnest, his mess of waves spilling out from under his hat like always. “I am now,” you replied simply, “I never know what to do at these things. I need a social situation partner since mine is currently busy,” you said glancing at Sadie as she floated around the yard grinning and laughing and hugging everyone there. The sunset had nothing on her glow. Damn you were going to miss her.

“Well I’d love to be a stand in for the evening,” he said offering you his arm. You gladly took it. “Let’s get some food and hide,” you said with a twinkle in your eye. Minutes later, you found yourselves camped out on the front porch away from the noise, two plates of finger food between you. You weren’t kidding when you said Frankie had always shown up at the right time. He was there in 7th grade when you got your first period in P.E. He gave you his hoodie to tie around your waist and urged you to keep it after you washed it and brought it back. He was there at your freshman pool party when someone pushed you in fully clothed. He helped you out and gave you his towel even though it was cold and he was wet too. He was there in the audience at the talent show last year when a traffic accident had held your parents up and you didn’t think you could do it without them. He talked you down then winked at you from the front row while you sat to play your piano piece with trembling hands.

Most recently though, he rescued you on prom night. Jason, the quarterback you had had a crush on since you were in diapers, was in between catty girlfriends and asked you to be his date. You were flabbergasted, of course you said yes. You wore a beautiful black dress with a poofy skirt, got your hair and makeup done, the whole nine yards, just for him to ditch you two songs in when his ex showed up. He only brought you to make her jealous. You ran broken-hearted into the hall, tears streaming, feeling like a fool. Frankie found you crumpled in half in front of your locker a few corridors down from the auditorium. “Now that’s not fair, I can’t see how beautiful you are all curled up like that,” his voice drawing you from the hiding place in your arms. You gave a weak smile and opened your mouth to speak. “Sadie told me,” he knelt down offering you a tissue, “That guy’s a dick, he should’ve never used you like a game piece to get back at her. What do you say we go get a few good dances in?” he offered you a hand. He had started growing his beard out, and though it was a little patchy, you thought it made him look grown up, not the same kid with glasses you met all those years ago. A small smile turned up the corners of your mouth, and you followed him back to the twinkling lights and generic music. He held you close for as long as you wanted, swaying quietly, just enjoying the comfort of his warmth. He looked so handsome without a hat on, and you wished you had the courage to tell him.

When you were ready to go, he drove you home, stopping for milkshakes along the way. You could barely remember the way the night started by the time you were waving at him from your front porch watching him back out of your driveway.

And here you were again, on the verge of a small panic attack, but Frankie, always on time, coming in to make you forget the rest of the world.

“Ew what is that,” he exclaimed with a grimace bringing you back to the present. “Oh, looks like you found the tofu nuggets,” you said stifling a laugh as he tossed the other half into the bushes. “Let the raccoons have that mess,” he continued sticking his tongue out in an exaggerated way. The conversation was light. Talk of summer jobs, other graduation parties you had each been to, who was going to what school. He was in the middle of telling you about a burnt popcorn mishap from the theater he had been working at when you interrupted him. “When are you leaving?” His face fell, fingers ripping at the edge of a napkin. “Saturday morning,” he said looking at the ground. It was Wednesday night.

Frankie was going to flight school. He had enlisted and no one could talk him out of it. He had talked forever about being a helicopter pilot. Your heart was in your stomach. One more person you weren’t looking forward to letting go of, only this was a bit more high stakes than your friends going to school out of state. You willed your tears not to fall but that didn’t stop them from building up at your lash line. He said your name softly and scooted across the porch floor until he was next to you, his arm over your shoulder in an instant. “I’m so happy for all of you,” you sniffed, “Really, you have to know I am. Going off to chase your dreams. It just makes me feel like I’m never getting out of here, like I’ll be stuck in this town forever,” you said quietly. He absorbed your fears and rested in the quiet of your confession. “Do you trust me?” he asked tracing his fingers up and down your arm. You looked up at him through bleary eyes and nodded. “Come with me on Friday night, I’ll pick you up at the skate park at 5. Can you get Sadie to cover for you?” he asked turning your chin up to face him and you nodded. “What are you planning Morales?” you questioned with a small smile. “You’ll see,” he grinned.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” you asked Sadie nervously. “One thousand million percent, go get your boy,” she urged over the speaker of your flip phone. He had told you to dress comfortably so you chose a pair of baggy jeans with your favorite high tops, a simple grey tank top, and you tucked your favorite cream colored cardigan over the slouchy bag hanging from your shoulder. Your parents thinking you were spending the night with Sadie, you didn’t want to wear anything too nice and raise suspicion. You pulled into the skate part at 4:36. The butterflies in your stomach on autopilot causing you to arrive early. You and Frankie had never explicitly talked about this thing between you. Sometimes you were convinced you imagined it. Whether or not this was a date or led to a confession, you knew you loved him and would be sad to have his comforting presence gone from your life. Before you even parked, you saw him leaning up against his smooth black camero seemingly trying to fix his hair in the side view mirror. You couldn’t help but smile. He was in light wash jeans and his faded, white Aerosmith tee shirt that you loved so much. Atop his messy head head sat an equally faded bass pro shops hat. He smiled warmly at you as you parked one spot over from him. Your door opened for you and a soft hand extended to help you out. “You look beautiful,” he said closing your door behind you. “I look like I do every day,” you dismissed, unable to hide the flush it brought to your cheeks. “I know,” he said earnestly.

His trunk popped open to reveal a picnic basket, a blanket, and a longboard.

“What’s this for?”

“I wanted to take my best girl on a proper date before I left,” he said matter of factly piling the items into his right arm and offering you his left hand. Your fingers tangled with his without hesitation. You tried to savor this moment instead of thinking how much it would hurt to let go.

He picked up sandwiches from your favorite deli, fresh fruit, chocolate covered strawberries, everything you could think of. You both gushed over the mango he picked out. Slicing off pieces to hand to each other. You had settled in a patch of grass on the edge of the park off to the side of the walking path that wound through the woods just behind you. After you ate, he took your hand and walked you through the basics of riding a longboard. His steady hands on your hips, both of you laughing.

After about thirty very wobbly minutes and a lot of encouragement from Frankie, you felt brave enough to take off. “That’s it! You’ve got it!” he cheered as you zipped down the path making it about 20 feet before hopping off into the grass. “I think that’s as good as it’s gonna get,” you laughed stumbling back to retrieve the board. “I just remembered you saying you’ve always wanted to learn so I figured I’d give you your first lesson and a good board, maybe something to keep you busy when you’re feeling down,” he said reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “Frankie,” you said softly, “This is too much. This must’ve cost a fortune, and the food too—“ but he cut you off. “Please let me spoil you like I’ve always wanted to,” he pleaded earnestly. “Now, we have much to do still,” he said clapping his hands and turning to clear the mess from the picnic. “There’s more?” you gasped jogging over to help him fold the blanket and empty the trash in a nearby can. “So much more,” he winked.

You turned to Frankie with a grin as he pulled into the parking lot of the town’s arcade. You had a love of all things 80’s from the music to the silly games waiting for you on the other side of the door. And of course Frankie knew that, he knew you better than anyone you were starting to realize. You got lost looking at the lights while he purchased some tokens handing you a cup. “Go crazy, princesa,” he whispered to you with a smile. You grabbed his hand and pulled him behind you laughing. They had all the classics like Pac-Man and Donkey Kong, but your favorite was Galaga. The two of you laughed blasting aliens for what felt like hours.

“Are you ready for your next stop?” he asked leaning up against a console, his hands in his pockets, hat turned backwards. He looked too good to be true, your heart ached as the clock crept forward to your inevitable goodbye. You held out your hand, “Lead the way, Morales.” He smiled and took it gladly, lacing your fingers together with a squeeze as he led you back to his car, only letting it go as you lowered yourself into the passenger side. He shut it gently behind you.

It was nearing 9:30 by the time you pulled into the theater parking lot. Instead of stopping at the ticket counter though, he walked right past. His two coworkers winking.

“What are we seeing?”

“You’ll see, hermosa,” he replied leading you to the concession counter.

You grabbed a popcorn and an icee to share before he led you to a theater on the very end. There was no one else in it.

“Pick anywhere, it’s all ours,” he smiled at you. “Pulling out all the stops I see,” you replied choosing the very back row under the projector. It was a small room, only fitting about forty seats. You guessed it was for the less popular releases.

You two nestled into your seats propping your feet up on the row in front of you. Frankie lifted up the arm of the chair that separated you two and you gladly tucked yourself into his chest tilting your head back to look at him. His beard tickling the top of your head. “Hi,” you smiled, your cheeks flushing at the proximity. “Hi princesa,” he breathed back smoothing your hair gently. The movie came on suddenly so you straightened a little bit to face the front as the opening credits for the Phantom Menace started playing. “Frankie!” you exclaimed and he chuckled. “I remembered it was your favorite,” he pressed a kiss to your temple.

Truthfully, you were glad that he chose a movie you had already seen so you didn’t feel bad stealing conversation and savoring your last few hours together.

You watched in silence for a while, hands brushing each other in the popcorn bucket, pressing pieces to the other’s lips. “You can’t do this,” you said quietly sitting up and pulling away from his embrace to look him straight on. “What do you mean?” a look of worry on his face. “This. All of this. Give me impossibly high standards just to leave,” you whispered, your voice cracking on the last word. The tears were back, this time spilling over with no hesitancy. “Hey hey hey,” he said cupping your face in his hands. Your name rolling gently off his tongue like it had for the last almost 10 years. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He hesitated before continuing.

“Look, I’m all in. It’s always been you. It will always be you. I’m sorry it took me so long to say anything, I was afraid of losing you, but now that I’m going, I had to say something. I had to know…” he trailed off.

“If I feel the same way?”

He nodded.

“Of course I do,” you sniffed placing your hands on his face, mirroring his hold. “Frankie, no one knows me like you. No one treats me like you,” eyes falling to the floor.

He paused before responding. “I’m not going to ask you to wait for me, but please wait for me. I promise in a few years I’ll be making good money and I can fly you far away from this place,” his voice thick with sincerity and kept promises.

You looked into his brown eyes once more, they were lined with tears now too.

“Let me take care of you,” he pleaded.

“Frankie it’s not even a question, I’ll wait as long as I have to, as long as I know you’re coming back to me.”

“Nothing could keep me away,” he drew a hand away from your face to link his pinky with yours.

“Please kiss me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he pulled you into him, kissed you slowly and tenderly, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do, the only thing he knew how to do.

You had kissed a few boys before, but never like this. Never like Frankie. Your hands tangled in his messy hair knocking his hat off. He never faltered, just held you close.

You eventually pulled away from each other and you settled back into his chest. His arms around you tightly.

“I love you, you know?” he murmured into your hair.

“I know,” you nuzzled into his chest.

You dozed off like that, nestled against his heartbeat, his scent enveloping you. You awoke to him whispering your name softly, “Baby, we gotta get going. They’re locking up in a minute.”

You peeled yourself from him, stretching and stifling a yawn. “What time is it?” “Almost one,” he replied finally picking his hat up from where it had fallen earlier. “Do you need to go?” you asked quietly. “I don’t want to,” he responded. “I’m sure we can find something else to do,” you smiled.

You ended up back at the skate park. Using the camping hammock you kept in your trunk and the blanket from the picnic, you hung yourselves a little bed in a clearing of the woods. Almost a perfect circular opening in the trees giving way to the stars above you. You slept nestled together feeling like the only people in the world.

The sun’s rays crept into your haven signaling it was time to go. Even though you had spent all night in his arms, it wasn’t enough. The goodbye was tearful on both ends, full of whispered promises. “I love you hermosa, I’ll be back before you know it,” he pressed one last kiss to your lips.

“I love you, Francisco.”

Taglist: @littlenosoul @shinypants13 @mirasantidotes @certifiedhunter @daff0dilfs @bannahrae74 @rav3n-pascal22 @evitamarija

Thank you for your interest in the little world I’m creating! Updates will be weekly at least!!

[metamorphosisff]

|Chapter 14| The Motions

My body felt heavy as I left Dr. Mitchell’s office and reentered the damp heat of August in the city. It’s been this way ever since I have been at odds with my father. We still haven’t talked since our argument last month. I had mixed feelings about the whole ordeal. Feelings I had yet to process much to the chagrin of Dr. Mitchell, which is why he tasked me with reaching out to my mother. I have inadvertently ignored her in the midst of this and it was not fair. She did not ask to be placed in the middle of our mess. In my mind though, I automatically put her on his side. Not once considering how our actions were affecting her until Dr. Mitchell pointed it out. By the time I rode the subway, walked to my building, showered, and redressed, I knew it was time to call her. 

Grabbing my phone, I plopped onto the couch where a stack of papers waited to be graded on the coffee table as soon as this conversation was over. Like always, she picked up on the second ring, her sienna face filling the camera from her perch on the kitchen island. Her glasses sat on the tip of her nose which let me know she was probably in the middle of doing work. As a personal accountant to a few executives in the finance district, she often brought home extra documents to comb through uninterrupted. We were alike in that way, always working, never quite comfortable with idle time or hands.

“Look who remembers he has a mother who is worried sick about him,” she teased, pushing her glasses further back onto her face.

Outside of a few sporadic texts which were mostly about Granddad, she hadn’t heard from me, so the barb as light as it is, was warranted. “I’m sorry about that. I just needed to clear my head.”

“And have you? It doesn’t look like it from what I can see. Have you been getting enough sleep Xavier?” she fired off, face leaning in closer as she observed me.

Ma has always had a sixth sense when it came to my moods. I don’t know how she did it but she knew when something was off with me. Usually before I even had the words to express so. There was not much I could keep a secret from her and I currently did not have the energy to try. 

“I sleep but it doesn’t really help with the kind of tiredness I’m experiencing. To answer your question, no, I haven’t cleared it yet. Well, in some ways I have and in others…I don’t have the energy to,” I shrugged. 

“Care to expound on that a bit?” she asked warmly. “It’s only me and your sister here, and she’s upstairs talking to her friends so you can be real with me. I’d like you to be real with me. I don’t like seeing you so out of sorts.”

Once again, Ma knew my concern without me having to verbally express it. Since she confirmed that I wouldn’t be overheard- potentially adding more fuel to the fire that flamed between Pops and I answered her question with no hesitation.

“I have come to the realization that I am never going to be good enough for Pops and I can’t force myself to be what he wants nor apparently, can I make him like me by being myself. So I think I’m done trying,” I said.

Maybe we weren’t supposed to have a close bond. Pops and I got along best when we stuck to neutral subjects like sports and Veronica’s shenanigans. Well that wasn’t entirely true. We shared a lot of the same interests and were more alike in our demeanor than either of us realized. There was a layer of something though in our foundations that made us appear to be oil and water. It appeared the moment I turned fourteen. Like a switch went off, Pops went from being my dad to my drill sergeant without any warning or notice. My first reaction to the switch was anger but over the years that has settled into what I’ve found to be is disappointment.

“Your father said something ugly in the heat of the moment but it wasn’t true. Even as he was saying it, I knew it wasn’t which is why I was shocked he told such a bold lie in an attempt to try and even the playing field with you. I had to remind him that there is no game to be won when our child is hurting. No points to be made. No puffing of the chest. Nuh uh, none of that,” she said, wagging her finger for emphasis.

Though glad that she had stood up for me, it did not change much for me. “He still said it though.”

“That he did.”

“That shit hurt. Like a lot. On top of all of the other stuff going on between us, that felt…,” I sighed, shaking my head. I was still having trouble trying to name the exact emotion that is evoked when I relive the argument. “It felt like something I don’t think I can bounce back from.”

“I can’t blame you for that. When I was around your age, my mother said something hurtful to me and I didn’t talk to her for months. Me and you are alike in that way. We need time to sit with situations and that time can range until the moment we feel like we can face it,” she said, which was true.

I didn’t know how to move past anything without over analyzing it. Especially when I was dealing with someone I loved. It was hard for me to set boundaries and even harder to enforce them but I can’t go on like this with Pops. I shouldn’t have to. 

“So I’m not going to convince you to speed that process up,” she continued, pulling me from my thoughts. “All I ask is that if your father approaches you in the interim to give him a chance. You and your sister are teaching him that the world is not the same as when he was a child. Change is scary but he’s learning though it doesn’t seem like it at the moment.”

“No it doesn’t,” I sighed out, squeezing the bridge of my own. “Pops always said a man stands on his word. So I’m taking his words for face value at the moment and if he is changing, then he’ll stand on that too, and we’ll be able to see it. Until then I’m going to keep my distance.”

Nodding her head, she said, “Like I said, I understand baby I do. That’s my piece on that. So let’s talk about this new girlfriend.”

A laugh escaped my lips as I shook my head. “She’s not my girlfriend Ma’.”

She was close though. So close to being everything. The thought both scared and excited me because it was new. I never had a woman fit so intrinsically into my life or heart. There were days I questioned if she was real because how had I been so lucky? Mila was my better half in every way that it mattered and in every way that it didn’t. What we had was rare.

“Not yet but soon by the way you're blushing over there. I can’t wait to meet her. You’ll excuse me if I say, I hope she’s nothing like that high string Miss Thing you were last with,” she said, refusing to say Mariah’s name.

I shook my head. “Nah, she is the complete opposite, trust me.”

“Let me refill this wine glass and then I want to hear all about her!” she says with a silly smile that makes me chuckle. 

As she gets up to head to the refrigerator, I make a mental note to check in on her more often. I may be at odds with Pops but Ma’ has always been one of my best friends. 

Having enough of my “bitch ass moping”, Aiden said he was taking me some place to get my mind off of things. Knowing that was code for hellish workout, I dressed ready for the gym, and called an Uber for the Williamsburg address he sent me. I could have taken the train but my attitude wasn’t ‘take the train’ ready. This past week I have not been able to distract myself enough from the issues with my father. The minor incident I had with Granddad the other night had only worsened my mood as he overheard me on the phone with his doctors and launched into a two hour lecture on how he didn’t need any more check ups or anybody meddling in his affairs. Whatever Aiden had up his sleeve, I hoped it was enough to tire me out to the point where I’ll be too exhausted to overthink. 

It only took me thirty minutes to pull up to what seemed to be a converted warehouse. Converted to what remained to be the question. I could not tell by the crowd filtering in and out of the large building that sat on a dead end street across from another converted warehouse that was used for indoor paintball. It took a few seconds but eventually I spotted both Aiden and Rah standing not too far from the entrance.

“Ayo,” I called out, catching both of their attention as I strolled up. “What is this place?”

Rah snickered and shook his head. “Let me pull my camera up. This is about to be good,” he says in lieu of greeting and answering the question.

I turn my gaze to a mischievous looking Aiden. “What exactly does he mean by that?”

“You know he's just dramatic,” Aiden says with a wave of his hand. “But to answer your question, remember when we talked about participating in amateur boxing matches?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose already knowing where this was headed. “Vaguely.”

“Great so you do remember. Anyway I signed you up and you're slotted to fight in an hour. I got everything with me so don’t even trip,” Aiden said.

“You signed me up for a boxing match and didn’t think it would be a good idea to give me more than five seconds notice?” I asked, with a raised brow.

“Yes. We haven’t been in the gym doing drills for nothing. Now, let's go,” Aiden said, walking towards the door.

I stared at his back incredulously as Rah zoomed in on my face. “I hope all that practice wasn’t for nothing,” Rah laughs.

“After I win this fight, I’m beating both of y’all asses. Both,” I said, pushing his phone out of my face so that I could follow behind Aiden.

“Not it’s fuck 50,” Rah cracked beside me.

“It definitely is. You know this is wild,” I said with a shake of my head.

“Eh it’s better than what he initially planned. I was able to talk him down to this,” Rah said with a shrug. 

“That is…oddly comforting.”

“I thought it might be.”

In the hour before the fight, we are placed into a small room with just enough space for me to change into shorts and my shoes. Aiden wraps my hands and leads me through a few warm ups that gets my blood pumping. There’s a sharp knock on the door followed by a deep voice shouting, “We need Taylor upstairs in five!”

“We're leaving right now,” Aiden yelled back before turning to face me. “You got this shit bro. Use all that anger you keep inside, let that shit out, and win some money in the process.”

“Money? Is this legal?” I asked.

“Legal-ish.”

I don’t have time to curse Aiden out because we’re being called again and the man magically sounds even less impatient than he did thirty seconds ago. Within the next few minutes I’m ushered upstairs where a boxing ring has been set up in the middle. The crowd is thick in attendance and the workers have to lead us ring side as a Meek Mill song blasts from above. My opponent is reaching the ring the same time as me and I instantly start picking out our differences. I take note of his height and build, which hand he uses while he talks, and how he shuffles his feet in constant motion. This is supposed to be an amateur fight but it’s clear to me that he is a bit seasoned.

“Don’t let that nigga’s size fool you into think he’s better,” Rah says, appearing out of nowhere with a towel draped over his shoulder. Apparently while we had been downstairs, he had been up here getting the corner ready with supplies. “His name is Chris but he is known as C Knock-Out. That changes tonight.”

“Rah right. Niggas his sized get beat up everyday. This just another day,” Aiden said.

“Got it,” I said as he popped in my mouth guard. 

There wasn’t time for any more conversation because things were underway with the flashing of the lights. In what seemed like instantly, we were given the rules and expectations of the match. There would only be three, two minute rounds and any dirty moves would result in points being taken away or automatic forfeit. After that we were touching gloves and a bell was sounded.

Chris wasted no time in charging at me, his style of fighting was aggressive but his movements were clumsy. I was able to tire him out in the first round but it cost me a few body shots. We’re both feeling each other out because my hits are surprising him with how close they land to his face. To his ribs. The last jab I send to the latter area wakes him up. I can see the moment he realizes this won’t be an easy fight and he locks in. I spent the last twenty seconds of the second round dodging a flurry of punches, two of which connect to my jaw and send my head snapping back. I duck the follow up punch with just enough time before the bell us rung again sending us back to our corners.

Aiden is pulling out my mouth piece and I’m not surprised to see it filled with blood. Rah gives me water which I use to rinse my mouth out some.

“He mad now. He getting sloppy. He gon’ give you a window of opportunity, use that shit big dawg,” Aiden coaches, slapping my shoulder.

Rah tossed me a look.

“What?”

“Stop holding back your punches. Rock that nigga.”

I nod my head and with that, I’m ready to go back out. 

Like the two times before, Chris charges at me but isn’t prepared for me to charge back. We met in the middle and instantly began to search for openings. He lands a punch to my arm that sends me a few steps back.

“You know I’m putting that ass to sleep right?” Chris taunts.

“We’ll see about that.”

He starts sending punches to my ribs again and one of them causes me to bite back a groan. The muffled sound I do make is enough for him to sense a weakness. He continues his onslaught of punches but I don’t make it easy as I take him around the ring. I’m quicker on my feet than he is, something that he has yet to take notice of. He relies on his arms being longer so much that it has become a disadvantage. The moment he rushes to close the gap between us I send a right hook to his jaw and follow it up with my left. The shock of the punches causes him to stumble and that gives me the leverage to continue my assault. Like instructed, I use all of the anger that has been flowing in the undercurrent of my being behind my punches. Every stressful conversation, argument, and lost memory pours out of me until the bell rings and we’re being separated. I don’t knock him out but by the end of this final round only one of us is leaning and it isn’t me. 

It doesn’t register to me that I won until Aiden picks me up. The crowd is cheering and the energy is electric. Chris and I slap hands, him with a promise to see me again but he won’t. As much fun as this was, I think I prefer using boxing a method to clear my head, not as my livelihood. I didn’t need to take a spot from someone who really wanted this life. All I wanted was a distraction and Aiden, as backwards as his methods are, came through. I don’t know if it’s from winning or burning off some of the dark energy I had been carrying around but I feel lighter.

I’m riding this high as I go downstairs to change into my regular clothes. I have a busted lip and what I’m sure are fractured ribs but I feel amazing. Until I get around to checking my phone that is. My screen is filled with notifications and when I unlock it, I have five missed calls and thirty six texts. 

All from Mila.

[courfee]

if this be done (part 1)

@jegulus-microfic | august 26 - crow | wc 1.1k | part 1, 2, 3

a magical realism au with witchboy james :)

James Potter lives in a beautiful cottage in the middle of a green forest with red shutters on all his windows and yellow flowers of every variety one can think of in his garden. His hair is as messy as his working desk, his smile as bright as the early morning sun streaming through his kitchen window, his hands as warm as the fire keeping a big cauldron bubbling at all odd hours of the day, and his heart is as open as the door to his house.

James Potter is a witch, and a skilled one at that, and he offers his abilities up to anyone who asks for help. A plea for a remedy against an especially peculiar sickness is met with a vial full of purple, steaming potion, a cry for help about a spell gone wrong is silenced with a scroll of a messily scrawled on counter spell, and a knock on his door from a lost soul with a heartache is answered with empathy and patience, a gentle smile, an open ear and cup of hot chocolate.

His work helps people and the people help James in return, sending well wishes and favours and ingredients for his potions. Moreover, they give James something to do and someone to be, a person who likes to help and is always there when needed.

He likes his life, likes his work and likes what it has done for him. It’s his magic that brought his best friends into his life, all of them in a similar fashion.

First had been Peter Pettigrew, a small boy with bright eyes and a brighter laugh. Or, he was a boy once James had found the right spell and the correct combination of daisyroot draught and honesty honey, buttercup brew and sunflower syrup. It took a while until James managed to turn him from the little brown rat that had turned up on his doorstep back into the boy he had been before he had stumbled into the wrong pixie ring and eaten the wrong mandrake leaves.

After that, word spread out quickly and Sirius Black was the next one to turn up. A loud and cheerful boy by day who, at night, turned quiet and terrified, the remnants of his family life that had ended when his mother had cursed him to be a big black dog, like his namesake in the stars. The re-transformation was more difficult this time round. Curses were not one of James’ specialities, and it took a while for him to undo the damage – at least the physical one – that his family had left on him. In the months it took Sirius stayed with him, and by the end James had not only gained more knowledge but a best friend as well.

Last had been Remus Lupin. He, too, had come to seek help about an animal problem. Turning into a wolf when the moon stood high and full plagued him even during the moonless days and, having heard of James’ previous success regarding animal transformations, he had sought him out, with scars on his face and hope in his eyes.

James didn’t exactly fail that time. He never managed to complete what he had sat out to do, but when, after having to bring Remus’ the news that he would not manage to turn him back into a full-time human, Remus smiled at him and said “I do not mind anymore,” James knew he still had managed to help where help was needed. Remus completed their little band of marauders, and with them found the acceptance he had always needed, and on top of that found love he had never expected to find with Sirius.

All in all it doesn’t surprise James when one afternoon in the late days of summer there is a knock on his front door and he opens it to find yet another animal looking up at him with dark, beady eyes and asking, a voice more human than crow-like, “Are you James Potter?”

James smiles, pushes the door further open and says, “That I am. Come on in and tell me what I can do for you.”

The crow walks in, head held high, black feathers shimmering in the green glow of the forest, and follows James to his living room. James takes a seat on his worn-out sofa and motions the crow to do the same.

“My name is Regulus,” the crow says, once perched on the arm rest opposite James, “and I have found myself in the unfortunate situation of being cursed.”

James smiles at Regulus, encouragingly and brightly, and says, “Lucky for you I’ve gained some experience with curses last year. It’s still not my speciality, but I will do what I can do unravel the curse so you can walk on two legs again.”

Regulus gives him a look that makes it obvious that had he still had eyebrows, they would now lift up into his hairline. “I am walking on two legs,” he says flatly. “It’s not the walking I’m concerned about.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, all my previous clients had four legs when they came to me. This is a bit of a change, you see? But no matter, I’m sure there is not much difference between a crow and a dog.”

“Maybe I should find a different witch,” Regulus huffs. “One who is competent enough to not think a crow and a dog are anything alike.”

“Regulus,” James says, and the name feels pleasantly cold and smooth on his tongue, “You will find that I am the most competent witch.”

“And the most arrogant one, too, it seems.”

It is the first time that James’ smile falters, fog obscuring the morning sun. “I’ll help you,” James says. “It will take time and it won’t be easy, but I’ll help you. But for the duration of the process you will have to stay in my house.”

The crow grumbles, but he nods his little head. 

“And while you are here I will not brook you being unkind to anyone who comes by. If you can’t be a decent human being – or crow, for that matter – to any of the people who seek help from me, then I cannot help you either.”

Regulus steps from one foot onto the other, ruffling his feathers as he gives this a thought. “I’m not an unkind person,” he says finally, “I simply cannot stand stupidity and people so often are stupid. But I’ll step aside when you have clients and will not bother them. Does that work?” Regulus seems rather rude to James and he must admit he doesn’t quite like him from the few words they have exchanged. But he is James Potter, and who he is is a person who likes to help and is always there when needed. No matter how awful of a person, Regulus needs his help, and so James blows away the fog, gives Regulus a sunny smile and nods. “That works. Welcome to my home, Regulus, make yourself comfortable and I will start looking for the right spells.”

[lasagnaboxlesbian]

CHAPTER ONE OUT NOW!! [link]

It’s sapphic silly hours so I wanted to post a little sneak peek of Chapter 1 (unfinished but alas… the ronance brain worms hath spoken) for my next multichapter fic!!

a Nancy POV rewrite of season 1 featuring ronance

Robin moves in next door to the Wheelers prior to the events of s1

Comphet Lesbian Nancy

fic title is based on the mbav theme song “Girl Next Door” by Copperpot

i think i’ll call her on the phone (or am i better off alone?)

Chapter 1 - fruit

August 15th, 1983

HAWKINS, INDIANA

Three knocks to Nancy’s open door had her turning her head to the voice she knew was waiting.

Holly and Mike usually just barge in, Mike would’ve yelled some excuse 50 miles a minute while Holly would’ve just toddled past the squeaky door. Her father, Ted, would’ve waited for her to skip down the steps for dinner and asked her to stay for a minute as he had something to say.

That left one person.

“Nancy, I told you we were leaving in five minutes,” her mother, Karen, stood firm by the door, back straight, hands on her hips as she looked over at her daughter disapprovingly. “Hang up on Barb, you can always call her back once we go see them.”

Nancy pursed her lips and nodded her head, the receiver of the phone shielded by a newly polished hand. “Yeah… yeah… just give me a second.”

Karen’s heels clacked as she walked downstairs, “Make sure to pick up the fruit basket on the table! I’ll be waiting by the door.”

She waited until the footsteps were farther enough away that huffed a breath, hoping Barb would hear on the other end. “God… she’s been-” she sighed again. “Anyways… um” Nancy looked out of her window, “you know the Taylors, right? Lived next door?”

“Yeah, yeah… my mom mentioned something about them… apparently the mom was like… uh never- nevermind.” Barb whispers, “Anyways… you were saying?”

Nancy’s brows furrow but elect to ignore that in favor of ranting to her best friend before having to put up false appearances. “New people moved in, my mom is obsessed with bringing all the neighbours a housewarming gift since it’s rare for anyone to move in around here, so-”

“Young lady, I am waiting!” Karen shouted from below.

“Look, I’ll call when I’m back, alright?”

“‘Course, Nance. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Click

Nancy bit back a smile, standing up from where she had been lounged across her bed. Facing herself in the mirror, she adjusted one of the clips holding back her long, wavy brown locks.

“Nancy!” Karen shouted.

She whipped her head to the door, rushing out as she slammed it behind her.

“No slamming doors,” she heard her father rumble from the lazy boy sat across the TV, casually flipping through a newspaper.

It was Saturday, about a week before school started, and Nancy would be faced with dealing with the new people across the yard.

Passing her mother she muttered, “And of course Mike doesn’t have to come.”

“I heard that.” Her mother spoke to Nancy’s retreating form, continuing once she saw her daughter with the gaudily packaged fruit basket. “Michael is at Will’s today. And as far as I’m concerned, you are at home.”

Nancy shuffled in her old white heels, the sides nipping at her ankles. “It’s not my fault-”

“Enough. I am not having this conversation before we go see the Buckley’s.”

Nancy bit her tongue, she was already under practical house arrest after she snuck out last week to go hang out with Barb past curfew.

In her defense, it was because Barb had sworn that she overheard Steve was going to be at Tiffany’s Birthday and had an open invite. They weren’t even planning on going in! Just scoping out the scene to see if the possibility of what Steve had told her at the end of last year was real. That he had started to notice her over freshman year, and that he wasn’t planning on seeing anyone anytime soon.

All they had to do was snoop around to see if he had a date, and Barb would shove it in Nancy’s face that he was just like the other dumb jocks that treated the high school hierarchy like it mattered.

But all it took was her mother opening her door and seeing the window open for her to jump down the Holland’s lines, both mothers desperately searching for the missing pair.

She’d been grounded until the school year and wasn’t keen on that getting a punishment far enough that they’d disconnect her personal line.

God, she couldn’t imagine not being able to talk to Barb about all the bullshit going on in her life. She always felt like all the family responsibility had been placed on her, meanwhile Mike got to coast along her coat tails. He was perpetually too young to be at fault for anything, so obviously the brunt of her parent’s wrath had to be placed on her.

She was the nice girl.

She would fall in line when needed.

And unlike her siblings, she was apparently old enough to understand the consequences of a bad reputation.

But she knew that it wasn’t just reputation that kept her in an elevated position of responsibility. She was the oldest daughter, of course everyone would be breathing down her neck to be the perfect little girl.

“-ncy?” Karen whispered, tapping the girl’s shoulder.

Nancy must’ve zoned out for the short walk across the driveway because she only now did she become aware of the splintered wooden door in front of her, the basket gone heavy in her hands.

She glanced back at Karen from the corner of her eyes, looking down as a taunt smile pulled against her cheeks. “Sorry- sorry… I was just… thinking. I’m fine”

Karen didn’t say anything, and Nancy didn’t want to look at her in fear of the same expression she’d worn since that night.

Disappointment.

Her mother knocked on the door, and Nancy waited with baited breath, as the lock clicked and the door opened.

Stood in a lose-fitting white t-shirt and pair of cut off jean shorts, was a girl. Her hand tightly gripped a can of Coke and her brows furrowed at the two stood on her doorstep.

This is going to be so awkward.

“Hi!” Karen chirped, the girl giving Nancy a once over before looking at her mom.

Nancy only felt slightly miffed at the fact that the look she’d given her mother was a lot less venomous than the one thrown her way.

Asshole.

[END OF PREVIEW]

Thank you so much for reading!! ❤️✨

Not sure for an exact date of posting considering current works are taking priority right now, but I was really excited to share this one!!

[morganas-pendragons]

I want to tell a story about one of the best people I knew. Because he died today.

And he was one of the few people who pushed me to pursue my creative passion.

This is long and personal. Dont by any means feel like you have to read it. I just want it here for myself to come back to.

I moved to Illinois in August of 2016. Not long after, I was informed about a standing tradition in Indiana called The Covered Bridge Festival. I was intrigued. And since my mom was going, 18 year old me decided to tag along.

I remember walking down the main road of this event and finding a giant banner that said, “WALKING DEAD ART” on a barn nearby. I was perplexed. It was an antique show. What on Earth is art from my favorite show doing here?

So I went in and was greeted with the most beautiful art I have ever seen. I still hold to that, to this day. I remember walking into that booth and gazing upon that art: Art drawn by a man much older than me who saw the world in only black and white.

Hence his social media presence: the black and white guy.

I was so lonely at the time I had done this. I had just moved to a new state, had left everything I had ever known, to follow my family to a town I hated. And I was so lonely. So bad off. I just felt very.. lost.

I’ll never forget his response. Once I told him I also was a fan of the show, he asked me about that, and then I proceeded to spend the next three hours explaining my OC that I had written just for the purpose of Carol being able to keep a child.

Three hours. He listened to me talk about this for three hours. By the time my mom was ready to leave, she found me still in the barn, still talking his ear off. And he heard every word. I left that barn the same day with so much art and promises to return the following year.

Eventually I came to his booth so often that he started giving me his art at a huge discount because I was “such a devoted fan” (or something along this line) and it was so nice solely for this reason: despite him being an artist and me being a writer, we pushed each others creative passions. I was constantly asking him for art from different shows we both loved.

The last time I vividly remember seeing him was before he was diagnosed with cancer. My mother told me that he was coming over to the house but wouldn’t say why. I was so confused. I only met the man once a year, and now he’s coming to my parents house? Why?

This man, knowing my love for Carol Peletier, took one of his original art pieces of Melissa McBride and put it in this gorgeous frame. To give to me.

For free. Because he wanted to.

“I know how much you love her.”

At this point, I had spent probably 5-6 years expressing my love for Carol and Melissa every time we met. I only missed the festival once due to being too far away and in college. He’d driven from his little town in Indiana to give me this drawing, which now sits on my wall in my apartment. So do his drawings of Daenerys and Wanda.

I was working this morning when I went home for lunch. I had just prayed for him. He had been battling cancer something fierce, which caused him to miss the art show in October of 2023. His wife was there in his stead.

I haven’t been thrown off guard like I was this morning since 2015, when my choir teacher suddenly died of pancreatic cancer. All I saw was a picture of angel wings on his Instagram, and the words: Robin left.

He was gone. Just like that, just after I had gotten home for lunch. I lost my appetite. I lost my energy. I just… feel so defeated. I haven’t experienced death a lot in my life. Every time I do, it’s with someone like this. Someone who teaches me something so crucial, so beautiful, that end up passing away anyway.

My choir teacher in 2015 was the start of embracing my passion for much.

Robin in 2016 was the start of me properly embracing my passion for writing.

So.. Robin… thank you. I am so grateful for you and so heartbroken that you’re gone.