#{ but it's time to turn the page that's what life is about :) }

[shdysders]

if only

pairing: tara carpenter & reader

summary: if only tara would’ve chosen you for you, and not for who you were like.

word count: 3.2k

You knew it was normal for people to turn to alcohol after experiencing trauma.

The way it numbed the pain, dulled the sharp edges of haunting memories—it was something you had seen before, something you understood. After everything Tara had been through, it was the least you expected.

The massacre in Woodsboro had left her with more than just physical scars.

The betrayal of someone she had once loved—Amber, who turned out to be Ghostface—was a wound that cut deeper than any knife.

It wasn't just the shock of Amber's true identity, but the fact that Tara was the one who had to pull the trigger, killing the person she thought she knew in order to save her sister.

The memories of that night were like a broken record, stuck on replay.

Every time Tara closed her eyes, she was back in that room, her hands shaking as she held the gun, her heart pounding in her ears.

She would hold you tighter during those moments, as if the strength of her embrace could keep the nightmares at bay.

The way she kissed you harder, more desperately, or questioned where you were every time you left the room—these were her ways of keeping you close, of making sure she wouldn't lose you too.

You had known Tara all her life.

Growing up together, you'd always been close, but after everything that happened in Woodsboro, something had shifted between you.

It started small—extra moments of closeness, lingering touches that lasted just a little too long, her leaning on you more than ever before.

The change was subtle at first, but undeniable. When she started seeking you out not just for comfort but for something deeper, you couldn't bring yourself to resist. The truth was, you had started to feel something more for Tara too.

But as the days went by, you couldn't ignore the creeping doubt. That maybe you were just another distraction for Tara, another way to keep the darkness at bay.

Yet, whenever that doubt arose, she would somehow sense it, her arms wrapping around you tighter, her voice low and reassuring, even without you needing to say a word. That unspoken understanding only seemed to confirm your thoughts.

After the move from Woodsboro to New York, you had hoped that a change of scenery might help her start to heal.

But you weren't sure if it had made a difference. If anything, the bustling city seemed to give her more ways to bury her grief.

Tara threw herself into the whirlwind of college life, attending every party she could find, which in New York meant there was always something going on.

Every weekend, without fail, she was out late, coming home blackout drunk more often than not.

You were the first to notice the change in her. The way her hands trembled slightly when she thought no one was looking, the dark circles under her eyes from sleepless nights, and the way she buried herself in the noise and chaos of those parties—anything to keep from facing what was inside.

She would beg you to come with her to these parties, holding your hand a little too tightly as if fearing you might slip away in the crowd.

On nights when you had to study or work at your extra job, she would assure you she was fine to go alone.

But that assurance never lasted, always ending with you getting a call in the early hours to come and get her, to carry her back home when she was too far gone to stand on her own.

And tonight was no different.

You had been studying late into the night, the quiet hum of the city outside your window doing little to keep you company as you poured over your textbooks. The words on the pages blurred together as exhaustion settled in, but your mind wouldn't let you rest.

The quiet of your apartment seemed more restless than usual, and no matter how many times you turned over, sleep eluded you. You were used to going to bed alone on nights like this, used to Tara being out and about, so it wasn't her absence that kept you awake. Still, something nagged at the edge of your consciousness, keeping you from drifting off.

Finally, just as you felt yourself slipping into sleep, your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up the room. Groggily, you reached for it, squinting at the brightness.

It was Chad. Your heart sank a little as you answered, knowing that a call from him at this hour could only mean one thing. Yet you didnt hesitate before answering

"She's asking for you," Chad said quietly, his voice gentle but insistent. "She's... she's pretty far gone, and she won't leave until you come."

You rubbed a hand over your face, trying to shake off the fog of near-sleep. "Where are you?" you asked, already pulling on your clothes.

He gave you the address of some off-campus apartment, the kind of place that always seemed to be hosting a party. With a sigh, you grabbed your keys and headed out into the night.

The streets were empty as you drove, the glow of the city lights casting long shadows across the pavement.

You knew the route by heart now, having made similar drives more times than you wanted to count.

As you pulled up to the address Chad had given you, you spotted him standing by the curb, holding Tara up as she swayed on unsteady feet.

She was dressed as a pirate, her costume in disarray, her hat missing, and her eyeliner smudged. Her head lolled slightly as Chad helped her toward your car, her feet dragging along the pavement.

"Thanks for coming," Chad said quietly as he eased her down into the front seat. He lingered for a moment before adding, "I don't know how many she's had tonight."

You nodded, trying to muster a tired smile. "Thanks, Chad. I'll take it from here."

He gave you a sympathetic look before stepping back. "Be careful," he said, the concern clear in his voice.

Once Chad closed the door, you turned to Tara.

She was slumped against the seat, her eyes half-lidded as she stared out the window, lost in whatever haze the alcohol had put her in.

For a moment, you considered trying to talk to her, to get her to see reason, but you knew better. This wasn't the time for deep conversations, not when she was like this.

As you started the car and began driving, you couldn't help but break the silence. "Tara, you can't keep doing this. This needs to stop."

You didn't know how much longer you could stand by and watch her destroy herself.

She blinked slowly, turning to look at you with bleary eyes. For a moment, she just stared, as if trying to process what you had said. Then her expression hardened, her brows knitting together in a frown.

"I don't need you telling me what to do," she muttered, her voice slurring but laced with irritation.

"Amber wouldn't have."

This was always how it went—her getting pouty and defensive, like a child refusing to be told what to do. She always brought up Amber whenever she was drunk, throwing her name out like a shield, deflecting from the real issue at hand. It hurt to hear, but you were used to it by now.

You sighed, and after a moment, you answered softly, "I know."

When you finally pulled up in front of your apartment building, getting Tara inside proved to be a struggle.

She stumbled with every step, her legs barely supporting her weight, and you had to practically carry her up the stairs.

Every time she leaned too heavily on you, you feared you both might topple over, but you held on, determined to get her inside without waking anyone.

By the time you reached your door, you were exhausted.

Tara mumbled something incoherent as you fumbled with the keys, trying to keep her upright.

Once inside, you helped her move as quietly as possible to avoid waking Sam. The last thing you needed was her storming out and seeing Tara like this, not again.

With Tara still leaning heavily on you, you guided her to her bedroom, the familiar path feeling longer than usual.

She was stumbling more than walking, and every time she nearly slipped, you tightened your grip, your patience worn thin but still holding.

You finally managed to get her into her room, her weight heavy against your side as you guided her to the bed.

The moment her legs hit the edge, she let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You know, sometimes I think I'm just with you because it's easy," she muttered, her words slurred but cutting through you like a knife.

You winced, though you tried to hide it, focusing on helping her sit down.

The bed creaked under her as she slumped forward, her hands gripping the edge as if the room were spinning around her.

Her eyes, glazed over with a mix of alcohol and exhaustion, seemed unfocused.

"Like... you're just there, and I needed someone. Anyone."

She let out another laugh, this one quieter, more resigned. You could see the way her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her even as she kept talking.

Her words hurt, stabbing into you with a cruel edge, but you knew better than to take them at face value when she was like this. Still, it was hard not to feel the sting of her honesty—or what passed for honesty in her drunken state.

You stayed silent, biting your lip to keep from saying something you'd regret.

Instead, you knelt down in front of her, gently removing her shoes one by one, focusing on the small, mundane task to keep your hands from trembling.

You told yourself she didn't mean it, that she was just drunk and hurting, but the doubt was there, creeping in like a shadow.

Tara didn't stop, the alcohol loosening her tongue further. She swayed slightly, her eyes glassy but filled with something unreadable, something that made your heart twist in your chest.

"Maybe if... if things had been different, I wouldn't have picked you," she continued, her voice wavering.

Her words were slow, as though she were piercing them together as she went, each one a careful, painful blow. "It's not like you're the love of my life or anything. You were just... there."

Her gaze finally met yours, and for a moment, she seemed almost vulnerable, like she was teetering on the edge of something she couldn't pull back from.

You searched her face, looking for some sign that she didn't mean it, that this was just the alcohol talking, but all you found was the deep, gnawing ache of doubt.

Your throat felt tight as you fought back the urge to cry, the tears welling up despite your best efforts to push them down.

It was one thing to know she was drunk, that she was hurting and lashing out—but it was another to hear those words from someone you loved. To feel so disposable.

You took a shaky breath and forced yourself to focus on the moment, not the weight of her words. But the hurt lingered, a heavy presence in the room that you couldn't shake.

Still, you swallowed hard, keeping your voice steady. "Arms up. Let's get you changed."

She hesitated, her gaze lingering on you as if searching for a reaction. When she didn't get one, she huffed in frustration but lifted her arms anyway, letting you help her out of her costume and into more comfortable clothes.

You gently guided her arms into the sleeves of a soft, oversized shirt, the fabric brushing against her skin as you helped her pull it down.

Tara swayed slightly, her head lolling to one side, but you remained focused, carefully easing her out of her costume.

As you slipped her into a pair of comfy sweatpants, you noticed how she barely reacted, her eyes staring blankly at a spot on the floor.

You adjusted the waistband and made sure the pants were comfortable, avoiding any pinching or tightness.

With the costume set aside, you carefully adjusted her shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles and ensuring it fit comfortably.

You avoided meeting her gaze, you could feel her stare and how she was looking at you. Angry, like everything you did was wrong.

You helped her lay down on the bed. You adjusted the pillow behind her head and reached for the covers, but before you could pull it over her, Tara's voice broke the silence.

She looked up at you, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that spoke of frustration and raw emotion. There was a hardness in her gaze, as if she was challenging you with the truth she was about to reveal.

"You know I only chose you because you're like her, right?" she said, her voice laced with anger, as if saying Amber's name was an effort in itself.

You froze, your hand still hovering above the covers. Even though you already knew who she was talking about, you asked quietly, "Like who?"

Tara's eyes bore into yours, and she said sharply, "Amber."

The anger in her voice was palpable, but you could also sense regret hiding beneath her words, as if she knew how much she was about to hurt you but couldn't stop herself.

You took a deep breath, trying to mask the sting you felt in your chest. "How come?" you asked, keeping your voice as steady as you could, even though your heart was pounding.

Tara looked at you with a sharp gaze, almost inspecting your face for any hint of vulnerability.

When she didn't get the reaction she was searching for, it was as though something darkened behind her eyes, pushing her to keep going, to say worse things, as if she could force you to break.

She looked at you with unfocused eyes, her expression tight. "You look just like her when you smile," she slurred, her tone was sharper now, as if the words were meant to cut deep.

"The way your eyes crinkle up, it's like you're her twin or something."

She paused, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "And your laugh—God, it's just like hers. It gets under my skin.

As she spoke, her words seemed to drift into a bitter, almost mocking tone, as if the resemblance to Amber was a cruel joke to her. The laughter in her voice contrasted sharply with the hurt it left behind.

You stood there, feeling increasingly insecure about your smile, your laugh, and everything that had been said. The sting of her words left you questioning everything you thought you knew about how you presented yourself to her.

Her words felt like knives, each one slicing through you, but you remained still, biting back the pain. Inside, a storm of emotions raged—anger, sadness, disbelief—but you fought to keep them at bay, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

"You're always trying to be so understanding, acting like you know exactly what I need. It's exhausting, really," Tara continued, her voice growing harsher, the alcohol pushing her to say things she might've kept hidden otherwise.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

Memories flashed through your mind—times you had gone out of your way to do things for her, to make her feel better or to bring a smile to her face.

You had done so much because she asked or because you hoped it would mean something to her. But now, it felt as if everything you had done was just a game or a trivial pursuit in her eyes.

When she still didn't get the reaction she wanted, Tara's voice rose, almost desperate now. "You don't matter, you know? Not like she did."

That last statement shattered something inside you. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from spilling over, but they came anyway, hot and unwelcome.

The room seemed to close in around you, her words echoing in your head.

You knew—deep down, you'd always known—that you couldn't compete with a ghost, with the memory of someone she loved so deeply.

Tara had brought Amber up countless times before, always with a mix of regret and longing that you had tried to ignore. Each mention of Amber, every story she told with a hint of nostalgia or pain, was a reminder that you were always secondary in her heart.

You remembered the times when, after a few too many drinks, Tara had let slip how Amber had been irreplaceable, how no one could ever fill that void.

You had brushed off those comments, hoping that with time, you could make her forget or at least help her heal.

But now, standing here, the truth was undeniable. You had tried so hard to be what she needed, but you could never be what she wanted most.

And yet, Tara wasn't done. Her voice grew louder, almost as if she wanted the whole world to hear her torment.

Her gaze was distant, and she started to laugh bitterly. "You have no idea how badly I want to break up with you," she slurred, her voice rising with a frustrated intensity.

Her voice grew louder, and you were starting to worry she would wake Sam up. "You look at me with all this love. And I can't handle it. It's like... I feel suffocated by how much you care, and it's not even real for me."

You swallowed hard, struggling to keep your voice steady as you tried to process the pain. "I'm sorry," you said, the words barely escaping your lips, as if saying them aloud would make the hurt even more real.

Tara's eyes were drooping now, her anger slowly dissolving into exhaustion. But before she could drift off, she mumbled, almost as if to herself, "Might as well tell you the truth... you'll probably stay anyway, right?"

Her tone was a mix of bitterness and resignation, as if she knew, deep down, that no matter how much she tried to push you away, you would still be there.

Her words stung more than anything she'd said before, and you felt your chest tighten.

You took a shaky breath, your own emotions raw, and wiped away the tears that had started to fall. Forcing a smile, even though it felt like a fragile mask, you gently pulled the covers up around her, smoothing them with careful, tender motions.

As you leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, you noticed her breathing was becoming more even, the last traces of consciousness slipping away. "Goodnight, Tara," you said quietly, your voice trembling as you tried to keep it as gentle as possible.

She murmured something incoherent, her words tired and slurry, before finally succumbing to sleep. You lingered for a moment, watching her with a heavy heart, wishing you could make her see how much you truly cared.

As you walked out of her room, the quiet of the apartment settling around you like a heavy weight, you paused at the door. The hurt from her words still fresh, you whispered to the empty space, the heavy words that she couldn't hear.

"I love you."

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Man, we've got a lot of these, huh? It's YJ's fault this time; whoopsie doodles! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Danny,” Diana says from the door.

Danny looks up from his place in the book. It’s definitely aimed at younger kids, but it’s a pretty wordy picture book; there are a couple paragraphs he can’t quite parse, but he’s making pretty good progress on the words he can’t recognize.

It’s a story about a cat who misses its mother. Danny tries not to relate to it too much.

“Hm?” he asks, flipping the front flap of the dust cover over his current pages to mark his place. The book goes back onto the nightstand, beside his space shuttle; Danny uses the railing beside his bed to support himself stepping up and out of his wheelchair, leaning on the railing until he can figure out…wait, where’d he leave his old people walker?

“This walk is long. You will want your chair.”

Well, then. Couldn’t she have said that before Danny did all that pulling? Danny falls back into his chair, kinda peeved. “Fine.”

Diana smiles. She doesn’t have to wear the mask around him anymore— Danny’s pretty sure that his injuries have been declared as clotted, or sealed, or whatever at this rate. They for sure swabbed his ectoplasm and came to some kind of conclusion, anyway, which means he only looks gross, but isn’t, like…actively leaking fluids.

On the one hand, gross! But, well, you know. Nothing for it but bandaids and time.

And her face looks nice. Danny hadn’t known what she’d looked like, before. She smiles when she sees him. Her light eyes crinkle, and her lips turn up… She’s nice. Danny’s sure that she’s only there to be in charge of him in case he gets scary, but she’s in charge of him and she’s nice. She doesn’t have to be nice; lots of people have been in charge of him and been mean about it. There was that one guy who kept holding him—with the taser—

(Time slips away from him, a little. When he gets back to the world in front of him, Diana is carefully looking at his face, the back of her hand stroking the back of his.)

Danny’s in his chair. He’s not…there. He’s in his chair, on a big space station (????) with a bunch of really colorful fighters on it, and Diana is touching his hand (that’s so much weaker and slower than it used to be) and he’s not hungry and he’s only scared because of memories. He’s safe. He’s not being pinned down by the neck so that they can strap down his wrists and hips to the table—they’re not shocking him—he can move his fingers, he’s not stuck in his core—

His core throbs. Danny bites into his bisected lip, and tries not to cry.

“Are you alright?” Diana asks, voice gentled. The soft touch of her hand doesn’t stop. “We can wait. There is no—“

Danny shakes his head, and takes his hand away so he could wipe at his eyes. It’s fine. Bad memories are everywhere: in the walls, in the floor, in the ceiling, in the hands of people taking care of him. That’s not… There’s nothing Danny can do about that. That just. Takes time.

…He think he might have that time. Now. He thought he would die for good in that five by five box, waiting for something that would finally end him instead of just keeping him in a cycle of injuries he never fully healed from.

But now he’s not. He’s here.

He wants to keep going.

“Alright,” Diana says, slow and careful. “Hold on.”

Danny doesn’t hold on—or, well, you know, he engages his core muscles and all that, but he doesn’t cling to his arm rests or to the frame of his chair because he knows that Diana is really, really strong, but she also really, really doesn’t want to hurt him.

She rolls him out of the medical wing and into the space station proper. Danny feels like he’s been here before, but he doesn’t remember it super well. Maybe it was when he was sick or something? Either way, a lot of different people wave at him as they go by—or just straight up stare, if they’re rude—and Danny generally just watches people rush by, carrying all kinds of equipment, and a potted plant, and a…starfish in a jar…?

Oh, the starfish waves at him???? Danny waves back because?? What??

Danny rolls to a stop at a smooth, cylindrical elevator. It looks like a giant test tube.

…Oh boy. Danny takes a deep breath, and holds it. Reflexively. Sure, this elevator probably isn’t like being dunked into water to see if his body absorbs ambient oxygen from the atmosphere or if his biology is truly not oxygen-based, but the memory is. Bad.

They go upwards. Nothing happens but Diana’s pushed button.

Danny exhales.

They get off at a section of the base Danny’s never been to, and it's essentially just a long, somewhat narrow hallway. The walls are actually painted a creamy off-white here, and there’s…like…decorative panels towards the base of his wheels trailing down the hallway? An orange ceiling, too?

Huh??

The rooms are numbered, but they’re not plain steel like in other areas downstairs; some of them have stickers, or drawings, or marker written straight onto the door itself. They look...cozy...? Danny thinks so, anyway, compared to the rest of the ultra high tech space base.

They roll to a stop in front of a door. It’s got a number on it, same as all the others, but there’s a box cutout taped to the front of it. The—

—The print is of the same style of space shuttle Danny keeps next to his bed, inked onto glorious cardboard medium.

Danny stares.

“Gegrapa,” Diana urges, so gentle. Too bad that, uh, Danny doesn’t know that one. He looks at her. She mimes touching the door— Oh. Got it.

Danny leans forward just enough to touch the door with his fingertips.

The door says something in a robotic voice, but the synthesizer is too mangled for Danny to make out the words. The door slides open horizontally into the wall, instead of the way the other doors open like portals or from below, and it’s kind of cool?

Inside is a bedroom. Danny stares.

…No, it’s actually a bedroom. Not a medical wing, not a cot, not a repurposed conference room or—it’s actually got a bed in it. Like. A real one. There’s a wooden headboard and it’s got a mattress on it that’s thicker than a VCR.

There’s constellation sheets on a bed big enough to curl up on.

There’s a nightstand, a small desk on the far wall—there’s a little lip where the bedroom dips into a tiny sitting room, a small television on a table and a small table and chair. It’s kind of…it’s kind of like a little hotel suite.

Danny’s mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t move, and Diana doesn’t wheel him in. “It’s okay,” Diana says, and—Danny almost flinches when she touches his hair, but it’s only Diana, who’s never hit him, and they’re fine. He’s…safe. It’s safe. He’s safe here. “Do you want to go in?”

Danny doesn’t move. His hands don’t touch the wheels. They’re shaking; he puts his hands in his lap and he tries to breathe. “…What?” he asks hoarsely.

“A rum for my Danny,” Diana murmurs, quietly. Danny’s heart throbs at the possessive. “You are healthier now. You do not need doctors every hour, but only sum hours. You cuðe spenda more time here, all ana.”

Words go by so fast even at Diana's smooth, unhurried pace— and Danny licks dry, split lips. He looks around the room—and the room is small, sure, but they're in space. Space will always be a premium. Even in this small room, though, the furniture is sparse and placed distant from each other…distant enough that Danny can wheel around freely in his chair.

There’s a Moon clock display hung on the wall over the doorway, and Danny can faintly see the outline of what he assumes is the current lunar phase as seen from Earth.

Having the lamp isn’t exactly the same as glow-in-the-dark-stars, and thank goodness for that. If it had been, Danny might have cried.

(Or, he realizes, something burning in his eyes that isn’t ectoplasm, maybe he is crying.)

“...Me?” Danny asks, terrified to know the answer. Is this room for him?? Is he getting a room here? Is he supposed to stay here? On the moon?! Is he supposed to stay with everyone here, in a tiny room, where there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to escape?

…It’s a bedroom. It’s already so much more than the stupid guys in white ever gave him.

“Yes,” Diana says, and lets go of his hair. “Use it, or do not. Sitta here, or sitta in the medical bay, but now you have two choices.”

Okay. So Danny has choices. He swallows his feelings—they taste a lot like snot—and rolls himself inside to inspect the room.

There’s another little fridge inside the sitting area. It’s not right next to the bed like it is beside Danny’s cot, but it is the same style of fridge. When Danny pops the door open, it has the same styles of snacks. Fig Einsteins. Peanut butter squeezies and applesauce squeezies and yogurt squeezies. Protein shakes in bottles. Pedialight. Hummus packs.

Danny might still need someone to open the snack packs for him. That’s kind of a high dexterity food, if he thinks about it.

“If you wish to sitta here, we will visit you all you like. There is a belle at your bed,” Diana says, and walks in with all her purple scrubs and tied-up hair to point to a little button on his nightstand. It’s red. It’s got a little smiley face sticker next to it, and Danny thinks he recognizes the style from one of his nurse’s bestickered name tags. Belle is probably a direct cognate for bell. He’ll be able to get everyone to come up here if he needs help.

…Okay, that’s kind of nice. To have personal space. He hasn’t had that since… Danny’s eyes squint as he thinks; he rubs an eye. Wait, when had he been squatting under a conference table? Was that a real memory??

Diana is very tall, even in the little space, but when she ducks her head, the gesture makes her a little smaller, a little more manageable for Danny’s lower-than-usual-gaze. Now that he can see her expression, she looks soft, and even uncertain, even though she looks stone and strong on the television when she goes out to fight. “Do you like it?” she asks.

Danny fidgets.

He—does. He likes it a lot. The room doesn’t have any windows, but if Danny moved all his things in here, got used to being able to come and go, and people coming in and out…this space could be just another space. It’s quieter than the medical ward. More peaceful.

…The room is utterly devoid of other people.

(Danny thinks of The Box. Danny thinks of being in The Box.)

(Danny doesn’t like remembering The Box.)

“I am scared,” Danny admits to his twitching thumbs, his fingers itching for a fidget toy or one of his physical therapy tools. Diana’s face immediately drops.

“Why are you scared?”

I’ll be alone Danny wants to say, but he doesn’t know the word for alone and he struggled with phrasing. “No…people here.”

“That is triewe. You would have more dīegolnes here,” Diana agrees, and straightens out of her crouch. “Is that good, or bad?”

It isn’t good and it isn’t bad…? Danny isn’t sure how to phrase it. It’s neither. Being alone is just scary.

“You not hurt me,” Danny tries, knowing he’s missing some connecting word in the middle. He ignores how Diana comes back to kneel beside him, because if he looks at her, he won’t say anything. “Do not.”

“No,” Diana says, from beside and below him, gentle, careful. “We do not.”

No. They don’t. Danny swallows. “Bad…hurt me.” He doesn’t know the word for Earth or planet or even downstairs, so he just meekly points downwards.

Diana stills. It’s like watching Vlad’s Maddie cat spot a bird to hunt down. Danny tries not to feel pinned. “On eorþegearde?” she asks, still light, still gentle. Danny can hear a shadow of steel, though, and he counts himself lucky that she’s never treated him like an enemy. Danny quickly nods. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Who?” Diana asks feather-light.

Danny doesn’t want to tell them what he is. Admitting the name of the agency hunting him itself would be given in.

…But maybe if he doesn’t say the name…and they...and they promised they'd help hide him...

He wants to be right. Danny wants to be right that they're nice, and that they want to help him. Danny wants to be right that they want to protect him. As long as he never, nevernotevernever tells them he's a ghost...

Maybe someone will help him. This time.

“Bad,” Danny repeats, because he genuinely has no idea how to translate?? “Wants…hurts me? For…” WHAT WORDS DOES HE KNOW? Danny gives up and just draws a y-shaped autopsy incision on his chest. It goes down from his collarbones to his belly button.

Diana watches. Her eyes are sharp.

“Do you feel safe with the staff dunstæger in medical?” Diana is quick on the ball with the question and Danny nods quickly—he’s never alone there, and no one’s ever hurt him, and people whose job it is to help people are always coming in and out, and Medical helps them too.

“Good,” Danny whispers. “Talk…talks to me.”

“Ealne weg,” Diana affirms firmly. Whatever that means. “We will cepa you safe.”

You safe and we is all Danny needs to hear. He could probably cry by himself, but Danny wants the comfort anyway; Diana lets Danny take her hands into his, and he lets tears fall into someone else’s grip instead of his own.

*

Bruce is halfway to the monitor room before he feels himself be picked up from underneath the armpits.

Usually finding himself at inappropriate heights involves horseplay from Clark. No one else would be so bold as to actually put their hands on him within the professional setting of the Watchtower—and Bruce has worked very, very hard on maintaining a reputation that keeps the handsier of his fellows at bay.

The culprit is not Clark this time. Bruce finds himself looking downward at Diana’s tearstained face, fury and resignation warring in her expression.

Bruce is careful not to sigh. “Wonder Woman. What is the matter?”

“Someone,” Diana grits out, voice carefully modulated to cut out her own pain, “Hurt my charge.”

On the one hand, the situation with their patient is exactly as Bruce had expected. The circumstance is tragic. The circumstance was predictable.

On the other, Diana's new upset means that Bruce now has more information to work with than ever before.

Bruce can work with this.

“Tell me everything.” Bruce’s voice is just as firm—even held midair like a cat. “I will help you in every way I can.”

[lady-phasma]

I felt compelled to cite my sources for Armand and Lestat being an item off and on over the years. I’ve been in this fandom too long to get involved in ship wars or to really have an OTP for these crazy-ass vampires. I happen to love Armand and Lestat from the books and think that Assad and Sam make it work so well on screen. I hope we get loads more of them for season 3.

Anne wrote all of her characters as deeply flawed, we can all agree on that, but the nearly fanfiction level of “let’s see what happens when two of my most flawed characters get together” writing she did in TVA is brilliant. Book spoilers below.

Here's a link to a post I made about Lestat's perspective of Armand from TVL. (I have included one quote from TVL below because it's too precious to exclude.)

Lestat spends almost a full page describing how he sees Armand at a ball at the Palais Royal:

Yet never had Nicolas, mortal or immortal, been so alluring. Never had Gabrielle held me so in thrall. Dear God, this is love. This is desire. And all my past amours have been but the shadow of this. - The Vampire Lestat, p. 275

They literally feel the same about each other: instant attraction, love, desire, and so on. And it is powerful.

So powerful that hundreds of years later (in one of my favorite passages from any of her books) Armand is the only person allowed to approach an unconscious Lestat. Not only approach him, but allowed to lay down next to him and cuddle, caress, and console Lestat, to cry onto him.

I looked down on Lestat, who was unchanged, his hair fallen as before, a little over his left eye. His right arm was out, and his fingers curling upwards, and there came from him not the slightest movement, not even a breath from his lungs or a sigh from his pores. I knelt down beside him again. I reached out, and without flinching or hesitating, I brushed his hair back from his face. I could feel the shock in the room. I heard the sighs, the gasps from the others. But Lestat himself didn't stir. Slowly, I brushed his hair more tenderly, and I saw to my own mute shock one of my tears fall right onto his face. It was red yet watery and transparent and it appeared to vanish as it moved down the curve of his cheekbone and into the natural hollow below. I slipped down closer, turning on my side, facing him, my hand still on his hair. I stretched my legs out behind me, and alongside of him, and I lay there, letting my face rest right on his outstretched arm. Again there came the shocked gasps and sighs, and I tried to keep my heart absolutely pure of pride and pure of anything but love. It was not differentiated or defined, this love, but only love, the love I could feel perhaps for one I killed or one I succored, or one whom I passed in the street, or for one whom I knew and valued as much as him. - The Vampire Armand, pp. 368-369 (emphasis is mine)

But the contrasting absolute annoyance Armand has for Lestat is hilarious! He loves him but can barely stand him sometimes (that isn't unusual for Lestat's admirers).

Lestat, not a bad friend to have, and one for whom I would lay down my immortal life, one for whose love and companionship I have ofttimes begged, one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying, one without whom I cannot exist. The Vampire Armand, p. 276

But it's the way he describes things that happen to him that maddens me, the way that he connects one incident to another as though all these random and grisly occurrences were in fact links in some significant chain. They are not. They are capers. And he knows it. But he must make a gutter theatrical out of stubbing his toe. The James Bond of the Vampires, the Sam Spade of his own pages. - The Vampire Armand, p. 288 (emphasis mine)

Though Armand's head on Lestat's arm might be the most beautiful image of the two of them from any of the books, this line gives me chills every time:

"Lestat, my Lestat - for he was never theirs, was he? - my Lestat was crazed and railing as the result of his awful saga […]" - The Vampire Armand, p. 320 (emphasis mine)

Yes, your Lestat.

[unabashegirl]

The Cover — sneak peak

Y/N and Harry, lifelong best friends, pretend to be a couple for a family wedding weekend in Edinburgh. As they navigate the event, old feelings resurface, and what starts as an act turns into something real, leading them to confront their true emotions for one another.

Author's note: hello, the cover has already been posted on Patreon, but I wanted to give you a sneak peak to it. Just in case you want to give it a read on my Patreon. It's a four part story. The final part will get posted tonight.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all chapters, various one shots and much more :)

masterlist

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Harry sat next to Y/N, his body half-turned toward her as he read a book, legs tucked beneath him like a cat seeking comfort. There was a distinct softness about him when he was in his own space, away from the flashing cameras and curious eyes of the public. His hair, dark and messy, tumbled over his forehead, catching in the dim light, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with his usual confident and polished public persona.

He wore a simple white t-shirt, the fabric clinging loosely to his lean frame. His broad shoulders spoke of strength, but his posture, slightly hunched as he leaned into his book, gave off an air of vulnerability. His long fingers traced the edges of the pages absentmindedly, and now and then, his green eyes flicked up from the book, studying Y/N with a kind of quiet amusement, like he was aware of the unspoken understanding that lay between them.

Harry had always been attentive, almost in a way that felt second nature, as though he knew more about her moods than she did. There was something undeniably magnetic about him—his laugh was a little softer here, his voice a touch lower. His fame could never overshadow the gentle heart he showed her when they were alone.

Y/N’s eyes hovered over the same paragraph for what felt like the hundredth time. The words blurred together, the meaning lost as her mind wandered to the man sitting beside her. She was supposed to be reading a novel on leadership—something meant to inspire her as she navigated her demanding corporate job—but her thoughts kept drifting back to him. It was ironic, really. The book talked about control and decisiveness, yet here she was, lost in the one thing she couldn’t control: her feelings for Harry.

She had always found him attractive. No—more than attractive. Beautiful in the kind of way that felt effortless. His messy hair, the way his lips quirked into a half-smile, those green eyes that seemed to see straight through her… It all added up to someone she could never quite believe was real. He’d always been larger than life to her, even before the fame. Back when they were younger, when they were just two young adults with dreams and no idea where life would take them.

But then, his life had soared into stardom, and hers had stayed grounded in the corporate world. He became Harry Styles—the Harry Styles—and she remained his best friend, hidden away from the glamour of his world. She had watched as women swooned over him, throwing themselves at his feet, and she had silently swallowed her feelings. She knew she could never compete. He was out of her league, in every possible way.

And yet, sitting here next to him, as close as they were, it was impossible not to be reminded of just how deep her feelings for him ran. His presence had always had this effect on her, an electric undercurrent that made her skin tingle and her heart pound just a little harder. She stole a glance at him over the top of her book. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her mind.

That’s what made it all so painful—he would never see her that way. She was just Y/N, his best mate, his confidant. The one person who was always there, but never the one he looked at with desire. She felt a knot tighten in her chest as she allowed herself, for just a moment, to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If she were someone else. If he saw her the way she saw him.

As if sensing her gaze, Harry suddenly looked up, catching her in the act. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile, and he set his book down on the coffee table.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked, his voice low, breaking the silence between them. His eyes locked onto hers, and the way he studied her made her feel exposed, as though he could read her thoughts without her saying a word. “You’ve been staring at that same page for ages.”

Y/N quickly dropped her gaze, closing the book to avoid his probing eyes. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, though the heat rising to her cheeks gave her away.

He tilted his head, not buying it for a second. “Come on,” he coaxed, a teasing edge to his voice. “Spill it. I know you. You’ve got that look.”

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to laugh it off. “What look?”

“The one where you’re overthinking everything,” he said, leaning back against the couch, still watching her closely. His gaze softened. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as Harry’s green eyes bore into hers, his expression filled with gentle concern. She had always struggled to lie to him. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he truly cared, she felt like he could see right through her. The panic rose quickly, threatening to bubble over, and she knew she had to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the thoughts that were tangled up in her mind.

She blurted out the first thing that came to her. “My cousin’s getting married.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Which cousin?”

Y/N let out a long sigh, glad for the distraction, though the topic she’d chosen wasn’t much better. “The worst one. Out of the three, I mean. You know, the one who’s always got something to say about everything. Perfect life, perfect fiancé, perfect job… perfect everything.”

Harry’s expression softened into one of amused sympathy. He knew exactly the kind of family pressure Y/N was talking about. He stretched out his legs, making himself more comfortable, as if settling in for a story. “Ah, her. That sounds like fun,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Y/N rolled her eyes, tucking her legs beneath her as she faced him. “It’s not just her. It’s the whole family. They’re all so excited, and for some reason, they’re all hell-bent on me bringing a date.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, but everyone keeps asking if I’m bringing someone. They’re already assuming I’m going to show up with a ‘plus one,’ and I just… I don’t want to deal with the humiliation of telling them I’m still single. Again.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, a small frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her thoughtfully. “Y/N, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you don’t want to bring someone, then don’t. Your family’s expectations shouldn’t dictate your happiness.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

Y/N smiled weakly, appreciating the sentiment, but her heart was still heavy with the weight of the situation. “I know, but it’s just… hard. It’s like they see me as incomplete because I don’t have someone.” She let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t understand that I’m happy with my life. But at a wedding, it’s like a flashing neon sign that I’m alone.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze softening even further. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then paused, seemingly deep in thought.

Y/N bit her lip, realizing she was rambling, but it was easier to talk about this than the real issue she was trying to avoid. And with Harry sitting so close, his concern for her so palpable, it made her feel even more off-balance. Every time he cared, every time he listened so intently, it reminded her of how much she longed for something more than just friendship.

But that wasn’t an option. Not with him. So, she buried it all under the wedding invitation and the pressures from her family, hoping it would be enough to keep him from asking more.

Harry studied her for a long moment, eyes searching her face like he could sense there was something more she wasn’t saying. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing together in that way he always did when he was thinking hard.

“Is that really why you’re freaking out?” he asked gently, his voice laced with quiet skepticism.

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the question catching her off guard. She hated how easily he could see through her, but she wasn’t about to crack. Not when it came to her deeper feelings. So, she nodded quickly, clutching onto the family wedding excuse like a lifeline. “Yes, it is. It’s a big issue, Harry. Every time I visit my family, it just… it tears me down a little more. They make me feel like I’m somehow falling behind because I don’t have someone. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed softly, his eyes softening with sympathy, though there was still a trace of doubt in his gaze. Without saying anything more, he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book again, his fingers absently running along the spine.

For a few minutes, silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sounds filling the room. Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye, heart still racing from the close call. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pushed further—if he managed to pry open the lid she’d been keeping on her feelings. She shifted in her seat, trying to focus on her book, but the words refused to make sense.

Then, just as she was beginning to lose herself in her own anxious thoughts, Harry broke the silence.

“I’ve got an easy solution,” he said suddenly, his voice calm and casual, like he hadn’t just spent several minutes in contemplative silence. He didn’t even look up from his book. “I’ll go with you.”

Y/N blinked, his words not quite registering at first. “What?”

He glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll be your date. To the wedding,” he clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Problem solved.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her mind racing to catch up. “You… you’re serious?” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Harry Styles, her best friend—and secret crush—offering to be her date to her cousin’s wedding?

“Of course,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “If it’ll make things easier for you, I’m in. I’ll go, smile for the family, and be the perfect distraction. You won’t have to deal with any awkward questions about being single.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned. He made it sound so simple, like it was no trouble at all. But for her, it was anything but simple. Having him at her side, pretending to be her date, while she tried to keep her feelings under control… It sounded like both a dream and a nightmare all at once.

She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, closing his book and turning his full attention to her now. His gaze was steady, sincere. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. If this is stressing you out, let me help. I’d be happy to go with you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of him being there, by her side, at a time when she felt most vulnerable. But at the same time, the reality of pretending—of standing next to him, feeling things she shouldn’t, knowing it was all just for show—made her feel dizzy.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost unsure...

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Some of @render-me-usless' Fav Fics!

If you want to make me a list let me know in IM. You can do whatever you want, fave fics, fav tropes or even check out the pending asks page and fill one of those.

Where to Search for Snow by suburbanmotel

(1/1 I 8,954 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles and his Gigantic Repressed Feelings accidentally affect the weather. A lot. Like. A lot.

//

  “It’s snowing, Stiles,” says Derek.

Stiles looks up. He nods. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

Derek looks at him. “It’s snowing, Stiles. In your bedroom.”

Stiles and the Seven Wolves by SylvieW

(1/1 I 10,421 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles is Snow White, Kate is the Evil Queen, and when Chris the Huntsman doesn't kill him, he runs off to live with seven werewolves.

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane

(1/1 I 33,552 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles has always known that he isn't quite human - the plant life that tends to sprout around him whenever he gets upset or excited gives it away. He's never really fit in among the regular people in Beacon Hills and is determined to wait it out, go to college, and find somewhere to belong. He's forced to abandon those plans, however, after he desperately agrees to enter into an arranged marriage to save his father's life.

An arranged marriage with an angry, sometimes furry dude with trust issues. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, without the singing candlesticks.

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(2/2 I 81,018 I Teen I Sterek)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth.

“Not too close, he bites.”

Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting.

“He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton.

The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.”

“Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek.

He looked extremely displeased.

Three Marks by sanam

(8/8 I 113,736 I Mature I Sterek)

"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt."

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

A Desperate Arrangement by mikkimouse

(25/25 I 115,506 I Explicit I Sterek)

"I'm sorry, I believe there's something wrong with my hearing," Stiles said. "Because I could have sworn you just told me you set up a betrothal agreement with the Hales. A betrothal agreement involving me. Me."

Scott smiled his easygoing smile and nodded, which told Stiles no, he hadn't misheard a damn thing.

After seven years of lengthy negotiations, the treaty between the Hales and the Argents has fallen apart and the two countries fell into war.

Months later, there's an uneasy truce, thanks to the intervention of King Scott McCall, but it won't last. In a desperate attempt to maintain the peace, the Hales sign a treaty with the McCalls to marry Prince Derek to Prince Stiles Stilinski, King Scott's brother.

In the history of the world, there have been many better ideas.

Black and Blue by charlotteinlace

(50/50 I 209,549 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles knows what he should be doing, finding a good Dom and seeing a few dozen therapists. But that shit can wait, right now he's got a gang to infiltrate and a murderer to find. A murderer who killed his father.

[strawbslvr]

How shifting finds us at the right time! + Me before and after shifting.

TW!!!! Mention of su!c!de, family issues, depression, fucked up mental health! And lots of yapping!

@a-fish-learningtowalk

Let’s go back all the way to 2022. At the start of the year I found out about subliminals, so basically I was scrolling through YouTube and there was this video that popped up every time I refreshed my home page. It was something like “Glow up in a day” ,the thumbnail was a pretty girl and the video was like 1 minute and something long so I was like “why are they capping, glow up in a day and the literal video is 1 minute long??! What a sick joke” but out of curiosity I clicked it and then I was welcomed with MUSIC and then I was like “hah! I knew they were capping, this is just music!” But I went to the comment section and there were literally people saying

“Omg this is a masterpiece! My mom came to my room and told me how pretty I look”

Then someone was also like “this literally gave me results in a week.

Edit: A GIRL TOLD ME IN SCHOOL HOW PRETTY I LOOK!!!”

Those were the comments that I still remember cause they confused me the most. After that I was just like ???tf? But when I went to the description I saw a term “sub” few times and then there was used the term “subliminal” so I just assumed that the term sub was just short for subliminal.

I went and searched what the fuck did I just see aka I just searched what is subliminal. There was this woman in a video that explained it and at first i obviously was like “what the fuck? This is so cool and too good to be true” cause babe wdym I can listen to an audio that can change my appearance and all of that stuff.

Well that’s how I just viewed it to be which isn’t exactly the case.

I listened to some subs for the rest of the night but I was just so disappointed when I woke up the next day and saw no results and just immediately guessed that this was just plain cap. And after that I stopped listening to subliminal but the craziest part was like I totally forgot they existed like after that. (I will tell more later!)

Summer 2022

At this time I got into my k-pop phase I was constantly daydreaming of my group and how I wanted it to be, literally imagining scenarios throughout the day and I literally wrote in Pinterest “K-pop idol scenarios”💀 I was deadass.

Then in one scroll I found a bunch of scenarios from TikTok, (they were just screenshotted and put into Pinterest.) it was like “scenarios for your K-pop Dr” at first I was like tf is a Dr? But I just decided to ignore it and move on and just read the scenarios cause they were good but that Dr term continued to pop in every picture I saw and then I truly got curious. To which resulted in me searching what is a Dr? Google said it’s a short for desired reality, and I just assumed sum stupid shit.

Anyways 2022 came to an end. And I TOTALLY forgot about subliminals and K-pop idol scenarios and tf is a Dr. like I’m not joking I totally forgot those existed.

2023 start.

The year I turned 18, yippeee!! So the start of the year was somewhat ok, few months later I started getting problems with my parents. Arguments with my parents, especially dad increased like A LOT. My parents started to get mad at some stupid stuff, their temper was just like shit. School started pressuring and at that period I had A LOT of exams (I still do but 👀) I didn’t have time for myself and I also got sick a lot. And few months passed in this environment and at some point I just admitted that I feel anxious, stressed, suffocated and depressed. Then I got told that my aunt is suffering from this sickness and she needs to do surgery but they had financial issues and the surgery got postponed a lot due to the money missing and that didn’t help my aunt’s health at all. and bro feeling shitty isn’t a surprise at this point. At some stage I decided if this is the life I’m going to live, I don’t want to live at all. I was very su!c!dal, and I attempted like two times but luckily didn’t do it.

2023 summer

One subliminal popped into my YouTube page again, it was something like “goddess like beauty, confidence and a better self concept” thing I’m not sure and then I was like “oh right! These things exist!” And I just listened to it for fun and surprisingly I felt better in few days. And those were few of the best days in the last 6 months of my life. I started actively listening to subliminals and actively affirming. I’m talking about every morning and every night before I go to sleep at least for 30 minutes. And then dududuudud

I found a subliminal about reality shifting and then I again was like “wait? This is that reality traveling thing, how can I forget this?” And I actually asked myself why didn’t I try it before? The summer my journey was honestly mostly jokes and fun, didn’t take it seriously and just did it for the excitement it gave me. But about 2023 fall I actively started scripting and took the journey a bit more seriously than before.

2024 fall. Now.

I still got a lot to improve and a mindset to work on. But I’m just happy of where I am now. I found a reason to live for and like a dark tunnel where at the end you find the light. Shifting brought me hope and genuine peace knowing something like this exists. My aunt did the surgery and she is healing little by little but at least she can practice her normal day life,she still got some checks here and there but nothing compared to what she was in before. I seriously stopped listening to anti shifter since they are just trying to demotivate y’all and me too. If I haven’t found out about shifting I don’t think I would still be here. Shifting seriously finds us at the time we need it the most!

[cinnaleaf]

ESSENCE OF US - CH 6: IN LIMBO*

Please read responsibly. This fic will get hot and heavy as the story progresses, 18+ only MDNI | READ CH 5 | MASTERLIST | READ CH 7 [soon]

summary: a fleeting encounter with a mysterious Trent leaves you wondering if fate is playing a bigger match. your paths continue to cross in unexpected places as the fragrances around you mirror the growing tension between you. maybe it's just a coincidence..or maybe its destiny in the making.

warnings: ANGSTY, SMUT, unprotected sex, language, intense anxiety genre: angst, fluff, slow(ish) burn romance wc: ~7.6k a/n: L'Équilibre Caché means hidden balance

A couple of months passed since you and Trent made things official. You weren’t sure how time flew by so quickly, but it felt right. In the beginning, you were inseparable; always at his house or your apartment, grabbing late night eats, or waking up to the best cuddles and lazy kisses. However, recently things slowed down. Life happened. Trent was busy with football, and you were buried deep in preparation for your perfume launch. It was taking longer than you anticipated, thanks to a very handsome distraction. 

You glanced around Les Notes d’Amour, inhaling the mix of floral, citrus, and spice elements that lingered in the air. The launch was still a few months away, but your nerves were starting to creep in because nothing felt solid yet. As much as you hated to admit it, this was your most personal creation and you didn’t want to mess it up. You sat at the counter with your lavender notebook open, absentmindedly scribbling ideas for any new scents you could add as you watched a live interview of Trent on your phone. God, he looked so good. How could someone look so sexy post match? You continued scribbling and jotting down ideas on different pages for inspiration. One page was blank, except for a small doodle of a solar eclipse in the corner with a sentence written that said ‘I want you for as long as the stars shine’, but you didn’t notice it as you flipped past since you were too occupied by how good he looked on your screen. Seeing his smile always gave you butterflies, even if it was just on a phone screen. 

“Mate, I gotta ask..” the interviewer said, leaning forward. “what aftershave are you wearing? You smell amazing.”

You froze, the pen dropping against the notebook paper immediately. 

Oh, shit. Please don’t.

Trent grinned, clearly enthralled by the compliment as he reached in his jacket. “Ahh, this? It's custom..one of a kind actually. Made just for me by my gi–umm… someone close.”

No, no, no. He almost said girlfriend, there’s no way no one caught that.

“It's called Rêveur,” he said, pulling out the bottle and holding it up for the camera. He tried to be subtle, he really did, but he failed miserably—like always. He turned the bottle in an attempt to hide the logo, but in his excitement he twisted it back to reveal the full label: Rêveur by Les Notes d’Amour. Y/N L/N.

Fuuuuuuuck. 

You felt your stomach drop. This was it. The final puzzle piece the media needed to confirm you were his girlfriend. The suspicions were already there of course, but there wasn’t a clear and definite answer until now. Your phone started going off immediately as banners popped up at the top of your screen. Emails, notifications, messages, website inquiries. You stared at the screen while the interviewer looked at the bottle with curious eyes. Trent was completely clueless about leaking the label. He stood there with the biggest smile on his face, going on about how special it was and how much he loved it. It would’ve been a cute moment if it weren’t for the logo being caught on screen in 4k quality. You grabbed your phone, frantically texting him as your fingers moved at the speed of light.

WTF??? LOGO ON SCREEN!! YOU HAD ONE JOB

You sat there, fumbling back and forth between the live interview and your texts as you waited for his response. There was no way he was going to see your text while he was on camera, but it was worth a shot. Your anxiety started creeping in like an iron grip. Both of you were trying so hard to keep things lowkey, and he just tossed your name out there like it was nothing. You swiped back to your texts, adding another message as your fingers typed furiously. There was no way out of this anymore, it was done. Fully revealed.

?????? YOU JUST OUTED US LIVE ON TV

Everything was blowing up, everyone had seen your name. “Fucking fantastic,” you muttered under your breath as you flipped your phone face down on the counter. “This is going to be a disaster.” 

The door chimed about an hour later with a group of teenagers barging in, extremely loud and voices filled with energy. They couldn’t have been older than sixteen. You immediately felt your blood pressure rise when you saw them eyeing the fragrances and giggling. 

“Aye, is this the place that made Trent’s aftershave?” one of the boys asked, already making his way to the shelves to pick up a tester fragrance that was definitely not Rêveur. You never planned on selling it. It was supposed to be something special—something just for Trent.

“Yeah bro, it’s gotta be,” his friend answered, spraying half of a tester bottle in the air. The sweet, musky scent of tonka bean and coconut filled the room instantly as you saw him juggling the bottle so carelessly. 

“Be careful with that!” you called out, stepping forward just as the bottle slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor. The scent of coconut and tonka bean flooded the room and you felt your chest tighten. 

Fucking perfect.

One of the girls snickered. “Oops, sorrrrryyyy” she said, though it was clear she really didn’t give a fuck. You forced a smile but internally, you were screaming.

Get out, get out, get out.

“Is Trent your boyfriend or somethin’?” another boy asked, picking up another bottle and spraying it into the air. “That’s ace.”

No, not ace. Stressful. Stressful as hell, actually. 

After what felt like an eternity, they finally left, slamming the door behind them in a fit of giggles as you tried to clean up the mess. There was an overwhelming scent of tonka bean and coconut which was starting to make your head pound. You barely had time to breathe before the next customer walked in. The woman was in her mid-fifties with a stiff bob, you know the one. She immediately stormed up to the counter with a sense of entitlement and you knew exactly what was coming next. 

“Excuse me,” she said, dripping with impatience. “I’ve been calling for over an hour and no one has answered. Give me that aftershave everyone’s talking about. I need it for my husband. The one Trent Alexander-Arnold mentioned on the telly.”

Your headache intensified immediately. “Sorry ma’am, it’s not for sale,” you replied, trying to stay polite as possible. You knew this lady was going to be the most annoying person ever and you weren’t in the mood for it. At all. “Not for sale?” She blinked, clearly offended. “That’s ridiculous. Who would make something, advertise it, and not sell it? What about the customer experience? That’s just bad business.” You took a deep breath, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “It’s custom. It’s not available to the public.”

“Well that’s poor planning, isn’t it?” she snapped. “What kind of business is this? I want to speak to the manager.”

Lady, I AM the manager. Fuck off. Just LEAVE. 

You took a deep breath before responding, “I own the place. The aftershave isn’t for sale..sorry.” After hearing a long spiel about how terrible your business model was, she finally left after muttering something about never coming back. Thank god. You exhaled, rubbing your hands against your aching temples. 

Fuck, I need a paracetamol. 

But of course, the universe was not on your side today. The door chimed again, this time it was an American tourist in head to toe designer. You immediately cringed seeing the abundance of huge branded logos clashing against each other: Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Fendi and Prada all in one outfit? Jesus, did she hop on a plane right after visiting Rodeo Drive? “Ohmygawd, is this where Trent got his cologne?!” she exclaimed, her valley girl accent was unmistakable. She had to be from California. Behind her, her bored looking boyfriend leaned against a display, not interested in the slightest.

Ugh. Here we go again.

“I like, really need to get it for my boyfriend,” she continued, her voice in complete vocal fry. “Do you guys have it?”

“It’s not for sale, sorry,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure. Her face fell as she flipped her blonde hair back dramatically with a pout. “Ugh, seriously?? I totally would’ve bought like five bottles. I bet it smells soooo good.”

“Babe, can we go? I wanna hit the pub before they close.” her boyfriend asked, lazily scrolling through his phone. After a few more whiny complaints, she finally left and dragged her very disinterested boyfriend behind her. You were standing in the middle of the shop as the scent of coconut and tonka bean lingered in the air, your nerves fried and head pounding so hard it was starting to make you feel nauseous and dizzy. Customers poured in all day begging for ‘The Trent Scent’. That’s what they were calling it now instead of Rêveur. It had officially gone viral.

You closed your eyes once people stopped shuffling in, trying to give yourself a few minutes of peace from the overwhelming scent and incessant ringing. But of course, the universe had other ideas. Your phone rang and as soon as you glanced at the screen, your stomach twisted immediately–Mum.

Fucking hell. Out of all days?

You debated not answering, but you knew she would keep calling until you did. This wasn’t going to be a casual check-in, and you definitely didn’t have the energy for a follow up interrogation later on. It was best to get it over with now. You sighed, swiping to accept the call.

“Hi Mum.”

“Y/N! We were just talking about you!” Your mother’s voice was overly cheery, which meant she was about to start going on a long winded spiel about how proud she was—of the wrong things. “That’s...great,” you replied, already feeling a cloud of exhaustion sit over you. “Your dad and I just saw that interview with the footballer, Trent,” she continued, completely skipping over the fact that she didn’t even ask you how you were. “It’s wonderful you’re making such good connections. He’s very successful Y/N. Exactly what you need in your life.” You pressed your lips together, fighting your instinct to hang up right then and there. Of course that’s all she cared about. “Yeah…” you said vaguely, not wanting to get into the nitty gritty details. You weren’t going to tell your parents you were on the verge of a breakdown or that you were struggling to keep it together. They wouldn’t understand. They never did. 

“You’re really making something of yourself now,” your dad chimed in, they must’ve had you on speaker. “I always knew you could do it. You’re finally setting a proper example for your brother and sister.”Ah, yes. That constant reminder. The example you were supposed to be setting. A perfect, polished version of yourself that never existed. They wanted you to be perfect so badly that they were willing to go to extremes. It was never about you; it was always about how you looked to everyone else, even your younger siblings. Your chest tightened at the thought of your brother and sister. You loved them more than anything. They were the only reason you still kept in touch with your parents at all. But this constant pressure to be perfect and be their shining trophy was suffocating you.

I really need a holiday, you thought to yourself. 

“Mum..Dad…” You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice from trembling. “I’ve been really busy with work, it’s been... a lot.”

“We’re so proud of you,” your mom chimed in next. “We always knew you could achieve good things. With Trent you’ll go even further! It’s important to have a man like him supporting you. You lucked out with that one.”

Lucked out?? How am I related to these people?

Your grip tightened on the phone. This happened every time. They didn’t care about you. They only cared about what Trent’s success could do for their image of you. An image you were struggling to mirror. An image that was threatening to crack.

“I–I’m not with him because of his career,” you muttered. But of course, they didn’t hear you over their vain voices. “Ezzie and Ziggy really look up to you, Y/N. This is exactly the type of relationship they should see. A real power couple. Now they know what success looks like” your dad added. That comment stung in more ways than one. Your parents usually spoke about your siblings by using their actual names–Esme and Isaac. You gave them the nicknames Ezzie and Ziggy because they were twins, plus, their nicknames sounded a lot cuter than Esme and Isaac. You were the only person who called them that–you had a myriad of nicknames for them, but your parents only used those nicknames when they wanted to get under your skin. It was used it as a manipulation tactic, a way to say ‘Hey, don’t fuck this up this time. They look up to you’. It made your skin crawl, each word they spoke felt like a punch to the gut. They didn’t care if you were happy, if you were stressed beyond belief, or if you even wanted that type of attention. All they saw was status and an image of success that they could parade around to the world. Pressure began building in your chest which made it harder to breathe. Your voice came out strained, desperate to end the call. “I have to go. Still working.”

“Oh, of course,” your mum said in a light tone, completely unaware that you were on the verge of an anxiety attack. “We’re so thrilled. We always knew what you were capable of.”

“Um, y–yeah. Bye, talk later.”

You hung up before they could say anything else. Your hands started shaking as soon as you set the phone down. The shop was silent but the lights felt bright suddenly, the tonka bean and coconut scent in the air made you feel physically ill. The weight of their words was crushing you and pressing down on your chest until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. You didn’t want to let yourself break and tried to blink the tears back. The tightness in your chest wouldn’t let up. It felt like the soft, creme colored walls were threatening to close in on you. The weight of their expectations, the pressure to be perfect..it was suffocating you from the inside out.

I’m not enough. I’m never enough. Why can’t I just be me? 

You squeezed your temples as the throbbing in your head from the spilled perfume pulsed in time with your heartbeat. The heavy scent of coconut and tonka bean was suffocatingly sweet, squeezing you. Your mind kept whispering, negative words echoing like the cruellest reminder that you would never be good enough. You pressed a hand against your forehead, trying to ease the pounding but it got worse. Tears streamed down your face before you could stop them, spilling over as thoughts settled on you like the world’s largest boulder.

E and Z still think I’m the only person in this world who has it together. I have to keep it together. For them.

You couldn’t stand the idea of failing them. They were one of the few people who saw you for who you really were. The twins were the first two people to believe in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. They tested every scent you made, bragging to all their friends about how their sister was the best in the industry.

Ziggy’s face flashed in your mind. He was always smiling. It was the same infectious grin that reminded you so much of Trent. He had the same confidence as him, walking onto a pitch like he owned it despite only being fifteen. He was so protective over you and Ezzie. He played with his heart on his sleeve, always the first to support his teammates just like Trent. And then there was Ezzie. She was sharp, stylish, and always quick with a comeback. She had an arsenal of them ready to go at any time. She looked like a mini version of you, but acted just like Camille. She had the same fiery spark, and the confidence to walk in a room and own it; all while dressed in the latest fashion trends. She never missed a beat and was always ready to roll her eyes at the world and give you tips on how things should be done. She was a little diva. You admired her but could never quite match her wit. Although beneath all her sass, she had the biggest heart. 

The twins were your heart, your compass when you were lost in a sea of thoughts. 

Ezzie would tell me to stop being dramatic and ‘lock it up’ like Camille, you thought. The tears were still streaming down your face. 

“I can’t let them down,” you whispered.

You made your way to the back of the shop, each step felt heavier and it was getting harder to focus on anything other than the sharp, dizzying pain in your head. You couldn’t think straight with the wave of panic rising inside of you. As you stumbled to the back you started thinking about Trent.

What’s he going to think when he finds out I can’t handle this? He’s not going to want me anymore.

You were feeling lightheaded; it felt like you were floating outside your own body...like you were watching everything happen from a distance. You were here but not really here. Your mind was trying to escape the suffocating pressure wrapping around you. You gripped the counter for support when you made it to the back room. The room felt like it was spinning and your breathing was fast and shallow.

He needs someone who can handle the pressure of being with him..I’m failing him..and everyone.

You saw Trent’s smiling face in the back of your head. Something that made you feel butterflies a few moments ago was now making you feel like you were burning alive.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe I misread everything about us. I should’ve seen this coming.

Your heart raced, vision tunneled; all you could do was stand there, frozen in place and unable to think past the storm within you. Just when you felt like you may pass out, the door to the shop opened again but you barely registered the sound of the bell in your dissociative haze. Camille’s voice cut through the storm, “Y/N?! why aren’t you answ–”

You blinked and tried to focus, but the room was still spinning and it took every ounce of effort just to turn around and face her. She took one look at you and immediately crossed the room toward you.

“Hun...what’s going on?” her voice was soft yet firm as she reached to steady you. “You have to calm down.” You tried to speak and tell her you were fine but your words wouldn’t come out. All you could do was shake your head while tears started streaming down your face again. Camille wouldn’t let you push her away, you tried before early in your friendship as an act of self-sabotage and failed. She led you to the nearest chair and guided you to sit. “Y/N, please breathe. Slow, deep breaths. In. Out. Okay?”

You were trying to follow her instructions but each breath felt forced. Your chest was burning but eventually Camille’s presence grounded you and the world came back into focus. “I love you,” she said, handing you a bottle of water. “but you can't keep doing this to yourself. You’re going to burn out.” You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I’m fine. I just need a minute,” you croaked. Camille let out a long sigh, “No, you’re not fine. You need help. You can’t keep doing this all by yourself and you know it. You’re stressed.” You wanted to argue that you could handle it but the words died before you could get them out. In actuality, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep going like this. The added pressure of being perfect, the public eye now on you, and a booming business felt like too much at once. Self-sabotage was inevitable, and that was the one thing you were confident you could accomplish with absolute perfection. “I...I can’t hire someone Camille. I can’t. This is the only thing I have control over in my life. It’s mine..” you whispered. Camille shook her head, her expression was soft but serious. “Y/N, you cannot control everything and I need you to realize that. You can’t run this place alone. You’re going to run yourself into the ground, and then what?? What’s left after, huh?” You didn’t respond, you just stared down at the floor, fumbling with the water bottle cap as you twisted the cap around the mouth of the bottle. The thought of letting someone else in and letting go of that last bit of control terrified you after what happened the last time. You already lost so much today. Your privacy...your peace. The shop was the only thing you felt like you had left. Something of your own that could never leave you. “Look..I know you hate it,” Camille countered, as if she was reading your mind. “This shit isn’t sustainable though. You need help whether you like it or not.”

“I can’t,” you whispered. “I really can’t.” Camille’s hand squeezed your shoulder gently. “You don’t have to do it alone, Y/N. You’re going to wear yourself thin and have nothing left to give. I can’t let you go out like that, girl. Even Beyoncé has a team.” Her words pondered over you, a small chuckle escaped from your lips when she mentioned Beyoncé. Deep down you knew she was right, but the fear of letting go still had a hold on you.

“Please” Camille uttered softly. “Let someone help you. I’ll help you look, yeah? I’ll ask my dad if he knows anyone.” Your heart clenched when you heard her and you shook your head quickly. “Camille, no. I can’t let you do that. You’ve already done so much for me. I owe you everything. I can’t–” She cut you off with a gentle laugh. “Y/N, please shut up. You don’t owe me anything. That’s what besties are for, right? You hold me up when I’m down, I got you when you’re down. You’ll never walk alone as long as I'm alive. Never.”

Her words hit you hard as the sincerity of her voice broke through the walls that were suffocating you. “I..um, I’ll think about it,” you whispered in a shaky voice. Camille smiled, pulling you into a hug. “That’s all I’m asking. You don't have to make a decision right now...just let me know. We’ll figure it out later. I got you.” You nodded into Camille’s shoulder but the pounding in your head refused to stop. You pulled away, wincing from the bright lights on the ceiling. “Please tell me you have something for a headache in your bag. My head is fucking killing me ever since those teens smashed L’Équilibre Caché on the floor earlier.” Camille raised an eyebrow, fishing around in her purse. “Oh god…teenagers?”

“Yeahhh,” you groaned, pressing your hand on your forehead. “They came in..sprayed everything, and then one of them dropped it. I never want to smell tonka beans or coconut ever again.” Camille snorted, pulling out a pill and handing it over. “That’s exactly why I never want kids. Absolute chaos and they’re not tidy at all. Ew. Not for me.” You laughed before swallowing the pill down with water. “Today was a disaster. People kept asking for the aftershave I made Trent after I said it wasn’t for sale over and over. Everyone was so fucking rude about it.”

Camille laughed, shaking her head. “And that is exactly why you need help. Let someone else deal with telling people ‘we don’t have that, it’s a custom blend’ a million times a day.”

Trent sat on the plane, headphones on, iPad playing a show he found on Netflix. He was attempting to wind down after the match and leaned his head back against the seat, half listening to the show on his iPad while scrolling mindlessly through his phone until he saw a text from you. His stomach dropped as he sat up in the seat. Both texts hit him like a punch.

Y/N 🌙: WTF? LOGO ON SCREEN!! YOU HAD ONE JOB

Y/N 🌙: ?????? YOU JUST OUTED US LIVE ON TV

His heart pounded as he thought about the interview in his head, trying to piece together what he did wrong. He replayed the interview on his iPad, dread hitting him instantly when he realized he held up the bottle with the logo in full view. He was trying to be careful and keep the logo hidden, but he didn’t. He knew you hated the spotlight. You were always so careful about keeping things between you private and you didn’t want the media to twist your relationship into something it wasn’t. Because of his mistake, you were thrust right into the middle of the lights you wanted to avoid at all costs. Trent rubbed his face with both hands as guilt plagued him. He should’ve been more careful. He knew better than to bring the bottle out in the first place but he was just so excited. He was so caught up in the moment, proud of the scent you created for him, and the meaning behind it. He wanted to show you off so bad, he wanted the world to see how amazing you were despite your bashfulness. Most of all, he wanted you to see yourself in the same light. But because of his excitement, he gave the media and internet sleuths the final piece they needed for their puzzle. He glanced out the window of the plane as the night sky stretched beyond the wing. His teammates were joking and talking around him but all he could think about was you.

I fucked up. I really fucked up.

Your panicked texts replayed over in his mind.

I should’ve been more careful. What was I thinking?

He closed his eyes, leaning back in the seat as he turned some music on in his headphones to drown out the laughter surrounding him on the plane. All he was thinking about is how you were feeling right now. He wished he would have seen your texts sooner. He knew you were probably overwhelmed and panicking about what was going to happen next. He had grown to know your anxiety but didn’t quite know the full extent of it just yet. He knew how much the public eye weighed on you and he just added to that burden.

She didn’t want this and I did it anyway. Fuck..I’m going to lose her.

The rest of the flight home felt like it lasted forever. Every thought in his mind was of you. Would this push you away? Did you even want to be with him after this slip up? Trent clenched his jaw, desperately trying to figure out how he could make this right. The more he thought about it, the more helpless he felt. The interview wasn’t something he could undo. It was a permanent reminder that he hurt you inadvertently. He never wanted you to feel exposed or unsafe because of him.

As the plane descended, he pulled his phone out and stared at the screen. He wanted to call you and apologize. He wanted to explain that it wasn’t intentional, but he didn’t even know if you wanted to talk to him right now. He had no idea you were falling apart back at Les Notes d’Amour. He thought you were still trying to process everything.

I have to fix this. I need her to know I’m sorry. I can’t lose her. I love her.

What if an apology wasn’t enough, though? What if this pushed you too far? The thought of it made his chest tighten and all he could do was sit as he waited for the plane to land. Guilt was suffocating him and he needed to see you. Both of you were so busy and he missed you so much that he could hardly focus on the pitch earlier.

I need to see her but I don’t know what to do.

Trent found himself pacing in his living room after he got home. He was staring at his phone and contemplating his next move like a game of chess. Apologizing was the obvious thing to do, but how was he supposed to fix this? You weren’t like any other girls he dated who wanted to be appreciated with showy gestures, expensive gifts, or extravagant holidays. You weren’t impressed by material things because you could just buy it yourself. You had your own money, your own success, and your own life. How was he supposed to fix things with someone who didn’t need him to save the day? For the first time, he didn’t know what to do to make it right. He called the one person he knew would have the perfect answer: His mum.

“Trent, everything alright? How was the match?” Diane’s voice brought him a sense of comfort but it wasn’t enough to ease the uncertainty swirling around him.

“Mum, I messed up” he said, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“What happened sweetie?”

Trent sighed and he sank into the couch. He explained how he accidentally exposed you during the live interview and how you were probably spiralling from the pressure. His mum listened quietly. She didn’t know who you were, really. They never had the conversation until now.

“And this girl?” Diane began slowly. “Tell me about her.”

“Mum, she created your favorite perfume. But she sold it to a fragrance house so her name wouldn’t be attached to it.”

Diane laughed softly. “And you didn’t think to mention her all this time?”

“I dunno Mum. It wasn’t exactly planned, y’know?” Trent began to talk about you, feeling the tension in his chest ease. He told her about the fateful encounters and how you met by chance, again and again. He told her about how it felt like his own romance movie was being written right before his eyes; he felt like the universe was putting you in front of him for a reason. It scared him, but he knew. “I’m in love with her,” he admitted. “Never felt this way about anyone before. She’s special.” There was silence on the line for a moment and Trent wondered if he said too much.

“You sound very serious about her.”

“I am,” he said. “That’s why I've got no clue what to do. Any other girl, I can just buy something nice and apologize that way.. but she’s not like that. She doesn’t really need anything from me.” His mum was quiet for a little while before her voice softened. “Maybe she doesn’t need you to buy anything. Maybe she just wants to know you’re there. She sounds like a very sweet girl.”

“Yeah…I don’t want to lose her.”

“Then don’t.” Diane said simply. “Be the person she can lean on. She probably just needs your support and understanding.”

Trent stared at his phone as his mother’s words swirled around his mind. He needed to fix this, he needed to talk to you. He needed to do something. But every time his finger hovered over your name in his contacts, doubt washed over him. He was usually so confident. What if you weren’t ready to hear from him? What if you hated him now? Finally, he took a deep breath and rang you, his heart pounding every passing second as the phone rang. 

No answer.

She hates me. 

He frowned, trying to call again but it went to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. I’m sorry about earlier, Y/N. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. Just...just call me back please.” He slumped back on the couch, staring at the phone as if you were going to call him back immediately, but nothing came.

She’s probably fuming. She always answers when I call. Fuck.

He didn’t know you weren’t actually avoiding him. You were asleep, completely knackered from the day’s emotional rollercoaster. You were tucked away in one of the few places that was a safe space for you–Camille’s family’s house. If you could call it that. It wasn’t really a home, moreso an estate. It was an architectural masterpiece that made you feel like you were in a château. The estate had sprawling grounds and manicured lawns with fountains that glimmered in the moonlight. The home was white with glass windows that stretched floor to ceiling which offered a panoramic view of the garden. It was the kind of home that showed the world just how powerful and connected Camille’s family was. No one would bother you there. There were immaculately polished marble floors, chandeliers and plush furniture that was custom and handmade. You came here plenty of times, but every time you were there, the sheer scale of the home took your breath away. It was a world away from all the chaos you experienced earlier in the day. You could always flee here and just breathe. Camille and her family opened you with welcome arms every time, insisting it was your home too. Tonight, you were thankful for their support. You needed a space that would allow you to collapse and let go. Just to dream for a little while.

Downstairs, Camille was talking to her dad in his office. The room was lined with bookshelves and decorated with fine art which was a reflection of her family’s intellect. “I’m worried about her,” Camille said, glancing up at her dad. “She really needs help...”

“I have a friend who can help,” her dad said matter-of-factly, scrolling through his phone as he reviewed names. “Wouldn’t take much to get them on board.” Camille sighed as her eyes flickered to the grand bookshelves lining the office. “Yeah..but I don’t want to push her. I don’t think she’s ready yet. I just don’t want to scare her off by making decisions for her, y’know?” Her dad looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Not about making decisions for her. Y/N just needs support and you know that. She’ll come around, give her time.” Camille nodded but she felt helpless in the moment. She wanted to fix this for you and solve everything like she did in the past, but she knew you needed to feel like you were in control.

Upstairs, you were swaddled in a blanket where nothing was expected of you. Camille’s family always made you feel welcome. Her parents were completely different from yours, always loving, generous and supportive of everything she did—everything you did too. 

You were still in uni when you and Camille met, and although you crossed paths before, you didn’t really know each other that well. She was popular and confident, her life always seemed to be perfectly together. You admired her from afar..until one day.

You found out a guy you were seeing wasn’t just seeing you, he was dating Camille too. The initial shock of the situation had you fuming and you didn’t know what to do. Should you confront him or just let it go? Camille didn’t seem like the kind of girl who would be in this type of situation at all. The stars in the sky had other plans, though. Camille was the one to approach you first, her voice calm but fierce. You didn’t know what to expect. Maybe an argument or confrontation? Instead, she laid it all out and was ready to take him down. She was a girl’s girl through and through. 

“So, what are we gonna do about this blockheaded asshole?” she asked, eyes blazing.

Something clicked between the two of you from that point on. You didn’t turn against each other like the guy probably expected. You confronted him, standing side by side as you teared into him about his lies. He never saw the force of two determined women coming his way. There was no turning back after that. You thought Camille had it all together, but she had been hurt just like you. Both of you were more similar than you thought–sharing the same love for fragrances...and apparently men. You two were inseparable after that and became a dynamic duo.

You woke up in the middle of the night feeling sudden nausea wash over you. You groaned softly, clutching the edge of the bed. Your head wasn’t pounding anymore, but the remnants of the stress from earlier was still lodged inside your body. You sat up slowly, steadying your breath as the nausea subsided. You reached for your phone on the bed side table, but when you tapped the screen, it didn’t light up. Dead. Of course it’s dead, it’s been going off all day. You plugged it into the charger and laid back down, waiting for the phone to turn on. Exhaustion pulled you back in and you fell asleep just as your phone woke from the dead.

It was 3AM and Trent still couldn’t fall asleep. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was you—how you didn’t answer his calls, hadn’t responded to his messages. He told himself it wasn’t even a full day yet, but the silence was eating at him.

With a sigh, he grabbed his phone off the bedside table, unlocking it for what felt like the hundredth time. No new notifications. No calls. No texts. He opened his camera roll to scroll through the memories you two made over the last couple of months. He wanted to feel close to you again, even if it was just through a screen. The first video he tapped on was a clip from a night at his place. You were in the kitchen wearing one of his hoodies, dancing to an upbeat song from a playlist. You had no clue he was recording and when you finally caught him, you were laughing, telling him to stop. He didn’t stop recording though, he couldn’t get enough of seeing you so happy and carefree. He continued to swipe through the roll, stopping on one where you were standing outside, looking at a full moon like it was the most beautiful thing you ever saw in your life, you loved the moon and he took note of that. Another photo featured the two of you dressed up for date night, his hand was on your waist as you stood in front of the mirror to take the picture.

He kept scrolling until he landed on a cute video of you in front of your shop, talking about something new you were working on. Your face lit up as you explained everything. He loved seeing you so passionate about your career. You weren’t like anyone else and that’s what he loved about you. You didn’t need him to complete you, he needed you. And that’s what made the thought of possibly losing you feel more painful.

Trent’s thumb hesitated when he scrolled to the last video, this one was recent. His pulse quickened just at the thought of the video, he pressed play as his breath hitched. It began with you in frame, wearing a black lace set that barely covered you. The panties featured high waisted criss cross straps that hugged your hips and left very little to imagination. The matching bra framed you perfectly, emphasizing your boobs. You stood in front of the camera, waiting for his reaction as the phone shook slightly in his hand. “You like it?”

“Fuuuck yes. You’re making me hard,” he muttered off screen with a rough voice. He zoomed the camera in on you, catching you shifting under his gaze. You turned slowly to show off the back as the barely there fabric hugged your hips in all the right places. His hand was heard smacking against your ass, making you gasp as he groaned. “You’re killing me. You look so sexy right now.”

You grinned over your shoulder, pushing your ass up against him. “Enjoy it while you can..I don’t think it’ll be on for long.” The video was meant to just be his reaction to the lingerie, but the moment he saw you his restraint snapped. “Baby..turn around for me,” he said in a low, almost desperate voice. You obeyed him, teasing him as you turned to face him fully. His breath caught in his throat when the camera panned over you, capturing every inch of the masterpiece displayed in front of him. “I could look at you like this forever,” he added in a husky voice. 

“Keep recording so we can look at it when we’re away from each other,” you said with a smirk. His voice on the video cracked, barely able to hold back his need for you. “Come here.” The camera shifted as he moved to another side of the room to set it down on a flat surface, capturing you in the perfect angle. You walked towards him, swaying your hips with your eyes locked onto his. The moment you touched him, his hands were pulling you in. He couldn’t wait to touch you.

“Please just wear this around me all the time,” he muttered. His lips grazed the side of your neck as you hummed, arching into him. “Mmm, you would love that, huh?” you teased, running your fingers over his hair as his lips trailed down your skin, kissing and biting. His hands moved to your ass, pressing you against the wall. 

“Off. Now.” he commanded. You could see how hard he was through his grey joggers and it was making your mouth water. You fumbled to unclasp the bra. As soon as it dropped to the floor his mouth was on your chest, tracing his tongue around your nipple as he tugged at the thin lace on your panties. You two were fluent in each other’s bodies, completely synchronized in every touch, kiss, and movement. 

“I need you inside me,” you whispered, feeling your body thrum with need. He wasted no time kicking off his clothes while the camera continued recording. You were on the bed now with your legs wrapped around his waist as he positioned his cock between your thighs. He entered you slowly, making you gasp as you adjusted to him. Trent buried his face in your neck, thrusting into you with slow and deliberate movements as your nails dug into his back.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

“Faster, baby. Please.” you gasped, trying to meet his thrusts because you needed more of him. His rhythm picked up as the video captured your bodies moving against each other, your loud moans and his groans. He gripped your hips, driving into you harder..deeper..until both of you were on the verge of cumming.

“Oohmygod, right there. I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, closing your eyes as you tried to focus on riding the wave threatening to crash against you. “Open your eyes, Y/N. Look at me when you cum. I wanna see you.” You opened your eyes, brows furrowed as he continued snapping into you. Your jaw dropped when the band finally snapped, your pussy pulsating and milking his cock. He came inside you, releasing white ropes just as you were coming down from your high. The video ended with both of you clinging to each other, trying to catch your breath. Trent stared back at the screen, breath uneven. The memory of that night left Trent aching for you all over again, but not for sex. He just wanted to feel your presence. He shifted in his bed scrolling through all your old texts, teasing voice notes, and random selfies. Each one was a reminder of what he was missing tonight. He had no idea what he was going to do to fix his mistake but he needed you back in his arms, period. He sighed heavily, staring up at the ceiling. He was supposed to be asleep hours ago but he couldn’t fall sleep when everything felt like it was in limbo.

Without thinking, he looked at his phone again with his fingers over your name. He knew you wouldn’t answer, you didn’t answer the entire night. But hearing your voice on the recorded greeting was comforting to him and he couldn’t stop himself. He needed to feel that tiny connection no matter how small it was. So he tapped the call button, bringing the phone to his ear, expecting it to go straight to voicemail like all the other calls. He closed his eyes waiting to hear the sound of your voice in a cadence that always made him smile.

C’mon. Just wanna hear you again.

But instead of a voicemail, there was a click, a pause, and then a soft, groggy voice. Your phone was now fully charged and you heard the ring, which woke you out of your slumber.

“Hello?”

His eyes snapped open, heart pounding out of his chest. You answered.

“Trent????”

i thought i was being so creative coming up with the name 'Love Notes' in french and apparently ariana grande has a new fragrance line named that LOL

sorry for the cliffhanger but it had to be done haha. if you made it this far, thank you for reading! lmk what you think

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 7

This story is just coming right along. I've decided that it is split into three acts. The Arrangement, The Turn, and The Embrace. The first is about Steve adjusting to his new life. The second is thinking he needs to get out of the situation. And lastly the third is about finding acceptance and love with Eddie.

Yesterday for WIP Wednesday, I finished act 1. I figure if I pace this right, each act will be roughly ten chapters. But we'll see.

In this Eddie is sweet as always, Steve goes clothes shopping, and Chrissy misunderstands what Steve is trying to do.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

~

Steve woke up to the sound of someone knocking on his door. He looked at the clock on the nightstand blearily. It was a little after nine am.

The knocking began again and he got unsteadily to his feet and wandered over to the door. He opened it.

Behind the door was a porter. “My apologies for the rude awakening, sir. But this came for you, marked ‘Urgent’.”

In the porter’s hands was a small box. Steve nodded and took the box. He set it on the side table and grabbed his wallet. He tipped the porter and grunted his thanks before slamming the door.

He trotted back over to the bed and flopped face first back into his pillows.

The next time he awoke it was more naturally, and closer to 10:30am than 9am. He rolled over on his back with a sigh. He’d missed breakfast, but he didn’t mind. He was tired. Just the feeling of nothingness clung to his chest like a heavy blanket.

He sat up and spotted the box. He picked it up and padded over to the desk. He looked around it for a moment and to his delight he found a letter opener.

“Thank god, for fussy hotels,” he murmured as he used the letter opener to open the box. He set the letter opener down and then took the box over to the sofa. He loved comfy it was despite it being black in color.

He pulled at the packaging to reveal a pair of designer sunglasses. Steve smiled as he pulled it out. Eddie must have thought of it when he heard Steve’s message about his day. All the driving around he did.

He picked up the phone and called Eddie.

“Hey, little Canary,” Eddie purred. “Did you sleep well?”

“Nearly,” Steve said with a hint of smile in his tone. “I got this urgent package from this hot rich guy that the front desk just had to wake me up for.”

“Whoops!” Eddie said, chagrin. “I didn’t think it would get there until this afternoon, sweetheart.”

Steve laughed. “It’s okay, I was able to go right back to sleep. Even remembered to tip the porter.”

“All’s well that end’s well,” Eddie said softly.

They talked for a bit before Steve said, “Oh, I was meaning to ask you. I have something I wanted to send to you. Is there an address or something I can send it to, to make sure you get it?”

“Aww...little Canary,” Eddie teased back, “you don’t have to send me anything. I like buying you things.”

“Oh I know,” Steve replied. “But I think you’ll really get a kick out this one, though.”

“Sure thing, baby,” Eddie said. “I’ll talk to Chrissy and she’ll give you a call with the information. How does that sound?”

“That sounds perfect, Eddie,” Steve murmured.

“What are your plans for today?”

Steve licked his lips as he thought about it. “Probably some clothes shopping now that I have this fancy black card to splash around.”

Eddie laughed. “You do that, baby. Just tell me which stores you’re going to so I can make sure they’re warned ahead of time about the card. Places like that are super weird about new people coming in with that kind of cash.”

“Ooh...” Steve said with a grimace. “Yeah, I saw that happen once. This woman had won the lottery or something and she came into the shop when I was there with my mom. The sales woman was absolute horrid to her and chased her out. My mom threw the newspaper on the counter and walked out. The front page had the picture of the woman and her three million dollar prize check. It was one of the few times I ever saw my mom do something remotely nice like that.”

After they hung up, Steve got up grabbed the box of truffles. He took a couple out to the box to eat while he gather up his things for a shower. He thought about hitting the gym again, but he wasn’t sure if the pink bitch was still here and he wanted to avoid her like the plague. And while he knew he could swim instead, he decided to take the day off.

Yesterday had been rough and he wanted to do a little bit of retail therapy.

Steve got dressed in his most high end clothing he had and made his way out to his car. Which he knew would be another indicator that he had come from money. His new wallet was designer, just like his new sunglasses.

He primped in the mirror a little to make sure every hair was in place and then he gathered all his stuff and made for his car.

He pulled up to the row of boutiques his mother used to frequent before she started getting her clothes from Paris and Milan. Steve personally thought these places had better quality stuff, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

He walked into the first boutique and looked around. He kept his sunglasses on until one of the sales women came up to him. Then he lifted him and set them on top of his head. He smiled at her brightly.

“Welcome to Le Chique!” she said cheerily. “How can I help you today?” She was dressed smartly in a knee length pencil skirt and cream silk blouse. She wore high heeled pumps and had her hair pulled back into a tight bun.

“Hi,” Steve greeted back. “I’m just looking to update my wardrobe. Get a little more of an adult style.”

He could see the fucking dollar signs lit up behind her eyes. She clapped her hands together and rubbed them greedily.

“Right this way,” she said, waving her arm in front of her and Steve stepped forward, further into the store. “I’m Olivia and I’ll be happy to assist you today.”

Steve tried on so many clothes he thought his head was going to spin. But never once did Olivia falter. He finally got an updated look. It was similar to what he usually wore with the jeans and polos. But he also got button down shirts and tailored slacks and pants. Everything that fit went with him and everything else that needed to be tailored would be picked up by a PA of Eddie’s and brought to the hotel.

In fact when he got back to the hotel, the mysterious PA had struck again. On his bed was a large box. As he got closer he could see it was from the shop he was at earlier today.

He didn’t know what it could be. He had everything he wanted from the shop. He had even gotten help carrying all his bags up the hotel room by a couple of porters, both of whom Steve tipped well. He kept an eye on the package the whole time he took off the tags and put away his clothes in the dresser and closet.

Once Steve was done he walked over to the package a tad warily. He knew it had come from Eddie. There was no one else it could have come from. He undid the silk ribbon and pulled it off gently. He lifted the lid and set it to the side. He then moved the tissue paper out of the way.

Inside was the most beautiful cream colored suit he had ever seen. He opened the jacket touched the black silk lining. Sticking out of the pocket of the breast pocket was a note. He pulled it out. In the loopy handwriting of the sales woman were the words, “I wanted to get you something special. I hope you’ll wear this for me when I get back to Hawkins.”

Steve shook his head, smiling fondly. He walked over to the phone and called Eddie. He bounced on the bed as it rang through.

“Hey, little Canary,” Eddie purred. “How was your shopping trip?”

“It was marvelous,” Steve giggled. “Though if you want me calling you at times other then when you buy presents, you’re going to have slow up a bit. It’s gorgeous, by the way.”

Eddie laughed. “You got me there, hon. But I’m glad you like the suit. I wanted to surprise you with it. I when I called about the card earlier, I told them that once they got your measurements to set it aside.”

“How did it get here before I did?” Steve asked, twirling the cord around his finger.

“See, I knew you would have a lot of clothes and couldn’t carry it up yourself, so I just made sure to have my little elf slip in while you were dealing with the porters.”

“Sneaky!” he crowed. “I love it. I even bought the perfect shirt to go with it. It’s black and grey in kind of watercolor like stripes. Add a black pocket square and some nice shoes I bought and I’d be the talk of the town.”

“Well you’re already the talk of my world,” Eddie murmured, causing Steve to blush dark red. “Have you eaten yet, little Canary?”

Damn. Steve knew he had forgotten something.

“No...” he whined. “I just got so excited about shopping that it slipped my mind.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll have dinner sent up to you. I think you’ll really like their hamburgers.”

Steve smiled at that. He had gone out to Benny’s to get a good burger, and they had them here. “Sounds good.”

They talked for a little bit more before Eddie had to go so that he could order Steve dinner, so they said their goodbyes and hung up.

Steve decided to take a shower while he was waiting on his food. He gathered up his things including his new hair products he bought yesterday.

He got undressed and turned on the hot water, letting the steam fill the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked at every angle of his face and had to admit that he actually looked happy. And wasn’t that a fucking trip.

He had thought he was happy before all this. Yeah, sure his dad was a jerk and his mom was useless, but he had friends, money, a car. Hell, he even had a boyfriend in this backwater hick town.

And then it all fell apart.

He hated how all his friends scattered the second the chips were down. He hated how Tommy turned tail and didn’t even try to take Steve with him. He had no doubt that soon enough the town would be all a twitter about Tommy and Carol and how cute they were together.

It was all bullshit.

The only people that cared about him were the people that would get hurt the most by all this and Steve was determined to keep them out of it.

Just before he got into the shower, the phone rang.

He let out a sigh and went to go answer it. There were only three people who had his number, Eddie, Dustin, and Eddie’s manager, Chrissy. All people Steve didn’t want to leave hanging.

“Hello?” he greeted.

“Steve?” a cool female voice asked. “This is Chrissy, Corroded Coffin’s manager. I understand you wanted to send Eddie something?”

“Oh!” Steve cried. “Yes, thank you for getting back to me so soon. Yeah, it’s not very big, say about the size of a 3x5 picture frame?” He hurried over to the desk, dragging the phone and stretching its cord to the limit to pull out a pen and some hotel stationary.

She hummed. “It’s not, risque is it?”

He laughed. “What? No! It’s nothing like that I promise.”

“Okay,” Chrissy said skeptically. “We have people opening packages before they get sent to the band so don’t send anything you don’t want a total stranger to see.”

“I promise it will mean absolutely nothing to the poor soul that opens their mail,” he informed her, “but he will absolutely get a kick out of it.”

Steve could tell she was still leery about it, but he wasn’t going to ruin the surprise.

She let out a sigh. “Fine. Here’s the address to send it to.” She rattled off an address and Steve dutifully wrote it down. “By the time it gets there, they should be back in LA, so it’ll go to their main mail box.”

He wrote band PO Box over the address and underlined it. “Great, thanks.”

“Now do you need anything else that isn’t their personal information?” she huffed.

Steve winced, he could tell she wasn’t happy being Eddie’s errand girl and by extension, his.

“No,” he said, “Just that. It’s just a small token that I think he’d like.”

“All right,” she said. “Good evening.”

“Good evening!” he chirped back.

Once she had hung up, Steve shook his head. He knew it was her job to to look out for the band. But it wasn’t that big of deal. What she think she was going to do send his dirty panties to the guy?

Not!

He looked down at himself and sighed. He had carried that whole conversation completely naked. He padded back to the bathroom and stepped into the shower.

He stepped under the stream of water and let it soothe him. He was still smarting a little from Chrissy’s attitude. She seemed friendly enough at the bar and genuinely wanted to see Eddie and Steve hit it off.

But something between then and now she had completely soured on him. That was a problem for future Steve, though. Right now in this moment he was going to enjoy his shower, watch some TV and enjoy the burger Eddie was having sent up.

~

Tag List: CLOSED

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2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

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6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

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10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

[sissylittlefeather]

A House That Has Everything: Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2 of my new series! This one came to me when I saw these amazing AI photos on Instagram made by @blackvelvetep and @_chiara975ep. (Be sure to check out their pages on Instagram!) My fic brain went crazy and this storyline was born.

Set in Regency England, Mr. Presley is the gentleman who owns and resides in Graceland Manor. Annabelle Martin is his newest maid after her parents have died and left her an orphan. Can he resist his affection for her, despite the difference in their social class?

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, masturbation (male), imagining some sexy things

Word count: ~2.4k

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Mr. Presley sighs and turns from the window. Will the responsibility of this new life never end?

******

After two weeks in her new position, Annabelle has settled into a new normal at Graceland Manor. It's not one she particularly likes or enjoys, but it's a routine at least. She's finally learned what her responsibilities are and how to do all of them. She's also met everyone in the house and learned who is worth talking to and who isn't. The other maids are not. They're both young and experienced and spend most of their time making snide comments and whispering about her. The cook, Mrs. Hall, is her favorite person, so far. She has a warm, welcoming air about her that makes Annabelle feel at home even in the big house that has no other home-like feeling. She hasn't talked to her much, but she likes her best of all anyway. And the handsome footman that answered the door when she first arrived is the cook’s son. His name is Jimmy and he's been nothing but cordial, albeit maybe a little too friendly. Most everyone else is nice enough, but she doesn't have a real companion among the group.

One of Annabelle's jobs is tending the fires in every room each morning. This means she's up before dawn every day. She doesn't enjoy that part, but it's actually quite nice to move about the house while everyone else is still asleep. Her favorite room is the library, which doubles as Mr. Presley’s private study. She never has much time to spend in there, but she does take a few minutes occasionally to look around at the books, even glancing at his desk a couple of times. He's a mess. There are papers stacked and sticking out of piles everywhere. She's not sure why, but she finds this a little endearing, even if she has sworn to hate him.

About 3 weeks after her first day, Annabelle walks into the library purposefully, ready to light the fire and try to look at the books a little. She's startled when she realizes there is a candle burning and someone sitting at the desk. There's only one person it could possibly be, so she tries to back out of the room as quickly as she can, but she hits the doorframe and it makes a loud thud. He immediately turns and stands up and she gasps.

Mr. Presley has an imposing presence even when he's not angry, so he feels almost terrifying when he is. He glares at her and Annabelle is overwhelmed with the desire to melt into the carpet.

“Where have you been?! It's freezing in here.” She shakes her head and stumbles over her words.

“I-I I'm sorry-”

“There's no excuse.” His eyes are wild and red-rimmed like he's either been crying or hasn't slept or both and his hair looks like he's run his hand through it about a thousand times. Annabelle recognizes the look of distress and her fear turns to compassion.

“Did you… have you been in here all night?” She asks in a small voice. He's obviously disarmed by the fact that she hasn't just run away from him.

“What?”

“You look like… have you slept?” She chances a step towards him and his imposing presence seems to shrink a little.

“That is none of your business! Just light the fire and get out!” He spits at her and turns away. She walks over to the fire and tends to it quickly.

As she works at the fireplace, he turns back and watches her. There was a hint of something in her voice that he hasn't experienced from anyone other than the Mrs. Hall in a very long time. Could it have been kindness?

He softens a bit as he watches her at the fireplace. Her shoulders are delicate and graceful as she works and he has the thought again that she wasn't built for this kind of hard labor. He feels an insane desire to help her, to take the task of making the fire and do it for her, but that would be inappropriate on every level. Still, something about her makes him want to throw propriety out the window and care for her the way men do in stories about knights and ladies. He's lost in this reverie when she finishes and stands up, turning back to him.

Annabelle is shocked to find him watching her when she turns away from the fire. He moves quickly to look somewhere else, but for half a second she could've sworn his expression was gentle.

“Are you finished?” He hisses, not looking at her.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Get out. Be earlier tomorrow.” His attempt to put her in the right place in his mind comes out as unnecessary coldness.

“Yes, sir.” Annabelle whispers and goes to walk from the room. But at the door, she pauses and turns back.

“You could tell me… why you haven't slept… if you wanted. No one would listen even if I tried to tell them your secrets.” For a second, he meets her eyes and the warmth he finds there soothes an ache he didn't even know he had. And then he remembers himself.

“OUT.” He tries to yell, but falters the tiniest bit. She nods and leaves the room.

Falling into the nearest chair, Mr. Presley sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. She's right that he hasn't slept. He's been holed up in the study trying to make sense of some documents since last night. Somewhere around 3am, the frustration had turned to grief and he cried for an hour or so. He was making his way back to frustration when she came in.

Why had he responded to her kindness with such cruelty? He knows the answer but isn't ready to face the reality of it.

******

In the next room, Annabelle sits in front of the fireplace crying quietly into her apron. She's so lonely and tired of the harshness with which she's treated here. There's not even anyone she could tell about her struggles. She's alone.

And why had she tried to connect with him? Not only is he a gentleman, he's her master, and not a very nice one at that. But something about him and his emotional state touched her and she felt compelled to offer herself in some way. And for no discernible reason whatsoever, his rejection hurts worst of all.

She starts to cry big, heaving sobs, knowing they're audible but no longer caring. Let them get rid of her. Maybe she could leave this miserable place and let Mr. Presley light his own fires.

******

On his way to bed, Mr. Presley hears the unmistakable sound of a woman crying coming from the drawing room. He walks quietly to the door and peeks through the crack.

The new maid.

His heart shatters when he hears the depth of her despair as she sobs. She's probably crying because he was so hateful. He lightly puts his fingertips on the door to push it open and go to her. Then he stops. It takes everything inside him to turn from the door and leave her there crying.

******

When Annabelle gets back downstairs, the kitchen is bustling with activity. Mr. Presley is entertaining later that evening, so Mrs. Hall is in a tizzy getting everything ready. Most days she does just fine by herself since she's only cooking for one man upstairs and the help downstairs, but when he entertains, she wishes she had some help. Annabelle wanders through despondently and perches on a bench.

“Love, don't you have something else to do?” Mrs. Hall asks, sweat running down the side of her face.

“Not really. I've done all my morning work already.” Annabelle kicks the floor with the toe of her shoe. She's still having to work to keep from crying.

“Get over here and help me, then. I'm assuming you know how to peel and chop.”

“Yes ma'am. I did all the cooking when I lived with my… my parents.” Her voice catches in her throat and Mrs. Hall stops and actually looks at her with her red little nose and tear-stained face.

“Love, what's got you upset?” Mrs. Hall asks as Annabelle washes her hands and takes some potatoes to peel.

“Nothing, ma'am.”

“Call me Gladys, dear.” Annabelle shakes her head.

“Oh, I could never.” Mrs. Hall laughs.

“Even Mr. Presley calls me Gladys sometimes.” Annabelle looks up at her in shock. That's far more interesting than her troubles.

“May I ask why?”

“Sure you can. I practically raised that boy. His mother passed trying to birth his twin and I had Daniel who was nearly the same age. Colonel Presley was lost for a good while after the mistress died and he paid very little attention to his son. The nanny they'd hired wasn't a very nice woman and Elvis- I mean Mr. Presley- used to spend most of his time hiding from her down here with me. He played with my boys and I taught him to cook and play the pianoforte. He's almost like a son to me, despite the difference in station.” Annabelle’s eyes widen with Mrs. Hall’s words. She tries to imagine a young Mr. Presley running through the kitchen, learning to cook and playing with servant boys. But more than the image of him as a child, it's the look that Mrs. Hall has when she talks about him that surprises her. It's a look of deep respect and love. She wonders how long it's been since Mrs. Hall has spoken with him. Maybe he has changed. “Now why don't you tell me what's got you so troubled.”

Annabelle looks down at the potato she's peeling and decides that she needs someone more than she needs to keep her own secrets.

“It's funny you mention Mr. Presley.”

“Why, love?” Annabelle sighs.

“He's the reason I was upset. Well, not the whole reason, but kind of the last thing I could handle. No one here has been very kind to me, him least of all.” Mrs. Hall nods and smiles.

“Hm. He likes you.” Annabelle looks at her with her face scrunched in shock.

“No, he does not. I assure you.”

“He likes you and he knows he shouldn't. He's trying to keep you at arm’s length.” Annabelle shakes her head.

“How do you know? Maybe he hates me?”

“If he hated you he wouldn't speak to you at all. I know my boy. He likes you.”

“No, I'm sure that's not it.” Annabelle continues peeling potatoes in silence, but her heart is pounding. Why does the prospect of Mr. Presley liking her make her knees weak?

******

That evening, Mr. Presley has several friends over for dinner. They eat and play cards and have cigars and brandy and recount their most recent adventures in London. His closest friend, Mr. Jasper Davies, asks what everyone else is wondering.

“When will you be married, then?” They're not eager to lose the company of their bachelor friend, but they know the expectation now that he's the master of a great house.

“I have no designs on marriage anytime soon.” Mr. Presley answers, knowing this won't be realistic for very long. He'll have to marry sooner rather than later. Still, he's never found any particular young lady of his station that he liked well enough to marry. There had been one girl, an actress, that he had loved quite a bit before he joined the army, but she was not a viable partner for him. None of the ladies of the county interested him and he found most of them to be rather one-dimensional and boring.

The conversation about marriage continues, but Mr. Presley has a hard time focusing. For some reason, the new maid enters his mind. He thinks about her slender white hands, too delicate for the work she does. And the way her uniform follows her curves down to her waist and then hides the rest. What he wouldn't give to be able to see her legs and feet unobstructed. He lets his imagination go even further and suddenly a picture of her naked and sprawled on his bed appears. His cock twitches in his pants and he has to adjust and clear his throat to bring himself back to reality. That's a thought he cannot have, especially not in present company.

Eventually, everyone retires to one of the many bedrooms in the house. Mr. Presley stops briefly in the library with the vague hope that the maid might be there. Of course she's not, but the brandy he's had makes his logic a little faulty. He makes it back to his bedroom where his valet undresses him and puts him in bed.

It's not long before he realizes he's staring at his fireplace, imagining the maid on her knees in front of it. This image is quickly replaced by an image of her on her knees in front of him. He curses himself for the inappropriate images in his head and the way his dick hardens at the thought of her, but he can't stop his hand from finding himself under his nightshirt. She's so pretty and kind and graceful and oh, God, he'd give anything to see her and feel her pressed up against him as they tumble naked together in the bedclothes.

He moans softly as his hand pumps his cock, sliding his foreskin back and forth, his thumb sweeping over the tip to collect the beads of precum as they gather. His hips buck into his palm and he strokes himself harder and faster. He tries to focus again on the actress that he normally thought of when he did this, but he can't. There is only the maid. The maid with her hands on him, with her mouth on him, with her thighs on either side of his hips as she sinks down onto him, with her lips parted and eyes closed as she reaches the peak of ecstasy and cries out his name. With that, he whimpers as he cums all over his hand, his cock throbbing and pulsing and leaking until his release has fully washed over him. He lays in his bed sweating and trying to catch his breath. The picture of her in his mind is so clear. He opens his mouth to whisper, but nothing comes out.

He doesn't even know her name.

******

Until next time...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

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[vitaminseetarot]

I'm Back PAC: Last Summer's Lessons 🎡

Hey everyone, I'm finally back from my unexpectedly long hiatus (I didn't mean for it to stretch out through most of September!). I had a wonky phase and had to patch myself back together. August was rather foggy. I'll just go ahead and blame it all on the astro transits. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Thanks to everyone again for joining the last game and sending me your feedback. I'm not sure if I'll do another game before the end of this year because a huge flux of free readings is fun yet exhausting, but we'll see what Vitamin's cooking up next…

I intended to release this pick a card much sooner, but I pulled out a lot of cards so it took some time to let the messages in. I even had to change the title a few times but I feel this one captures the essence of the reading. Summer's energy was bumpy for many of us, but these seasons don't come without some learning experience to take away from it at the end. This pick a card is definitely for those out there who think time flies way too fast! As autumn is rushing its way in with its Halloween Spirit (lol) before I can even finish swimming and barbecuing, now would be a good time to reflect back on the warmer months for insight.

Pick whichever pair of neon stickers are calling you. Feel free to pick more than one or whichever one resonates best.

Pile 1: Hello!+Cellphone 📳 Pile 2: OMG!+Mixtape 📼 Pile 3: Cool!+Gameboy 🎮 Pile 4: Wow!+Turntable 💿

Pile 1 - Hello! + Cellphone 📳

Gemini - Cross-Pollinate, Strength, Anger, Shark, Messenger; Page of Pentacles, 6 of Pentacles, Ace of Cups, XII Hanged Man, 10 of Swords "It's your own responsibility to EXPAND instead of just contracting"

Hey there pile 1! I had a chuckle when I pulled out Gemini along with Messenger. It fit so well with your phone sticker. "Hello!" Communication was definitely the prime area of your life that was affected during your summer season. You could have a strong Gemini influence in your chart or had a sensitive response to this last Mercury Retrograde. You may have had a lot of expectations about how summer was supposed to go, or had some goals or prospects in mind that didn't turn out as you would have liked. The retrograde energy may have caused delays in things involving communication, like waiting to hear back from a company about a job interview, or waiting to hear back from somebody via text. "Hello, is anybody out there?" Some things may have slipped in between, appointments or online marketplace opportunities that suddenly went cold; whatever the case may be, you didn't hear back and you had to learn to let it go for your own sanity.

Now that it's said and done, you may be currently caught in a slump of how to move those previous goals forward. 10 of Swords at the end almost feels like a resistance or burn out. The pigeon wants you to crack the window open as it's ready to send out new messages in new places. This last summer was like a brief dry spell, but it's not meant to stay that way forever, or even now. The wind is picking up faster than you think, and the 6 of Pentacles shows the energetic tables gradually turning. The cards are suggesting to not hold on to any resentments or frustrations about what has or hasn't happened over the last season. It was not meant to be an energy to breeze through like a cakewalk, and it's especially tough when someone who's relying on communication in some way has to contend with those frustrations. But try not to take the mistakes, failures, no-shows, and ghostings in any personal way. Whatever occurred wasn't due to some real or perceived flaw in your character, it's sometimes how people and situations are for the time. Release all the built up anger however you choose and allow the energy of autumn to flow through, because the Ace of Cups shows a renewal that will quickly wash away the anger if you let it, the way salt water can wash away the pain of fresh hurts.

There is a risk with the shark in letting negative thoughts fester. The weather will change, and with that the mind must follow closely and not be stuck in a season that has already come and gone. We wouldn't wear a swimsuit and sunglasses on a chilly autumn evening, right? So why is it so easy for us to get stuck on past events as if we never changed clothes? The shark can smell vulnerability with a sharp nose, so there is a warning against ruminating and regretting about what went wrong as this will leave you still in the water like an injured duck unaware of its dangerous surroundings. And I say "risk" and "dangerous" not to scare you. But if something in your life hasn't worked out over the summer, it's okay to try again in the fall and expect different results. You aren't crazy for doing the same thing again, things may go differently this time! The real risk is in not doing, but instead choosing to remain stuck and inactive in the mind. The only danger here is in quitting altogether.

You are meant to grow this coming season, in a way that you can witness. I feel like you have done a substantial amount of growing over this last summer, but that may not be entirely apparent to you now. There has been a level up on the subconscious level that is capable of blossoming out into external growth if given the room. You will soon be, if not now are, called to action in some area or areas of your life that needs care but has been left hanging. Summer may have left you feeling tired, but for different reasons than just being overwhelmed from tasks. It can actually get tiring for the mind to hold on to too many goals and tasks at once. It takes mental energy just to remind the brain to do a task, even moreso if your task is to remind yourself of another task! ("Be sure to set a reminder for…") Try to accomplish a little at a time to relieve your brain of them. Give yourself the chance to stand up and have another go in the boxing ring. Summer may have felt like self-sabotage, but it doesn't have to define the rest of your year. If you act now, and in confidence, I know things can change for you as the seasons show us that we are always in a state of flux. Forgive yourself for summer so you can embrace autumn's opportunities in a warm sweater.

Pile 2 - OMG! + Mixtape 📼

Dignified - Strength, Confidence, Faith, Active Online Green, Everything is Temporary; I Magician, 2 of Wands, 10 of Wands, 2 of Pentacles, 9 of Swords "CREATE RIGHT NOW not just during soft good times"

Hi, pile 2! Over the past summer, you've been focused mainly around refining your talents. It could be doing something that you're talented in, whether you know it or not, or you could have the topic on your mind. You've been hard at work in developing this area, this feels more passionate than a mere interest or casual hobby. This is like a pianist who spends most of the summer perfecting a song, or an athlete who's staying in shape in time for back-to-school try outs. This is a field you feel comfortable in, you're mostly confident about your abilities even when rigorous practice does its best to wear you out. I'm getting a sense that even though you're pretty capable at succeeding through this one interest, it may be coming at the cost of the rest of your time. There's a sense of not having enough time to focus on other ventures like a social life or relaxation, so in spite of the overall positive energy I get from your talent, it's clearly draining other parts in order to burn brighter and hotter, like a energy inefficient light bulb. Something about the bulb must change to fit your current lifestyle. This summer, you have learned the importance of balancing work with leisure.

You have been spending time working out your vision for how you want to apply your talents. You could be practicing in time to complete a project for college, or busy with expanding your portfolio. This is a very ambitious, career focused pile, and I'm getting most of you reading this one are still in school. You could have gone to summer school this year too (no shame, I went to summer school once and had a blast). Your sunny days are seen as a free space for getting more work done. Active Online Green talks about accessibility or getting the green light for something, but I'm also noticing the "Active". It's like part of your mind is always on, always active. Summer was probably not the best when it came to maintaining a steady sleep schedule, with so many things to think about and your key interest being the topmost thought. With only a few weeks composing summer vacation, too many tasks piled up can create an artificial race to meet everything by a certain deadline. "OMG!" All this backlog combined with big expectations makes for a crammed season.

At times, things can get overwhelming, but when you look back on past success, it can fuel you to keep moving forward. That's one of the great things about having a portfolio, for whenever you're doubtful about your abilities. The immensity of too much work in a short span can wear down on self esteem, but there is no room to feel bad about your talent just because it's not always perfect or things aren't completed on time. Even the most accomplished get bogged down by their work. When I see bad sleep in a reading, I get concerned because I know that, while it seems harmless at first, it can spiral down health if it's not addressed quickly. Autumn is often busier energy wise than summer as school has started, and offices run by fiscal quarters, so it's important to catch up on sleep when you get the chance. Doing a lot of work in the summer only to do more in the autumn can be tiring, so carve out short times in between to relax or do something light and easy in between the flux. Don't always look at space as an opportunity to cram more work; sometimes that space is needed for a different reason.

Find a way to balance both the practical sides of life with the fun creative aspects. There will always be time to put focus into what you want to do, even if it's only for a few minutes a day. Mixtape suggests that you may need to mix things up a little bit by not working on one thing consecutively for hours and days at a time, as not even tattoos are often finished in one sitting. If work is peeling you away from something you really enjoy doing, time yourself to have that fun for five or ten minute sessions. Creative play is necessary for recharging mental batteries, that's what the card means by "not just during soft good times." Even when things get hectic as midterms get closer, a few minutes to sit back will do wonders. The seasons are temporary, so try to enjoy what you can when you can. Summer may have had its stresses and its phases of mental fog, but autumn can be filled with chances to sit back and enjoy the fall scenery for a spell.

Pile 3 - Cool! + Gameboy 🎮

Mercury - Messages, Flow, Anger, Pumpkin Spice, Let Your Light Shine; 8 of Cups, III Empress, 7 of Wands, 9 of Pentacles, 6 of Swords "You never get there and you never stay here"

What's going on, pile 3? I see that, like pile 1, you may have also been heavily affected by the Mercury retrograde that took up most of last August. Gameboy Colors, while considered obsolete now (seriously, no lil emoji? ;-;), boasted amazing features in handheld gaming asides from the nice colorful games at its prime. Using a cable link, you could physically connect two Gameboys together to communicate and share between devices. Now, we can do all that wirelessly, but it was literally game changing back then as it allowed players to play together, face-to-face. I see you've learned how to move past some old fashioned form of communication that isn't working for you anymore. You could have even swapped gaming devices, computers, or phones over this last summer. You could have erased old contacts from your phone or friends from social media sites. I'm even getting a change in terms of transportation, where you're choosing to go out instead of staying in or vise versa. You could have used a different way to get around last summer, like using a shuttle bus or traveling by boat or train. This could have been to get somewhere or (in a boat case) been a part of a social event or party.

There could have been a situation which roused up some heated arguments between you and people close to you, whether friends or coworkers. This arguing, regardless of what it was, wore down on your defenses and you decided to pull away. Much of the bickering could have been due to unfair comparisons made between others. Someone may have been aggressive towards you over feeling envious of something you are or have. Whatever it may be, I feel here that pulling back was the healthier option. Sometimes, people want to keep you involved in their tensions, but I see you refusing to engage in unproductive arguments that go nowhere. Summer just wasn't the season for that stress, and you knew better this time around. You addressed things calmly and with compassion. Maybe that's why they're worked up over your energy; just refusing to engage makes you look "Cool!"er by comparison. (This sounds spicy when I write it down but I got to call it as I vitamin see it ok!) Summer is a time for staying cool, and now that autumn rolls in, you can put more focus into enjoying its splendors.

The time was and still is ripe for self-care and inner nurturing. Retreating to heal allowed those old emotions to work themselves out until the situation no longer felt as harsh when remembered about. If a company is making unwanted changes at the office, at this point you're past the sweating and complaining with other coworkers because you're more in the phase of waiting for good days and better results. If a trip didn't work out because of miscommunication, the time is better for planning the next one instead of mulling over what went wrong before. Your energy is just like, so what if things weren't perfect because things may be better tomorrow? And I think that's a great mindset to have when shifting between the seasons. Pumpkin Spice is right above the poor 7 of Wands. This card is all about that basic girl fall vibe, cozy and warm and far far away from whatever nonsense happened in recent past. You're moving from acting like the warrior to acting like the empress who's ready to snuggle up with fuzzy blankets and a cup of tea while watching the leaves dance and flutter. I honestly don't think this pile misses summer, y'all seem ready to go for fall!

With all that difficult energy out of the way, you can focus more on how you want to fulfill your personal time. If you were a mod to an online chat or a part of a social group and you dropped out of that role for the season, then it will now be easy to re-allocate that time to something more enjoyable and soothing. It's the "moisturized, hydrated, in my lane, flourishing" momentum going here, it started in summer and it's a great progress to have all through autumn. I see you entering hermit mode to establish a safe space for yourself starting around August, and it's likely that you will be in that phase for awhile. No pressure to hook Gameboy cable links with anybody if they're gonna fizzle out your fun, right? Although Mercury retrograde is over, there will be times when that old smoke tries to blow through again. I don't see you remaining totally settled in the months to come, but it will still feel like an upgrade compared to last summer.

Pile 4 - Wow! + Turntable 💿

Neptune - Vision, Reflection, Passion, Mirage, Sound - Resonance - Frequency; King of Wands, 7 of Swords, Knight of Cups, IV Emperor, Ace of Cups "EVOLVE into non-complainer"

How's it going pile 4? Out of all the piles it seems like yours had the most amount of positive experiences, even if it was only from the start of the season. You wanted to have an action-packed summer to remember. You could have spent a lot of time by the beach or near bodies of water like lakes, soaking in the summer sun while you had the chance. I'm seeing so much here about dreaminess happening, like you went to a dream concert or an unforgettable party. With all the fantasy theme here, you could have visited a renaissance faire or an amusement park based around fantasy. On the other hand, you have both Neptune and the descriptive card Mirage, which both talk about illusion. And the 7 of Swords makes an appearance here, too. So perhaps something that was meant to be awesome may not have gone perfectly as planned, even if you still had a good time. Perhaps the seating at the concert wasn't perfect, or a rain forced an outside party to move indoors. More than one parade may have been rained on, or friends could have bailed out of exciting plans at the last minute. Nevertheless, you learned over this summer to go with the flow and have fun despite how situations or relationships end up as things still may have turned out wonderful anyway.

I'm also getting that over this summer, you may have met with someone special. It could have been at an event where you laughed while exchanging jokes and numbers. Perhaps your season was spent thinking about this fascinating person, whether they were a cute person you're crushing on or seeing a celebrity on stage (while dreaming about the backstage pass). The last few months could have had you swept up in a whirlwind of fantasy, imagining what could be based on brief but memorable interactions. It's important not let passions mislead you when you meet somebody during the rush of an awesome event. I'm not saying for certain you didn't meet the "one", but chances are if you meet them again, you will need to do so from a grounded place before anything can happen. Let's say you met them while vacationing far from home. Yes, they were cute, but take some time to reflect on your feelings before pursuing something that may realistically be tricky to pull off.

You may have either received or lost a pair of glasses. They could have been prescription glasses or sunglasses (why are sunglasses among the easiest things to lose?). I think this may be a message about learning to use all your senses. Look at things closely to understand how certain things happened, if for example you're figuring out how to prevent a bad occurrence from happening again. Like if a party didn't turn out right because the DJ used a bad playlist, then you must look more closely at the finer details for next time by knowing what kind of music or DJ will be more appropriate for the next party. If a surf outing turned sour because of low tide, find a way to schedule dates that better correspond with the ocean's changes. This past summer wanted to teach you how to become more adaptable to various shifts, like how a DJ remixes music at the turntable/laptop. The point isn't to always play things by rote; life has a habit of switching it up to keep things from getting too stale.

Now that autumn is on its way, you're heading for a fresh emotional start but with a clearer lens. You have walked out of the summer sun feeling greatly inspired by its magic. Now it's time to take hold of those inspired thoughts and feelings in the pursuit of a goal. If you're getting a strong magnetic pull towards something artistic, like making a song or writing a story, then this autumn is a great time to begin while all this emotional energy is potent. This urge may have started around the full moon in Pisces; if you start something now, it may be done by the next lunar eclipse or when the sun passes through Pisces, so roughly a six month period. We may perceive autumn and winter as calmer and quieter seasons, but that doesn't mean it can't be just as enchanting and memorable as summertime. It's within your hands to create something just as special over the next few months if you are called to boldly do so. I'm picking up so much certainty from this pile, like if there's something from the last summer you desire, it's within your power to eventually claim it or experience it again, only even better the next time.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[accio-sriracha]

"Will you read to me?"

A Wolfstar oneshot using 5 randomly generated words as prompts: Vehicle, Adoption, Ideology, Light, and Harp.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Remus sat on the sofa in the common room, content with the book in his hands and his tea sitting in front of him.

The boys were at quidditch practice, so he knew he would have a while to unwind and relax before-

"Honey! I'm home!" James' voice called as the portrait door swung open.

Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose,

"You ended practice early?" He asked, his attempt at lightheartedness failing miserably.

"Yup! More time to spend with you, Moony dearest." Sirius climbed through after him, plopping down on the sofa beside Remus.

"Hello, Moony." Peter smiled as the portrait closed behind them, "Whatcha reading?"

Remus placed his bookmark back within the pages, "I was reading Veronica Goth."

"Isn't that the Difference series?" James asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of him and peering over his lap at the book.

"That would be the one, yes." Remus tried not to let his irritation show.

Sirius noticed, always overly perceptive,

"Hey guys? Can I talk to Moons alone for a second?" He asked.

James shrugged, standing up and slinging his arm around Peter's shoulders,

"Sure thing, Pete and I have an exploding snaps rematch due any minute now." He smirked, dragging Peter up the stairs.

The silence that followed made Remus let out a quiet breath of relief.

"Was it the noise or just our presence?" Sirius asked after a long moment, he didn't look offended, only concerned.

Remus leaned his head back against the sofa, "Am I a terrible person if I say both?"

Sirius shook his head, "You have way too much to stress about in your life, you deserve a break to relax every now and then. You know we won't hold it against you."

"I do love you guys, I swear-" He started, the familiar guilt already weighing him down. Sirius placed a hand on his arm, stopping him,

"Remus, don't. We love you too, and we know how much you care about us. This isn't about that, it's about you getting rest."

His voice was stern, his gaze could have rivaled even McGonagall's.

"I'm sorry, I know." Remus whispered, "Thank you."

Sirius nodded and pulled his hand away, "Anytime, Moony. Really, I mean it."

Remus took a sip of his tea, which was starting to get cold. Sirius didn't have to ask, casting a warmth charm over it as Remus set it back down on the table.

"How do you always know what I'm thinking?" Remus asked, "It's like you can read my mind."

"You have very expressive eyes." Sirius answered, shrugging, "So I guess, in a way, I kind of can."

Remus smiled at him, nudging their shoulders together, "Thank you." He said again.

Sirius gestured towards the book,

"What part are you on?" He asked. Remus looked down,

"They're taking the vehicles back to Chicago." He replied, opening the book and turning it for him to see.

"Is a broomstick technically a vehicle?" Sirius asked, frowning in thought.

Remus gave a surprised laugh, "Um... well, yes. Any method of transportation is. But that only applies to our kind of broomsticks."

"So... with magic, isn't everything a vehicle?" Sirius asked, cocking his head to the side.

Remus always found it amusing when he looked like this, he truly was his animagious in every form.

"It would only be considered such after it as been given the ability to transport something, but yeah." Remus nodded, "I suppose you could say the same for adding wheels to things."

Sirius nodded, satisfied, "Will you read to me?" He asked quietly.

This surprised Remus, Sirius had never asked him that before. He nodded anyways, relaxing into the couch again and watching Sirius curl up into a ball, staring at him expectantly.

He read the first few paragraphs, glancing every other sentence at Sirius to see if he was still listening. He was.

After he'd gotten through two pages, he had to admit he was decently impressed.

"You never sit through lessons like this." Remus commented. Sirius shrugged,

"I like the way you talk." He yawned, stretching his arms over his head, "It's very relaxing."

Sirius' slow blinks and unguarded expression seemed out of place on him, he was usually so tense and ready for action.

Remus found he liked him like this, it was... sweet.

"Did you want me to continue reading?" Remus asked. Sirius nodded, adjusting himself so he leaned against Remus' shoulder, reading the page along with him,

"Yes, please." He mumbled sleepily.

Remus continued, no longer pausing to check if Sirius was paying attention.

After he'd gotten through the next few pages he was positive Sirius had fallen asleep. But then he spoke,

"Do you ever think about adoption?" He whispered. Remus looked down at him,

"Adoption?" He repeated.

Sirius nodded, "Yeah, I think it would be nice to adopt a kid."

"Why don't you want to have one yourself?" Remus asked, keeping his voice gentle so he wouldn't disturb this peace.

Sirius hummed and nuzzled closer to him, pressing his face to Remus' chest.

Remus didn't dare to breath, he waited without moving as Sirius' muffled reply came,

"I want to give someone another chance. I want to give them a better life."

Remus nodded. Carefully, slowly, he placed a hand on Sirius' back.

Sirius didn't shake him off, he only turned and wiggled closer until his head was resting in Remus' lap, curled up on his side.

Hesitantly, Remus ran a hand through Sirius' hair. He knew he shouldn't have, Sirius never let anyone touch his hair, but something in his mind told him it was the right thing to do.

And it was, Sirius let out a content sigh and closed his eyes again.

"It might be something to consider." Remus whispered, referring to their conversation. He gently combed through Sirius' hair with his fingers, amazed by how soft it was, even after they'd just gotten back from practice.

"Yeah, I mean-" He paused to yawn again, "What's the harm in it, right?"

Remus chuckled, "Well I think that phrase may have been spoiled for us now. There's usually some damage that follows it."

Sirius sighed, "Maybe. But a little more risk won't kill anyone."

Remus smiled, watching the way his expression softened and how his shoulders relaxed entirely,

"It's that kind of ideology that got us stuck in those problems in the first place." He reminded him, "But in this scenerio..."

He thought about a young child who'd been brought into the world and abandoned one way or another. He thought about giving that child a home, a new life as Sirius had put it.

"I think it's worth a little risk." He agreed.

And something about this, something about the way Sirius trusted him completely, let him touch where no would else was allowed, let him watch over him and dropped his guard when he never had before.

It made Remus feel something strange.

Sirius was... well, he was beautiful. There was never any question to that.

The way the light draped across him from the fireplace was an art of itself. Remus was- and he never thought he would describe himself as such- totally enamored.

"I think its worth it." Sirius mumbled, "I want to play songs for them and read them stories."

"You'll sing for them?" Remus asked, smiling fondly down at Sirius. He nodded,

"Yeah. When I was young my mother made me take piano lessons, and sometimes I would be taught to play the harp. So I think it would be nice if I could play for my kid someday."

"That's really nice, Sirius." Remus continued petting his hair. Eventually, Sirius turned again so he stared up at him, long black strands laid in a halo around his head,

"Can you keep reading to me?" Sirius asked quietly. Remus nodded,

"Yeah, of course." He picked up the book again, keeping his voice as soft as he could manage and starting where he left off.

Sirius fell asleep to the sound of Remus' voice and the feeling of his fingers in his hair.

Remus kept reading even after he'd fallen asleep. He was just so happy and content he didn't want it all to end.

When James and Peter came down to check on them some time later they walked out to this scene, to Remus' eyes filled with newfound love and adoration. To Sirius' smile in his sleep as he curled up in Remus' lap. The fireplace had long since died out, leaving the gentle cadence of Remus' voice to be the only sound in the room.

James and Peter took the hint, sneaking quietly back up the stairs to give them privacy, happy their friends had finally found each other.

Because they deserved it. They deserved the peace and lifetime of love they knew this relationship would bring.

On their way up the stairs, quick enough that you would miss it in a blink, James and Peter's hands exchanged a few sickles.

And never again did Sirius fall asleep to anything but the sound of Remus' voice, or the feeling of his hands combing through his hair. And that was perfectly fine by him.

[calliecwrites]

Pretending

Sometimes pretending to be a person is easy. Sometimes it isn’t. On the bad days, numbers start crawling on the page, straight lines curl, and I’ve got to remind myself to keep my face on. I want to stretch my other limbs, but the world down here is so thin, and so easy to tear. I have to be careful not to think too hard about anything, or it might start seeping through. You have no idea how much power you have, someone told me once, being able to create with a thought. And the children of my mind look too much like madness to humans.

Cases of madness worldwide are 1.3% higher on days like that.

But I don’t want to drive them mad. I’m here to protect them, not devour them. Not this time. So I have to pretend. Though with some of them practically throwing themselves at me, that isn’t always easy.

Writers are the worst. I let my ‘pretending to be a person is hard’ line slip into the coffee I’m nursing while my head pounds with the effort of keeping it all together, and her only response is, “Yeah, I know.”

“‘A writer is a world pretending to be a person’,” she quotes at me, and then, “That’s a deliberate misquote of something Victor Hugo said: ‘A writer is a world trapped in a person’. But I like my version better. If my soul wasn’t in a human-shaped body, sometimes I think I’d turn into a galaxy or something. Or maybe more than that. A multiverse.”

Humans are famously good at detecting things that don’t quite look human. I’m not doing a particularly good job of staying out of the uncanny valley today, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed. Or, worse, she’s noticed and likes it. Writers are like that sometimes. But I’ve been deliberately staying out of her mind. I can tell it’s twisty and complex, and I’m afraid the slightest touch from me would tip her over into madness. Or, who knows, maybe she’s right, and it would trigger her transformation into some kind of eldritch goddess that would put even me to shame. I don’t want to think about what that would do to the paper-thin world down here.

I’ve been so focused on my coffee, I’ve accidentally created another one. She hasn’t noticed.

“I do wonder what being a person is actually like, though,” she goes on. “You know, actually fitting in with all the weird rules humans have. Actually feeling at home here. And most of them only get to live one life, not all the fragments of all the lives we get to. Imagine that. They’ll never know what it’s like, being able to create with a thought.”

That last part hits too close to home, and I can’t resist taking just one quick peek into her mind.

“Oh, hello,” she says, and looks me in the eye.

I withdraw. No way she should have been able to feel that. And what I saw there – she’s practically a multiverse already, all jammed up there somehow into that tiny human brain.

“I always wondered if telepathy’s real,” she’s saying, “and now you’ve gone and proven it. Do that again, so I can see how you did it.”

No way, I’m not risking that – but she fumbles around and somehow does it anyway.

“There you are!” she says. I twitch back into my defences – why does this have to be happening on a day like this, when I’m barely holding it together anyway? The writing on the menu twists and curls, and customers start walking in circles. This time she notices.

“Ooh, eldritch abomination, is it?” she says. “Here, let me try.”

She squints, and now she’s holding another coffee, too. She takes a sip. “Mmm, just like in my dreams.”

Then she’s looking at me. Not just at my rapidly-slipping human disguise, but really looking at me, all the parts that no human should ever be able to see. But I don’t think she’s human anymore – I think she’s been right at that boundary for a while.

“You know, you really should pay more attention to that,” she says. “I find pretending is much easier if I do something like this—” and she does something, and my own human form snaps back into clarity. “There you go. Get those few things right and most people won’t even notice.”

Meanwhile, her own form is becoming more solid. That’s the only way I can describe it. Soon she’ll be so solid that her slightest movement will tear right through reality like tissue paper.

“Be careful,” I say, “you’re new to this, and this world is fragile—”

But it’s too late. She twitches in just the wrong way, and something tears.

Now everything is inverting. Everything that was packed up tightly inside her brain is becoming outside. The whole world is reforming around us, into one she considers home. I’m unaffected, but the humans are being completely rewritten.

“Hmm,” she muses, observing all the worlds at once. “Looks like I was right about myself.”

And she sees my dismayed expression. Avoiding something like this is exactly why I was being so careful down here. So much for that.

“Don’t worry,” she says, and gives me a reassuring pat somewhere in the fourth dimension. “There’s more than enough room in me for everyone.”

I really like that quote she uses, and use it myself. This story came from thinking - what if it was literally true, and not just a metaphor?

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added):

@avery-victoria-winterlight @dierotenixe @leahnardo-da-veggie @lunadook @mint-and-authoress

@sandyca5tle @scrubbinn @theriomythic-lesbian @void-botanist @wuwojiti

@zzzestyy

[paeliae-occasionally]

hi pae pae!!!

what is your process of designing your maps? and how do you approach lore? how does that brilliant mind of your work to create such fascinating history and complex worldbuilding?

je would like to know the trade secrets pretty pls

p.s. how far along are you on xaeren? if it’s not far enough, im afraid i’m going to have to start protesting soon… 😔

p.p.s. before you say school is taking up your time—understandable. have a great day. keep being brilliant. i just really want more xaeren content.

p.p.p.s. in my head, i imagine xaeren as so mighty fine that there’s an occult in some middle school of a suburban neighborhood with an old classroom turned into a shrine for his feral fangirls to host club meetings simping over him

that’s it’s. that’s all the pspspsppsss i have. miss you! have a great day! cheerios!

Hello Naveena! Lots of questions! We will go through them one at a time.

What is your process of designing your maps?

So with maps I will start by just noting down the history and current function of the city which gives me an idea of style and layout e.g. all of the cities that were part of the Laith’Edrels have lots of circular designs whereas a modern altic city may have more typical alleyways and rectangular buildings Next I plot in the districts of the city, like where the upper class live, where the high streets are etc. I also add any key buildings at this time, like a plot relevant church or a mages tower. Lastly I go back in and draw boxes and house shapes for 2 hours.

How do you approach lore?

A lot of my lore is just a set of stories where I look at a place on the map, or a group of people and go ‘what could have happened here?’ The bigger worldbuilding points like the dissolution came from me wanting to have magical decay from fewer more powerful beings to more less powerful beings, so I needed gods. However it always frustrates me when there are canonically gods in a world who just sit back and ignore the world crashing and burning as one frustrated hero has to fix the problem, so I made a reason for them to be gone

History and worldbuilding

Honestly a lot of my history writing was based off of the large amounts of real life history I read in my free time. Studying how cities and empires develop then putting my own spin on them because magic would change some things. Worldbuilding comes from my maps really. I will label different cultures on the map then come up with myths and legends for that culture, magic specific to them or their ancestors, wars and internal conflict. Then that spirals into pages of notes on the socioeconomic background for Onkairel. It is lots of fun.

“would like to know the trade secrets” she says after writing a whole book with detailed political lore and plenty of depth to the world.

You know the secrets. You also know the secrets to actually writing the book too.

So about Xaeren…

I will be writing the scene where he meets Kell soon so I will tag you in it when I do, but you are right about the school work :( so it may take a little while.

“an occult in some middle school of a suburban neighborhood with an old classroom turned into a shrine for his feral fangirls to host club meetings simping over him”

So you say that jokingly… No, to be fair he isn’t known for his an appearance but he is quite well known in Zairel as an assassin and member of house Hiresias. He is terrifying and intriguing to many because of his unique magic that Lysandri can’t explain so I would not be surprised if there was discussion of him in the lower ranks of Lysandri and Hiresias.

I will write some Xaeren soon. Have a lovely day <3

[rosewheresheshouldntbe]

> Rose: We need to cook!

Gas mask sprite by @kalza. Hoodie base sprite by nerdferd.

[thebirdandhersong]

sometimes (very often) I just sit there like ?????????

[zymstarz]

yeah sure that's how i'll [re]come out