#Common Questions about Floating Shelves

[starlit-typewriter]

Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 5

This chapter was like pulling teeth, I swear I switched POV's like 3 times.

Thank you guys so much for reading! Just as a heads up future chapters will be much much slower to update since real life hast decided to reassert it's presence. That being said, enjoy!

Warning for Spoilers up to 4.6

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~~~

The sharp edge of a sword hovered extremely close to your face. Its wielder's furious golden eyes stared you down.

“Who are you, how did you get here?” They demanded, their floating companion hovering behind their shoulder anxiously, watching this exchange.

For some reason, even though your life was being threatened, you struggled to feel any sense of fear or urgency. That’s probably something you should revisit when you didn’t have a sharp weapon pointed at you.

But you did, so you should pay attention to that, shouldn’t you.

Oh, but you haven’t, you’ve probably been silent for a while, getting lost in thought.

You redirect your attention back to your current situation. 

You are in this fancy bedroom you don’t recognize, whilst being threatened at sword point by a pretty teenager you don’t recognize.

Great, go brain, you can do things!

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for an explanation.

“I don’t mean any harm,” you say, slowly. 

The teen in question didn’t seem to believe you. They narrowed their eyes further, actually they were really pretty. Not just the teen themselves, though they are quite pretty, but their eyes sparkled like molten gold, not a common eye color at all.

Now that you think of it, are golden eyes even real? Don’t you need contacts to get golden eyes?

Oh wait, you’ve gotten off track, you’re being threatened.

They were saying something, their mouth was moving and you missed all of it.

You blinked, “sorry could you repeat that I didn’t hear it,” you asked politely, hoping they wouldn’t get mad at the request.

Oh looks like they did, considering how they’re clenching their teeth, they don’t look particularly pleased with you.

Well, you suppose it is rather rude to ignore someone mid confrontation.

Why were you in a confrontation anyways, you weren’t a particularly confrontational person, you liked to avoid drama whenever possible.

You probably shouldn’t be here, you realized. It’d be nice if you were somewhere else, like a nice park or a meadow or something.

Just as you finished your train of thought your surroundings changed.

The chirping of birds and the warmth of the sunlight distracted you from your earlier train of thought. 

You were in a lovely meadow, with beautiful golden flowers and a gigantic tree with blue crystalline branches.

It seemed rather empty though, which was a bit of a shame considering how nice it is, but you were hardly going to complain about having the entire place to yourself.

You started walking through the meadow, when a slight pain in your foot distracted you.

You checked to see that you were pricked by a rather sharp piece of gravel. 

That’s weird, why are you barefoot outside? Now that you think about it, your clothes are rather strange.

It’s this white flowy garment, reminiscent of the clothing worn by Ancient Grecians. 

But you weren’t cold at all, it was honestly quite comfortable. 

Wait, what were you thinking about again.

Oh right, you’re talking a walk in this pretty meadow!

~~~

The Wanderer, or well, Hat Guy as people now know him sighed as he flipped through a tedious book about the Origins of the Production of Wood Lacquer in Inazuma and its Effects on Weaponry. 

Unfortunately for him, I was there, does not count as a citable source if he doesn’t have the receipts to prove it. Now he has to sort through all these old books to find one with the information he needs to prove his point.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar figure examining the shelves.

It seems that they noticed him too, judging by the white haired fairy’s flailing. How troublesome.

“What are you doing here,” she whispered fiercely, at least she had enough decency to not raise her voice in a library.

He looked over at his piles of books and papers covering his workstation, and then back at her, wondering if she actually expected an answer to such an obvious question.

She seemed to realize that too, considering the sheepish look she adopted. “Well, you can’t blame me for being curious. You don’t seem like a big library kind of guy.”

“I’m not,” he replied curtly, turning back to his workstation. “Trust me, if I had it any other way, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Yet somehow, him turning his back to them and ignoring their presence wasn’t hint enough of his lack of enthusiasm to engage in conversation with the two, since they ended up hovering over his shoulder, attempting to read his papers and more importantly, distracting him from his work.

He swears, if he could get a headache, he would. He ends up slapping his hand on top of his notes, disrupting their reading and whipped his head back to give them the most annoyed glare he can.

It doesn’t work, because of course it doesn’t.

Instead the Traveler just gave him a smug smirk, they did this on purpose to annoy him, which makes it worse because he fell for it.

“What do you want,” he gritted out, knowing they won’t let him have his peace until they’re satisfied.

“I need to speak with Nahida,”

Wanderer scoffed at that, “then why are you bothering me? Did the Matra turn you away at the door and now you're begging for my help to get you in?”

“Not at all,” the Traveler smiled, “I just wouldn’t mind your insight on the topic as well,”

“Plus we couldn’t find her in the Sanctuary of Surasthana, ” Paimon chimed in.

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling a face at that inane statement, “Why would she be in the Sanctuary of Surasthana?”

“It’s where we’d meet up with her before,”

“That’s because she didn’t have any rooms or offices of her own,” he explained slowly, like he was talking to a child, well he probably was considering the intellect of the white haired one. “Why would she willingly go back to her prison of 500 years when she now has the resources of all of Sumeru to build herself a new place.”

The white haired fairy in question made an exaggerated face of revelation that he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at.

He looks at his notes longingly, well not quite longingly, it’s still quite annoying, but its bound to be less troublesome than whatever the Traveler has planned.

Sighing to himself, he gathered up his notes and research and headed to the exit of the House of Daena, the Traveler and Paimon hot on his heels.

The three made their way up the winding paths of the Akademya. The puppet ignores all the glances and whispers garnered by the students and visitors alike, and moves as fast as he can without breaking into an outright run.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive at The Dendro Archon’s new residence. Designed by the Light of Kshahrewar himself, its a beautiful structure with many windows and balconies, designed to be everything the Sanctuary was not. 

He headed straight in, the Matra having long gotten used to his frequent comings and goings with the Dendro Archon. He honestly doesn't know what reasoning they’ve decided on to explain why Lesser Lord Kusanali spends so much time with him, and honestly he couldn’t care less. It’s simply the fact that they couldn’t keep their mouths shut and now he has to deal with complete strangers coming up to him in an attempt to learn more about her.

He could hear the other two, awing at the architecture as they made their way in. Privately he did appreciate the architect's tact in designing this building. Whilst still made in the classic rounded Sumeru fashion, he managed to avoid any references to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, ensuring that there weren't many large empty spaces or darkened ceilings.

He knew she still avoided the building whenever she could, even though she rejected his proposition to have it torn down. It’s a curious relationship, for whilst it was her prison for so long, it was also the only place she knew and could call home.

Regardless of the matter, it wasn’t for him to pry.

Before long he had reached her office, offering a cursory knock before barging his way in. If she had a problem with his way of entering her rooms and offices she would've long told him to stop, but she didn’t so he didn’t.

It was a lot messier than he’d seen it last. Papers and reports scattered around the office, stacked in messy piles on her desk.

Lesser Lord Kusanali blinked up at him from where she was seated, before breaking into a smile when the Traveler and Paimon walked in.

She greeted them with enthusiasm, moving out from behind her desk to talk to them properly.

He tuned out the rest of their small talk, it was nothing more than empty pleasantries to fill the air before they got the actually important parts that were relevant to his presence.

“-ject Stuzha,”

He blinked, focusing back onto the topic of conversation. 

“Hmm, I must admit I haven’t seen many records on this project before,” the Dendro Archon said, her expectant gaze turning to him. 

He couldn't help but bristle slightly at the attention. “I’ve already given you most of the information I have about the Fatui.”

“Most is not all,” she replied simply, “and besides, from what the Traveler just said it seems to be something they’re mobilizing all their forces on.”

Logically he knew that it would be in everyone’s best interests if he told them all he knew about the project, but old habits die hard. The Tsaritsa’s court was nothing more than the world most extensive chess game. Every action and movement had to be calculated to give the player the best advantage, every scrap of information hard won. 

As much as it rankled him to admit, he was only the 6th Harbinger and the Director only gave out as much information as was strictly required, no more no less. But he did have some information, some he was given, some through sleuthing and others through his own conjecture.

He warned them of that before launching into an explanation of what he had seen and figured out.

“From the timing of things, it is clear that Project Stuzha is related to the gnosis, especially since the only one of the seven that they’re missing is the Pyro Gnosis.” His audience nodded at that assumption.

“It’s also related in some way to the state of things in Teyvat and the survival of humanity as a species. As things stand, Teyvat is becoming more and more inhabitable for regular humans. With ley line disorders, abyssal energy and dead godly remains lurking about. Project Stuzha is supposed to fix that, permanently.”

“But how,” Paimon interrupted, her head darting back and forth in confusion. 

“No idea,” he shrugged, “All I know is that it has something to do with the Abyss.”

“The Abyss? I thought that place had nothing but monsters and dead gods?”

Wanderer shook his head at that, “That’s just a common misconception. There’s actually the remains of an entire world down there. A human world.”

Both the Traveler and Paimon looked shocked at that statement. 

He’d already shared this information with Lesser Lord Kusanali so she didn’t look surprised, but she was deep in thought.

“I didn’t know that there were entire realms banished to the abyss, and I thought Enkanomiya was creepy.”

“It wasn't banished,” he refuted, “From my investigations, it seems that the civilization was built and founded there.”

There was a moment of silence as they contemplated his words.

“That brings up more questions about the origins of humans,” Lesser Lord Kusanali commented, “Irregardless of that, I believe you had another question for us Traveler?”

“Oh right!,” Paimon chimed in, looking over to the Traveler who stepped forward.

“We’re looking more into the blessings that keep happening and we'd like to hear your opinion of it.” They paused, looking between the two of them.

“Ah,” the Dendro Archon paused, looking at Wanderer.

“The thing is, we've already tried,”

“And failed.” He couldn’t help but add, to quash any hope that the duo may have.

“What do you mean by failed!” The fairy gasped.

“Well, that’s not exactly the case,” she tried to reassure. “It’s more like, there weren’t any results where we were looking. ”

“That’s just another way to say you found nothing!”

“Actually Paimon, finding nothing gives you a lot of information about where it is found!” She explained. “The thing is, the blessings we experienced aren’t connected to Irminsul in any way, so we can conclude that it originated from somewhere outside of Teyvat.”

”Does that mean that it can’t be tracked?” The Traveler asked, 

”Hmm, well from our experiences, it’s quite easy for those who’ve been blessed to recognize each other since they can feel each other’s blessing, but the range for that is no more than the size of two Sumpter Beasts.”

That was an irritating experience, having to stand in the middle of Sumeru City for hours as that annoying forest watcher had to try to find him through only his blessing. It took over half the day before they concluded that the energy of the blessing was far too weak to use as a tracking mechanism.

Thankfully, any experiments they had were benign and didn’t involve anything close to what he imagined that damned doctor attempted to inflict on Tartaglia before being shut down by the Tsaritsa. 

If that were the case he’d probably have hated the flame flickering in his hollow chest a lot more. 

Well, hate is a strong word. He didn’t deny that having the blessing made him a lot stronger than he ever was previously and on some level is grateful for its calming warmth. But a private part of him wished it had appeared to him sooner.

Logically he understood that the blessings were in some way connected to the Traveler and that they hadn’t appeared until well after his appointment as a Harbinger.

But the other small quiet part of him wonders just how different his life could’ve been had this blessing appeared before that. 

Would he have been able to save Niwa, or that little boy. Maybe even the Sho-

No

He can’t go down that train of thought.

What’s done is done and all he can do now is attempt to make amends and move on.

He tuned back into the topic only to find them talking about some kind of dessert they had in fontaine. Ugh.

He waited,

And waited,

And waited some more.

…

This conversation was taking too long.

And he isn’t even in it!

“Can I leave,” he butted in, realizing that their conversation is never going to go back to anything useful.

“Oh I’m sorry, are we interrupting your incredibly important work about glazeworks or something,” Pamon mocked.

Ignoring her he turned to the Dendro Archon who looked delighted. 

“You’re still working on the new essay?” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. 

He felt his eyebrow twitch in irritation. “I would’ve had it done a week ago, if someone actually let me use accurate sources,” he snapped.

“Oh come on, it’s not so bad. Besides, how are you going to explain how Hat Guy knows so much about ancient Inazumen weapon crafting techniques that have been lost to time.”

“You could vouch for me,”

“But that wouldn’t be fair to all the other students now would it.”

He took a deep breath, remembering how he’d already tried and failed to argue his case a week prior, “so can I go or what?”

“Oh course, what kind of Archon of Wisdom would I be if I prevented learning and research!”

He took that as his cue to leave, stomping out of her office, faintly hearing the fairy commenting about how she’s surprised that he’s actually doing his schoolwork.

As if he’d let some inconsequential mortal get better grades than him.

Besides, being the top of his class means that he won’t have any irritating students come up to him and ask if he needs help or offer tutoring.

Of course, being top of his class also means that there are now people coming to him to ask for tutoring or help. 

But at least those are easier to turn away.

Hopefully he doesn’t get interrupted anymore today, if so he should be able to finish this reference by tonight. 

~~~

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Things are heating up huh!

I wonder where our dear creator has found themselves. Oh and don't worry too much about their state of mind, that will come up again soon!

Taglist: @bunniotomia,@lucid-stories, @ymechi, @chocogi,  @ra404, @ash1, @esthelily, @tottybear, @mmeatt, @quacking-simp, @reemthetheme, @universallyenthusiastsage, @resident-cryptid, @fantasyhopperhea, @thedevioussmirk, @etherisy, @naynayaa

Once again, my ask box is open if you'd like to join the taglist or just leave comments or questions. I promise I don't bite!

[whinlatter]

sorry if you've discussed this before, but do you think ginny's quidditch talent came out of nowhere? it's a common criticism I see about her but I feel like that kind of overstates how much of a quidditch "star" she was at the beginning, like she was consistently described as good but not great until partway into hbp and I also think it makes sense she'd keep it a secret from her teasing brothers. but maybe they're right and I'm just biased towards defending ginny

thank you for the question, anon!

the short answer is - no, i think it's (just about) plausibly rendered in the books. i think the series gets away with it because:

the story is told from the perspective of a teenage boy aka peak obliviousness in corporeal form, so we see what harry sees (and harry notices big fat nothing)

there is an entirely adequate narrative explanation for ginny's sporting skills that most readers not operating in bad faith* can put together, as you suggest: ginny comes from a sporty family who are all good at quidditch; she is of middling-to-good seeking ability when she first joins the team in ootp; she then has a good few months flying several times a week where she would necessarily grow in confidence and experience, leaving her perfectly able to blossom in hbp in a high school sport where she is competing against other children. fine and dandy in my book.

also quidditch is a broadly dumb and pointless plot so ginny being good at it is just a fun extra that we don't need to deep too much because - let's be real - quidditch is a waste of page space.

*i say this because, most of the time, these takes come from those who don't like hinny as a pairing. which is entirely their right and prerogative! it personally doesn't float my boat to spend my days doing worst faith readings of the text in order to make the case against canon ships i don't like, but as this is a race to the bottom - we are all adults dissecting children's books written by a nasty spiteful woman rotting in her mouldy castle spouting slurs, after all - who am i to judge.

(i also suspect the 'ginny is good at quidditch out of nowhere' takes have enjoyed such a long shelf-life on eg. reddit because the films are still most people's primary reference for HP takes so complaints about them then get cast back on the books - and, in the films, ginny does in fact rock up in film 6 like she's mbappé, if mbappé had the charisma of an extraordinarily soggy bath mat.)

with that said... could it have done with a bit more foreshadowing? yes, probably. people who don't like hinny as a pairing and prefer another are never going to be convinced - that's fine! but here i am, a paid-up hinny supporter, and even i think ginny's character development is sometimes wanting, to a frustrating and problematic extent. good writing (usually) means showing not telling, and it's weird and lazy of jkr to be so slapdash about revealing this and other character details about ginny and other (often female) characters. i think it's particularly striking that jkr underserves characters (again, usually women) who exist to serve the emotional development of characters (usually men), rather than the mystery plot(s) that drive hp as a series. (wanted! tonks' personality! last seen making fake pig noses and being the only auror mad eye moody mentored as his successor, for no plot reason!)

while i'm not a die-hard adherent to the chekhov's gun principle, i think one of the strengths of many novels du jour - especially the nothing really happens postmodern novel that crowds the bookshop shelves these days - is that their conventions allow authors to add colour to characters without each tiny detail being pregnant with meaning and in service of a driving plot that must be marched forward at all times. that can be really nice! as readers, we like to get a sense of characters as well-rounded living breathing people who go for a wee and take the bins out and stick on an album because it slaps every now and then; in these novels, we're also happier with the idea that things can happen to characters beyond the protagonist that don't directly impact the plot or demand the protagonist knows more than their own very limited vantage point. you have more room to play with character as a result.

jkr, ofc, isn't that kind of author. jkr is in fact an author for whom everything about her characters serves the plot. this, after all, is the brain that brought you 'remus lupin' the werewolf, and named the bad-guy-turned-good-guy in a book using a big black dog as a red herring omen of death 'sirius black'. jkr wants her audience to notice clues and remember little details about characters because they might be significant later on. this is entirely her wont and - lupin and sirius aside - she's often very good at it. the hp books are all standalone mysteries, and, when they land, those mysteries slap. ginny being the culprit in CoS is a genuinely satisfying resolution to the whodunit plot: this was reflected in critical reception at the time and was part of the reason why hp was able to be marketed as a children's book adults would also enjoy thereafter. there are also very satisfying foreshadowing and mystery plots that straddle the entire series and that reward the reader with reasonably good pay-off at the series end. (my favourite is the foreshadow within the foreshadow - e.g. regulus black barrelling back from ootp in DH, but then regulus' plot turning out to ultimately exist to foreshadow snape's own double agent status... delicious).

for my part, it's also what i want out of the fiction i read and the stories i try to write. i want everything to mean something. i want the weather, clothing, setting, body language etc to all do heavy lifting. i want character work to do work. it makes it fun for me to write and (i hope) it can it a bit more fun for the reader.

the problem is that while jkr is good setting up some mysteries, she is bad at others, and the romantic plot is one she falls down (a bit) on. she sets herself up for this: she wants to be a plot-centred mystery writer, so she does have an obligation to do better in how she deploys character details. jkr does to try to write the harry/ginny romance like a mystery, with little hints throughout the series up to the reveal of harry's feelings for ginny in HBP. (even ginny's full name is nominative determinism, finally revealed in DH once the reader has been told her place in the plot - ginevra, so guinnevre, the hero's queen). and while i will never not tire of pointing out to all of reddit that harry/ginny didn't come out of nowhere, and there is some satisfying foreshadowing knocking about here and there, i think it's fair to say that the harry/ginny build-up is not as satisfying as it could have been because jkr is basically lazier about the clues that ginny is the character harry will ultimately fall for, while she is much better at dropping clues for the series' central plot. that ginny ends the series with no real resolution of the primary tensions that motivate her other than her love of harry is probably the most acute example of this. but there's lots about her character where jkr phones it in a bit in fleshing her out or taking it to any logical conclusions or interesting plot directions. a smattering of examples:

ginny is the character who spends the entire series demanding to be included and not underestimated ends the series... with no real major role in the battle other than causing harry panic, while all other central characters receive a satisfying narrative arc that speaks to their central motivators across the series as a whole. (for an interesting discussion of what should have happened with ginny and the horcruxes, see here. i didn't even pay @saintsenara to write this!)

there are lots of shades of colour to ginny's character that are introduced pointlessly. i have previously talked about my beef with arnold the pygmy puff. we know ginny is popular but we know nothing of her friends who are all faceless plotless nobodies. we know ginny supports the all-womens quidditch team in a way that implies a nascent feminist politics after a childhood being excluded from playing a sport she loves by her brothers - yet we know nothing of it. we know ginny loves the one wizarding band that seems to exist because she has a poster of them on her wall and it just.... is something we just get told about her. now, all of these suggest ginny is a good time gal and a right laugh at the pub. and that's nice! i too am fun at the pub! but why does it matter? it wouldn't, in another series. but in a series where Everything Matters, it really stands out.

now..... i don't think all of this is an unsolveable problem for those of us writing fanfiction about ginny or harry and ginny as a couple. i don't think this makes ginny an inherently bad character. i hope the amount of life i have wasted thinking about this character is testament to this (...) and i personally find trying to cook up some fleshed-out characterisation and a satisfying arc for ginny, and for female characters more generally, from the crumbs of the original source material to be a very rewarding way to pass the time and a fuck you to a woman who thinks she can gatekeep womanhood while writing some astonishingly antifeminist fiction. i think harry and ginny are a deeply compelling and eminently plausible couple, and i think i return to writing about them as much as i do because i think they have a ton of potential as narrative mirrors and as characters with a rich well of tension but also devotion between them. as i say a lot, i think one of the things the harry/ginny pairing does refreshingly well compared to other romantic lead couples in YA fiction is show a couple that, at heart, genuinely get on very well, have a laugh together and enjoy each other's company in completely mundane lovely day-to-day ways (laundry and taxes u know). i think that's a striking and refreshing dynamic that i like to spend time fleshing out and playing with and writing about. but i can also see that there is an inconsistency in jkr's character work here, particularly her character work writing female characters, of which ginny is among the most acute examples.

[wiredaughter]

☆•☆•☆

@fluffyfebruary 23: alien nation

Glaciers Melting in the Death of Night

adam milligan × michael ♡ alien michael ♡ college student adam ♡ established relationship ♡ making out ♡ outer space ♡ comfort no hurt ♡ spaceships ♡ human biology (as seen by an alien) ♡ prequel ♡ 1193 words ♡ ao3

Adam’s been drinking, and he’s been thinking. He’s all but moved Michael into his dorm by now, wanting all the alien exposure he can get, and still he’s got so many questions. He gets up for another beer, and considers his boyfriend where he lays on his couch paging through some YA novel. Rather than joining him as he’d wanted, he opens his beer and leans back, happy to stare.

This is Michael in some neverending sleepover at his place. Michael picking books at random from the shelves in the common room. Michael, the alien he’s been snogging for the better part of a semester, killing time with him like it’s no problem. Adam sips slowly until Michael seems to feel his gaze, and looks up to him. And Adam knows Michael looks like him, but he’ll be damned if his hair’s ever fallen that nicely over his own forehead.

‘What’s up?’

‘Why are you here, Michael?’ He can tell he’s made a mistake as soon as the words leave his lips. Michael seems taken aback, puts the book down with a small frown. ‘I mean, I’m really glad that you are, but… why?’

‘Well, you’re here. I want to be with you.’

‘As do I!’

‘Were you wishing to go anywhere else?’

‘Yeah?’ Adam shrugs. This isn’t the conversation he thought they’d have, but he’s in nonetheless. ‘Wherever you come from.’

Michel gives him a measuring look, but gets to his feet all the same. He climbs out of the window like a lizard, and when Adam sticks his head out to see him disappear onto the roof he’s got exactly a second to realise he’s too drunk to follow before his body is floating right out and upwards to join Michael. When he sees it, It’s not as invisible as designed to fade into the background.

‘Did you park your flying saucer on the rooftop?’

Michael gives him a small smile. ‘I thought the carpark might be inadequate.’

Adam nods, runs his fingers through his hair, hesitant. Michael has carefully avoided talking about his origins, and he’s not even sure he wants to know right now. ‘Are you sure? I mean, about taking me… to your… planet?’

‘I’m sure I understand your curiosity. You must want to know what it’s like, and what I’m like when I’m not being like you.’

‘I don’t care what you’re like, Michael, I just care that you’re you.’ He takes his hands, trying to guess what his expression means. ‘And it’s not what I asked, besides. And not what I meant.’

‘In truth, I hesitate about having you on the planet I hail from. I haven’t been in years, and I think I’d be able to keep you safe, but it’s a gamble I’m not keen on. But if you want to know…’

‘I don’t. It can wait.’ Adam gives the spaceship a calculating look. ‘Reckon we could still go nearly anywhere on that, right?’

—

Adam’s face is glued to the glass separating them from the infinite void outside as he watches in awe an elliptical galaxy absorb a smaller, whirlpool shaped one. It’s a slow process, but his eyes follow every star, every planet as they drift through space. His features catch the light of the resulting clouds of dust and gas. Michael sighs, smitten beyond any hope, and moves to hug him against the reinforced panel.

‘What did you mean, it’s not what you meant?’

In their reflection, he sees Adam drop his gaze and he regrets asking for a moment, but then the human is giving him an abashed smile, the one where his nose furrows with it, and he can’t in honesty regret anything that gets him that face.

‘I didn’t realise you’re just like me. Like, not at all, but the same.’

‘What do you mean?'

‘Look at that.’ Adam signals to the cosmically cannibalistic display in front of them with his head. ‘They look very different at first sight, but it’s just space rocks changing places, right?’

‘... And plasma.’

‘Oh, plasma.’ Adam rolls his eyes. ‘What I mean is: it’s all falling into place, in a way. The processes are unknowable to me, but it’s just as it should be.’

‘So?’

‘So. I didn’t get why you like me. And I still don’t, but I think it’s just what you should do. Because I like you.’ Unbelievably, Adam turns away from the reorganisation of the cosmos that had kept his attention for upwards of two hours to kiss Michael, slow and wanting. And not nearly long enough. ‘And I know you do.’

‘Of course I do!’

Adam is shaking when he presses him against the glass for another kiss, expectant or wonderstruck or wanton. Michael’s heart picks up when he feels the human’s hand cupping the nape of his neck, angling his face just right, and he’s got a mind to be grateful for being able to experience the rush of blood on his veins before he’s mourning the loss of the contact as Adam pulls back.

‘I said you should, but I still don’t really get it.’

Michael’s passing amused at that. Why does he like Adam? Because he was made to. Expressly. Because he’s the most important person in the universe. Because he’s poignant and fleeting and hallowed and he’s named like the first of his kind.

‘I like the way you breathe.’ His hands come to rest in Adam’s chest, a thrill going through them as he feels the rise and fall that signals his life. ‘Your skeleton is firm, but flexible enough to expand for air.’

Adam gives him a weird look at that, but the idea of the negative space created with every inhalation is a mystery he never wants to solve. The infinitesimal adjustments of the muscles in his irises bring him back to the reality where he’s explaining, if not the alignment and order of galaxies, the way he matches with a human so deeply.

He pulls Adam down to sit on the padded floor and holds him close as dark matter blooms and dwarf stars explode above them. His explanation, peppered with heady kisses, picks back up on the marvel of his neck; sinew and bone encasing vital conducts for oxygen and warmth, and the box that enables him to speak in the voice that makes Michael weak at the knees. Adam lets out a nervous laugh at that, and it makes his lips sing with the vibrations where they’re pressed against his cricoid cartilage.

When he pulls back, it’s to the spectacle of Adam blushing. And how is he to stop himself from pressing his own face closer, knowing as he does how warm his skin is when the vessels underneath dilate. Adam is dizzy with want before Michael even has a chance to cover the wonder of his hands, strong and delicate, and he’s being tackled back as his ability to compute everything he likes about Adam is overwhelmed at the deluge, but thankfully the human seems over his need to hear it. So he stops trying to classify it and put it into words, satisfied with the experience.

[betterillusionist]

Necromancer Study Buddy

"Wha-? Hey! Mal, let go!"

But Malorn holds fast as he drags a panicking Duncan behind him.

"What are you doing?!" Duncan continues to complain, twisting and turning with all his might to no avail.

"I'm getting you out of the house, that's what I'm doing," Malorn replies, not bothering to turn to face his friend. "Just because Malistaire isn't here anymore doesn't mean you get to stop studying."

Duncan grits his teeth and reluctantly allows himself to be dragged along. Being pulled from his home was certainly not on his to-do list today; he very much felt more like becoming a vegetable than eager to study. But it's not like he was going to do anything else useful with his time. In a way, part of him is grateful for Malorn showing up like he did.

The longer the two walk, out of Triton Avenue and up the steep slopes of Olde Town, nearing the Shopping District, pins and needles dance across Duncan's entrapped hand.

"Dude, let go. I can't feel my hand."

"Sorry," Malorn mutters, promptly releasing him from his tight grip. Duncan takes a moment to nurse his poor hand before trudging along behind his friend.

"I'm guessing you have a plan in mind?" Duncan asks as they pass by the Wizard City shops.

"Sort of," Malorn admits with a shrug. "I've been going to the library and pulling books off shelves."

A frown plasters itself onto Duncan's face. "Seriously?"

"You have any better ideas?" Malorn retorts. "The Professor's gone. The classroom's gone. The textbooks are useless without a teacher. Might as well go poking around ourselves."

He makes a good point. Without a Professor to direct them and answer questions and explain concepts and spells as they arise, they're at a loss with the school-issued textbooks. But what good is pulling books off shelves at random?

"Boris has been pretty helpful, too," Malorn continues as they stroll, noting Duncan's skeptical scowl. "Trust me, it'll be worth it."

"Alright..." Duncan sighs skeptically.

They make their way around the lake of the Commons, heading towards the small-looking building that is the Ravenwood Library. Within its walls exists a seemingly endless supply of books and shelves, with reading spaces dotted about at random. The books within float about by invisible hands, constantly engaged in the complicated dance of rearrangement, as if they're constantly dissatisfied with where they rest on their shelves. As they enter, the kindly head librarian from Marleybone, Harold Argleston, raises his shaggy head to greet the two Necromancers.

"Ah, well if it isn't Malorn Ashthorn and Duncan Grimwater!" he says merrily. He leans forward in his seat, pushing aside the open ledger before him. "Is there anything I can help you boys with today?"

"We're just here to read some books about Necromancy," Malorn replies. "Is Boris around?"

"The lad should be somewhere in the back," Mr. Argleston chuckles. "You know how to find him."

"Great! Thanks, Mr. Argleston."

With that, the two students make their way into the maze of bookshelves.

"Doesn't he also have classes to attend?" Duncan can't help but ask. It always feels like Boris is hiding away in the library, buried in books all day, completely neglecting his studies as a Diviner. How come he gets to play in the library all day whereas Duncan hardly gets any time to himself?

Malorn just shrugs back at a loss for words.

As they take a few more twists and turns in the vast expanse of the library, Malorn finally cups his hands around his mouth and calls out, "Boris? Boris!"

For a long moment, there's no reply. Not even a shift of cloth moving nearby. No footsteps ring in the air. Duncan doesn't frequent the library; he hardly reads despite his own home library being fully stocked with all sorts of family tomes. He can't help but find Malorn's aimless calling a little weird.

But then the point of a long yellow hat appears, growing longer and longer until Boris Tallstaff is peering at them from behind a nearby bookshelf. He's smiling, as if he had been expecting them for the longest time.

"Hi there!" he greets them, stepping into full view. His arms are full with an assortment of books, but despite their number and size he doesn't appear too concerned by their weight. His gaze shifts from Malorn to Duncan, and his smile grows wider. "You finally dragged him along, eh?"

"Yep," Malorn replies with a slight chuckle. "Is the study space prepared?"

"Of course!" Boris answers, nodding his head in a way that indicates that they should follow him. Beaming, Malorn starts off after the Diviner, Duncan still in reluctant tow.

Boris leads the Necromancers to a small space between the bookshelves. A single table lined with two long benches sits in the center of the space, candle flames flickering with soft orange light in their candelabras. Multiple stacks of books, each one bound by black covers, litter most of the space on and around the table, leaving but a small space for one to actually sit and read.

All of this was prepared in advance? Duncan lets out an impressed whistle.

"I think I got everything you'll need for the next few days," Boris speaks. "If there's anything else you want, feel free to let me know."

"Thanks, Boris," Malorn nods. "I think this is good for now."

"Happy studying!"

With that, the student librarian returns to his previous work, disappearing around a corner. His footsteps continue for a short moment before falling silent altogether, as if he suddenly stopped existing.

Malorn gestures to the table way too enthusiastically for a study session. "Ready to get started?"

"We're reading all of this?" Duncan asks, once again looking over the mountain of books. The more he counts the spines, the less eager he is to sit and start.

"Pretty much," Malorn nods back.

Duncan can't help but let out a groan at the task ahead of him. Yes, admittedly, he's been neglecting his studies. It's easy to do when one no longer has a Professor nor a classroom to turn to. Even their teaching assistant - poor Dworgyn; Duncan sort of liked him... kind of... when he wasn't annoying - is gone, and the Headmaster hasn't bothered getting them a new one for the time being.

"Hey, if you're not going to study, you can always take the Headmaster's offer and switch schools," Malorn adds casually, turning towards the table.

"We had that conversation!" Duncan retorts as if it were a valid point. He's not switching schools. Period. It'd feel like a betrayal on his part if he ever did, so he doesn't allow himself to entertain such a thought.

"Then sit down and start reading," Malorn replies firmly. "Malistaire wouldn't want you slacking."

A little pang of guilt stabs Duncan's heart at the statement. Indeed, Professor Drake would hate to see one of his star students behind on studying...

His gaze sinks to the floor, his body feeling heavy. He wasted the last week doing absolutely nothing with himself. If the Professor saw him now, he'd be extremely disappointed.

Duncan takes his seat across the table from Malorn and picks up the first book within his reach. It's time to stop wasting his time and get back to work. He has people to make proud of him.

[egoat]

Wizards: Creeping and Ramping

This is an excerpt of an interview floating around in advance of the new D&D book coming out, which has gotten some enflamed reactions on Twitter for "admitting to introducing power creep into D&D" & "referring to Magic as filthy" and other things. I wanted to summarize some of the criticisms of Wizards of the Coast, most of which I've see on this site, and try to reflect on what their ethos has been the past couple of years in Magic and D&D, which have always reflected each other.

To give some barebones context: Wizards of the Coast (a proud subsidiary of Hasbro) develops both Dungeons & Dragons and Magic: The Gathering, one being a tabletop co-operative role playing game and the other a collectible trading card game. Ostensibly, the two genres are pretty far apart aside from their fantasy trappings and target audiences, but in many ways they've acted as sort of sibling games to each other since Magic was brought into the fold in 1994 (or something), a trend which has increased more and more in recent years. Magic settings were "crossed over" into 5th edition settings books, Dungeons & Dragons was "crossed over" into Magic, but more than anything they have come to reflect each other in terms of design -- when assembling a character build in 5th edition D&D, you're likely looking to select feats and features and spells and abilities that synergize with each other and generate impact and value, when you're not strictly making your decisions from a role playing point of view, not dissimilar from assembling a Magic deck full of cards that synergize with each other and generate value.

To return to the quote, then; Wizards of the Coast undeniably has sought to make their new, not-confusing-at-all 2024 version of the 5th edition core rulebooks appealing by making them better than they were before. They offer a product that is ostensibly improved in terms of design considerations and things like "balance", but also one that is undeniably "improved" in terms of the value those design elements have in terms of gameplay. "Nerfs" are few and far between, while "buffs" have been applied to seemingly everything, something that is stressed again and again by lead designer Mark Rosewater in the promotional videos discussing the design behind the books. In other words, as much as they package their promotion in terms of the "fun" added to the game, the "power creep" element is undeniably there, and the players most attuned and affected by that "power creep" are in turn not happy about it, particularly in learning this trend shares so much in common with Magic's recent design trends.

I want to dive deeper into the question of why this matters; nerds, fandoms, devoted practitioners of a craft, whatever, are perennially upset about changes being made to anything. Should we first consider the question the design team was ostensibly considering -- do these changes make the game more fun? Is the product improved in a way that's more important than the prior power balance being affected (or upturned)? Let's first take a look at what "power creep" has meant for Magic.

Surrounding Magic's thirtieth anniversary in 2022, WOTC aggressively expanded the amount of products released in Magic's lineup. Sets of Magic were released well below 5 per year prior to 2010; from 2010 to 2020, that number hovered from below 10 to around 15; and from 2020 onward, that number skyrocketed to almost 40 per year. Despite the backlash from consumers and investors alike, with Bank of America famously saying Hasbro was "killing its golden goose" by extracting the maximum value out of their existing consumer base with these excessive releases, this strategy undeniably reaped dividends and continues to. Magic had its moment as these massive product releases, chiefly among them the Universes Beyond: Lord of the Rings, hit shelves. Perhaps more significant were the design trends reflected on the cardboard printed. Magic was known for being a bit capricious when it came to power level; one could argue there was a practical downward-sloping bell curve in the "playability" of cards from the first sets through the modern era of cards. The sets printed from 2020 on, however, were evidently as powerful as anything ever printed, if not moreso, and this "power creep" undeniably drove sales. Exactly as Lanzillo described in the quote above, when Wizards printed a card that shifted competitive formats around it and in rare quantities, product sales responded in turn, and the aftermarket values of those cards reflected this as well.

All of this fed into the ongoing animosity between Wizards of the Coast and its consumer base, who have always recognized its exploitative tendencies and have nonetheless endured them. This came to a head, however, in 2023, when Wizards attempted to breach the Open Gaming License in an attempt to basically leech royalties off of an already-existing independent industry of D&D-related products. Wizards was unsuccessful, of course, retracting their attempt to do so as it was further found that they'd be in violation of a legal precedent that they themselves set, but this brought to light exactly how distant Wizards had become from its consumer base. In the first place, purchasing a Wizards of the Coast product had never been necessary to play D&D. It was only really one person, the Dungeon Master, who was encouraged to spend hundreds on WOTC's hardcovers for a group to play the games; and even that was nullified by the availability of all of that information and text in a more conveniently organized form on numerous websites, or just the PDF rips of those books. In other words, the contract between Wizards and its player base had always been one of goodwill, and that goodwill was rapidly deteriorating. Boycotts were recommended as a course to protest the violation of the OGL. Around this time in Magic: The Gathering's history was also the time that "proxies", printed paper copies of cards, became much more popular and accepted in MTG player's circles. Whether it was the unavailability to find many cards at an affordable price, the unwillingness to pay scalpers or Wizards of the Coast for those cards, out of protest of Wizards of the Coast's design or business practices, or just the ease with which you could print cards and have a good time with them just like you could with D&D, it became apparent that a huge portion of Magic's player base no longer cared to collect the cards for their collectible card game. Still, to this day, a majority of casual Magic: the Gathering events across a majority of game stores tend to be proxy-friendly, with the only exception being official tournaments.

But what does all this mean for the game itself? One would think the developers of both D&D and Magic: the Gathering would make an effort to win the goodwill of their consumers back above all else; to make products that people care about, recognize the value of, and can accept or even want to pay the retail prices for. How Wizards of the Coast responded to that task, is, as always, complicated.

It would take me far too long to address the many, many criticisms levied at D&D and its 5th edition in the decade of its reign. To summarize; D&D is and likely always will be the most popular tabletop role playing game. It is, by and large, a fun and enjoyable experience; is this in large part due to it being a role playing game and the only example of its genre most people have given a chance? Does the design of 5th edition benefit this experience any more than any other example of its genre, or is it simply the most popular because it is the most popular? Is the success of 5th edition so dependent on its engaged player base frequently filling in the gaps or shouldering the burdens of its fill-in-the-blank systems and do-what-you-want rules text, and does the fun in D&D come from the social aspect of the game and the work players and DMs put into it rather than the game itself? To put it simply, your mileage may vary; but to all of the qualms and concerns people have had with 5th edition and the balance of its classes in particular, Wizards seeks to answer with the new 2024 version of (ostensibly) the same game system, which redefines and re-codifies many of the rules of the game while completely changing the definition of its classes.

I will reveal my own bias now; knowing next to nothing about how the contents of these new books will play out in practice, I am completely optimistic about these changes and I think they reveal a clear shift in consideration in terms of design. While I don't think Wizards has re-made the wheel, I do think they've become noticeably more hands-on with rules, which is in contrast to how lackadaisical they've been with providing systems or answers to basic questions in the past. For example, the haven system (or whatever it's called) seems like it can actually generate a lot of experiences and gives you the tools and clear-set rules to do so, in contrast to most of the more speculative ideas in the original Dungeon Master's guide for "downtime".

But it doesn't matter what I think. Let's return to the problem outlined by their own words at the center of their approach. In making D&D better to play, they have chosen to make all of the classes better, period. Generously, we can interpret this as "what they mean to say is, better designed, less frustrating, more fun, more flavorful, et cetera" but the rules and videos have already largely revealed that the former is also the case. It takes a philosophy that has been common in live-service video game patch cycles for some time -- it is better to give players buffs to everything rather than nerf one thing.

D&D is not a competitive game, but co-operative. The integrity of the systems and "power level" only matters in that it informs the investment players have in the stakes of the gameplay, though it will also surely inform the choices some players make regarding their characters as well. Strictly speaking, right now we can only guess at the state of the balance between players and the challenges they face. The only matter that actually complicates this is their blatantly false idea that the new rulebooks are "compatible" with 5th edition D&D from 2014, a statement they always caveat in interviews and promotions with "but you'll want to use this version". In essence, if the source of the anger and resentment at Wizards is that by this line, one of their products (2014) is clearly inferior to another product (2024) and this both introduces power creep and places an undue burden on the consumer, then yes, you have every right to be angry and start firebombing your local game store.

But being realistic, let's accept what all of us have already accepted; these changes herald a new edition of D&D, and thankfully for most of us, we aren't dependent on the hardcover books and so many of these changes will become freely available to us, likely in .pdf form. So let's return to the question; with these changes, is D&D better or worse, and does power level even matter? Did this "power level creep" do harm to the overall game, and rob it of meaning or integrity? I can see where some players will become offended that their existing or in-progress games are interrupted by these changes and their characters changed with them, but let's ignore those somewhat complicated cases first (you could just not use the changes). Instead, without a working simulation of what the new core rulebook's gameplay will actually look like, I want to broadly look at what Wizards has already done with their new, "power level crept" Magic.

Yes, Magic's new cards are better than its old cards. Does Wizards, when designing several dozen sets a year of new cards, look at old cards, tweak and improve them to print a more valuable card, and reap the monetary rewards? Undeniably. Is this bad, and am I bad for allowing it to dominate my psyche and my crippled financial state and much of my free time? Yes, as well. But in terms of the gameplay -- is it so bad that new cards are ones you actually want to play? There is a line I'm ignoring here, between "interesting and fun to play" and "strictly better". A lot of good design can do the former, and not the latter, and this is something many Magic players have been asking for a while now. But let's say, for our purposes, that line has been crossed. The power level of a Magic card printed in 2024 will undeniably be at, or above, the power level of a card printed in 2014 or 2004 (though maybe not 1994). Is that so bad -- what is the actual result on gameplay?

There are edge cases where new cards are so powerful they can be considered a clear failure of design -- something that comes to dominate the game to such a degree that it seems clear it should not exist within the same habitat, like Nadu, Winged Wisdom. More resentment, still, has come from entire archetypes emerging from out of nowhere in previously-established, stable "metagames", like the advent of energy decks also following Modern Horizons 3. All of this influx of cards, changes, and products is undeniably overwhelming, and Magic players that are attuned to this competitive scene speak more to the feeling of fatigue or an inability to adjust to the shifting metagame as much as anything else. Likewise, we're likely to see the same complaints of D&D players used to the familiar being introduced to, all at once, the buffet of new subclass options in the new books, as well as the added struggle of coming to terms with what changed in their existing features.

But I think these are, more than anything, growing pains. When we examine whether the power creep has actually positively benefitted Magic -- if it has brought new players to the game, made old players more interested, and made games of Magic more fun and more interesting -- I think the answer is undeniably yas. A metagame that is evolving, active, and fluid is by its very nature ever-shifting. Players have bemoaned that eternal formats are now seemingly rotating, but that rotation has brought with it a huge evolution in terms of deck variety as opposed to what existed before, and is seemingly settling into a more diverse and plentiful environment. More than anything, players are engaged in what is happening in Magic -- if you ascribe this to nothing more than them being "baited" by Wizards into caring by them simply printing better and better cards, I have no denial of that. But I think, undeniably, the gameplay made by these cards is actually fun and interesting rather than vapid -- I am even willing to see if a metagame can come to shift around Nadu and respond to it effectively (not actually that much it can be banned).

In other words, I'm extremely hopeful for the changes being made to both D&D and Magic, even when that hope seems very stupid to place in a company like Wizards of the Coast -- I believe their design teams have reflected a consideration towards these games that goes beyond mere "power creep" and moving stock, and they have rather created a more dynamic and interesting game than cheapened it. This is all tentative, of course, and you are free to call me a corporate simp and to kill myself below, and I will likely reflect on your words when I read the ability that gives Warlock infinite Eldritch Blasts per turn or something.

[jdbeckmanwriting]

To End, We Must First Begin...

Tell me, have you heard the story of of words creation? Hmm, it's not all that surprising you haven't. The story of Bassan's creation is so rarely taught in our schools... I've even heard fellow scholars openly mock the story in front of their pupils. How unprofessional. Anyway, while the validity of the story is frequently brought into question by the more educated of us, I still believe that it is necessary we know our story in full.

Today, we leave behind the crampt, dust ridden shelves of the library, and that stuffy old lab to pay a visit to our local temple. I've arranged a meeting here in the courtyard with one of their priestesses. If you are to hear our story, it should be from those who know it best.

Centuries ago, before ships and trees and the founding of all things, the Almunashi, creator of all that is and will be, resided above in the cosmos. Here in the Avarice empire, they are better known as Lumina or the great Illuminate. There, they sat surrounded by nothingness. They felt nothing. They knew nothing. They were nothing. 

Then, They found the light.

First, there was one, floating beside them in that great, great expansive void. But before long, one became two. Quickly, these little flickers of something split again and again, ever growing in intensity. They held that flickering spark in their hands and watched in mesmerized delight.

Delight? What is delight? What is wonder? All at once, Lumina's entire existence expanded. It grew, and it grew until their entire being coalesced in one brilliant moment of newfound awareness and exploded across that great expansive wasteless nothing. 

The empty was gone; replaced with planets and stars and, best of all: life. Living breathing things of every shape and size roamed the newborn cosmos. There was life in the seas, life in the sky, and life on the lands. The greatest of their works were the humans, industrious little creatures capable of complex thought and creation, yet fragile and so very temporary. What was truly mesmerizing about this new life was its ability to grow, live, die, and live again. It was the perfect cycle, and in that cycle lived magic…but that is a story for another time. 

The Great Illuminate had found life, and they intended to fill the universe with it. 

But before long, the life they created was overwhelmed. These creatures battled, fought, and strove to tear themselves apart. This simply could not do. At once, they decided that these new things they had created needed order. So they created beings in their own image to rule over their creations: the Ajashraman. We know these ancient ageless beings born of the earth itself, Jhamran. These beings were capable of altering all of everything, just as Lumina had. 

But even these new ruling creatures were quickly overwhelmed by both their unlimited potential and the endless expanse of forever that would come with their near immorality. They fought, battled, and nearly burned their new world to the ground. Alumnashi was greatly disturbed. These creatures should be perfect, they thought. How could they be so cruel? That is when they decided these beings needed more structure, still. 

They pondered for seven days and seven nights, wondering how they might structure this new world. It was then that it struck them: there are simply too many forces acting on this world, so many that the structure I hoped to create dissolved into chaos. I must create those who can guide these things who I have created to give them purpose and a common goal to pursue. But they also worried that if they focused solely on order, they would lose the wonderful chaos that led the Aluminashi to that initial moment of euphoric discovery.

So, they created great and powerful guides for their leaders who would live separately above all things, The Aldhalimi. We know them as Halli. Seven would rule the day, bringing order and law. They would guide the world toward its purpose. To counteract the day would also be seven to rule the night. These would seed chaos and inspire innovation. In this way, their world would never become complacent and would retain the spontaneity that led to their ultimate creation. 

Finally, Lumina's creations lived together in the world they had created. Observing this great work of theirs, they faded into the void, now teaming with life. For the first time in their infinite existence, they saw balance and equilibrium. Most important of all, they were no longer alone.

Sadly, Lumina would soon learn that with life and existence, there came another equal domineering force: Atrophy and life's natural urge to combat it. Balance would not last for long. 

Where is the Aluminashi now, you ask? We’ll… no one is really quite sure. But, if you look up into the night sky and find that fortune is on your side you might catch a glimpse. Why, it would appear our Lady the Blessed Dawn Martyr has indeed blessed us with her fortune this fine night. Look, above your heads! See the brightest star in the sky, just to your right? Follow the lines of the stars and you might see a beautiful bowl with two hands pouring out the night sky.

That is the creator still today filling our universe with the luminous gift of life and light. 

[neonlight2]

Love of the Grave

Series based off of this fandom and cosplay channel on YouTube: The Dandy Lyon Club

Link to video to exact inspo: https://www.youtube.com/live/LGjqHu6dV_o?si=Brkyqjrm3F5nPn6f

Masterlist

A scream rung throughout the black manor; something common to the old building. Its creaking walls, which seemingly warped the sound to its will, used similar noises often to shudder the windows. From the hidden memories that laid dead beneath the floorboards, they arose as the house took another breath.

However, there was familiarity within the sound, and it was as if the house could remember its pitch. Perhaps… it was part of its collection?

The spirits trapped along each doorway could recognize the sound as well, but found the noise wasn’t as pleasing as it had been. It was pitiful to what it once was a mere few years ago. All misery and lustrous terror gone, now left in a finicky and chaotic nature. A part of the house felt betrayed by the shift, and one could even argue that the air within the house had soured— destain floating in the air alongside a plethora of dust.

Soon there came a rumble of footsteps down the hallways. The dashing feet making the floor squeak, as another, well favored, voice followed.

“Sirius, you’ve scared her away!”

The feet halted, being replaced with the second, far more boisterous voice in the otherwise empty abode. “Oh! I’m sorry, but she bloody scared me!”

The heir— the only acknowledged heir anyhow— of the Black household rolled his eyes before apologizing to the open room, trying to piece together everything his dramatic sibling had scattered. His delicate hands making sure to relight the candles, which were luckily just spares in the grand scheme of their séance, while muttering an array of half curses at his older brother.

As his eyes drifted, he noticed that his annoyance would only grow. “For fucking Merlin sake— you knocked the damn salt off the table you idiot!”

Still refusing to renter the room he now deemed haunted, Sirius peered through the edge of the doorframe. “Regulus I do apologize, but if you don’t recall about five seconds ago there was ghost of one of our dead relatives standing this,” he pinched his fingers in front of his eyes, acting like he was zooming in and out on his younger brothers face, “ close to us!”

“Yes there was,” Regulus replied in a patronizing tone, specifically used for Sirius when he thought him especially dim witted. “I’m glad your sight wasn’t effected like your hearing from our unfortunate genes.”

“Reggie,” the older Black slid down the doorframe with his face covered by his hands. “Do you truly live in this horror every day and night? You poor boy!”

“Yes, as if our house—that is hidden within another flat complex by the use of magic— being haunted is the biggest shock.” Regulus deadpanned with a raised brow, holding blunt judgments. “You’ve been around muggles for too long.”

In any other situation Sirius would have teased him for the action, pointing out the similarity to their mothers resting expression, but there were more pressing matters.

Scoffing, Sirius glared at his brother with a playful yet warning undertone. “James and Lily’s place is far better than this hellhole.”

Not bothering to look back at him, Regulus picked up the books that had fallen from the shelves. All it took was one tipping over for Sirius to jump, accidentally kicking the shelf closest to them with his gangly legs, causing ten more to topple.

“Anastasia seems to disagree.” He remarked, referring to their ancestor who had patiently answered all the questions they had for her in the séance Sirius suggested they have.

“Well seeing as she was killed, probably by someone in relation to our family, I don’t think it’s her favorite place in the world.”

“You can like something and not it’s owners, you do know that right?” Regulus asked, a tinge of irritation slipping through is otherwise perfect monotone disposition. “Or is that too vast of an idea for you to comprehend?”

Ignoring his younger brother, as he often did, Sirius groaned as he pushed himself off the floor. “What I don’t understand is how she lived so long.” He admitted, flicking salt off the skin peaking below his cropped Bowie tee.

“Because she was a Hufflepuff?”

“Well, that, and she was a lesbian.” Sirius replied with a click of his tongue, waiting for his brothers reaction.

“So?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Sirius gaped at his brother like he was a mad man. “So?! Our family is the definition of traditional Reggie or have you not noticed because your too busy collecting bones with Creature? Where the hell is he anyway? He could be helping us clean up right now.”

“Me, helping me,” Regulus corrected. “You haven’t done anything helpful since you’ve arrived.”

“Ouch, okay— but where is he really? It’s weird not hearing him grumbling in the corner when we hang out.”

“Do you remember which one fell first?” Regulus asked, piling together the pieces of literature. He could have sworn it was green, but that didn’t slim down his choices much. Practically every book in the house was green or black, an occasional brown spine making a rare appearance.

“No,” Sirius answered, easily distracted from his train of thought. “I was busy trying not to piss myself.”

“Calm down, it was not that scary.”

“Not that scary?! She was this—,”

“Shut up would you and make yourself useful!” Regulus all but ordered, as he began to knock on the empty space of the bookcase.

“What? Am I supposed to be checking the stability of the furniture now? Or the quality of the wood? Because I’m sorry to tell you Reg, but everything in this house is as old as the bloody forefathers—,”

“Oh dear Merlin,” Regulus rubs his eyes fervently to try and relieve the building pressure in his head. “Please tell me you know about the passageways.”

He got no response.

Daring himself to look, Regulus peaked over at Sirius. “Not even the hiding quarters? The hidden artifacts?”

Sirius just blinked at his brother.

“Of course you don’t,” he huffed, almost laughing at the discovery.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You never pay attention to anything besides James Potter—,”

“First of all, James is perfect. Second that’s not true I pay attention to plenty of other things that interest me.”

Like Remus Lupin, Regulus wants to say, but he doesn’t.

He’s always had more self control than his brother.

Rolling his eyes, Regulus caved. “You never liked the house enough to actually look around.”

“I did—!”

“Then you did a shit job at it because there’s a hidden trap door right in front of your room.”

“What?”

“Or maybe you just didn’t hear the difference in the flooring.”

“I’m not deaf!” Sirius defended himself, now growing tired of the reoccurring, childhood joke he thought outdated.

Without warning, Regulus startled Sirius as he started coughing, having hit a dust bunny while lining his finger to the creases of the bookcase. Scrambling away, he heaved over trying to catch his breath in between each lurch of his lungs. Rocking on his feet, his arm searched behind him in hopes of finding something to keep stable. Sirius, overcoming his pride, made himself a quicker fix than the wall. Grabbing his reluctant sibling by the shoulders, he slowly set the boy down to sit on the nearest chair— knowing he would only complain if placed in the floor.

When the rather painful episode was coming to an end, Regulus shoved Sirius’ hand away from his back that had been rubbing and patting in hopes to help. He let out a whisper of thanks but no more as he leaned back in the hard wooden chair.

Allowing himself to laugh, Regulus croaked out a smug remark, “And I don’t have asthma.”

Sirius shook his head with a disbelieving grin. “How do you even know what asthma is? I thought ‘all muggle diagnoses were inferior’.”

“When have I ever actually said that?” Regulus quipped, some spite hidden beneath his gritted smirk.

If it weren’t for the suddenness of the question, Sirius may have noticed it, but it would seem that he was far more intrigued by the new found spirit buried somewhere deep within his uptight, little brother.

“Touché,” he replied with dopey— Regulus dare say proud looking smile.

Straining his eyes with the twisting habit, Regulus pointed to the shelves that had just terrorized his lungs. “Check the creases, and press down on the—,”

“I got it, I got it.”

Sirius didn’t, in fact, know what to do. Not as precisely as his brother anyway, but he’d never admit that. So he simply let his hands slap about the sides of the cleared shelves, sometimes leaning toward a bit to tap the back wall. As if he knew what the difference would sound like.

“I still can’t believe you screamed—,” Regulus snorted with his head laying limp off the back of the chair.

“She popped out of nowhere!” Sirius defended, feeling especially tempted to throw another book at his brother.

“Ghosts did the same thing at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah but at least they announced themselves. She didn’t say a word. She- she—,” Sirius couldn’t help but tumble over his words as he had his feet when racing away from the scene. “She just stood there!”

“You sounded like a—,”

“As a feminist, and because Lily Potter commands it,” Sirius took the closest book in hand before raising a brow at Regulus, pointing it menacingly at him, “if you say I ‘screamed like a girl’, I will throw this at you.”

“Would you let me finish one sentence?!” Regulus snapped, and Sirius couldn’t help but stare in awe at the tint appearing across his brothers otherwise ‘ungodly pale’ skin. “Merlin, you’re insufferable.”

Staring at each other, both brothers held something of their own, as they often did. Sirius with his inquisitive and sometimes rash curiosity, contrasting that of Regulus unmoving sternness. However, this time, the youngest seemingly held more defiance than his roguish, older brother.

It would dull within seconds. That was how they worked. Quick to burn up, and just as fast to burn out.

“How is she doing?” Regulus asked, picking at nails all while Sirius continued his search.

“Who? Anastasia? Pretty sure she’s spooked, ironically.” Sirius offered, wanting to make this uncomfortable tension to disappear.

“Lily, you idiot.” Regulus corrected, returning to his annoyed facade.

Staring at him with a curled nose, Sirius asked, “Why? Thought you didn’t like my friends.”

“I don’t,” Regulus confirmed, peeling away whatever remained around his nails. Now he dared not meet his brothers eyes. “She wasn’t originally your friend. We had that in common.”

“Wait… are you saying you two were mates?” Sirius laughed. “You? Mr. Black, heir to the pure blood dynasty—,”

“Oh sod off! We talked in the library,” Regulus trailed off with a small smile of his own, his voice growing soft. “She was nice to me.”

Knowing he wouldn’t get anything further from his brother, Sirius smiles to himself after finding something they held in common, and decided to be kind. He could interrogate Lily about this later anyway.

“She’s fine. Great. Happy and in love with James. I mean who wouldn’t be?”

Regulus just hummed.

“Ah ha!” Sirius shouted in victory, standing on the tips of his toes in order to reach the ridge he had found. “I think— I think I found it! I just got to get the right bloody angle and—,”

Click

The floorboards began to shudder beneath them, sending Sirius backward with a surprised shriek as everything seemed to move. All while Regulus watched in excitement as the wall opened to a hidden hall. It was as if the two had traded personalities as the book shelves began to twist and fold themselves until falling downwards.

“I think I broke the house.” Sirius muttered, stuck still in his spot, unable to move on his own.

“Shut up and come along,” Regulus said with a new surge of energy, yanking his brother by his arm.

“When did you become so adventurous?” Sirius asked, annoyed by this new disposition. He would follow without delay of course. “You weren’t ever like this when I wanted to do things.”

Practically running down the newly made path, Regulus allowed his fingers to glide against each side. “That’s because your ideas were stupid.”

“They were fantastic!”

“They got you into trouble. How many detentions was it? Over a hundred?”

“I didn’t keep count. I’ll ask Remus for you.”

“Oh I’m sure you will.”

“What’s that supposed to me— and now I can’t see.”

The hall had gone dark. All light diminished with each step. Apparently they had wandered too far from the entrance, for when Sirius looked back, he found no difference from his front. And there wasn’t a candle in sight.

Clutching onto his brother’s shoulders for dear life, the older Black whispered, “Please tell me you know where we’re going.”

“The path is still going, we’ll be fine until one of the walls disappear.” Regulus stated without a single quiver in his voice.

“I reckon you’ve done this before?” Sirius inquired, still whispering.

“Yes I have— why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know! It just felt right.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Me? I’m weird? Says the one who is totally fine and dandy going down a hidden passage like looks like a literal death trap.”

Sirius heaved, crashing into Regulus’s back. “What? Why’d you stop? What’s going on?”

Ignoring to urge to tell his brother to shut up, Regulus replied softly, “The wall ran out.”

“Which side?”

“Both.”

“Both?! But you said—,”

“This hasn’t happened before, now back up and let me think.”

For once in his life, Sirius listened to his brother. Regulus was grateful for it.

Finding his way back to the stone wall, Regulus thought. He had gone through dozens of secret passageways in this house. None of them ever lead both directions. The first few times he was thankful, but after a couple of venters he thought it was something done on purpose. No one other than family would ever find them, blood bound magic guaranteed it. He thought maybe his ancestors did it to keep the finder on track or safe. Regulus even let his mind wander to the idea that perhaps it was the house leading him. As if it somehow was giving him permission.

Now he thought himself a fool.

“Hold my hand.”

“What?” Sirius asked, the prospect ludicrous coming from his younger brother. He’d never been scared before, or at least he never showed it.

“Take my bloody hand, I’m going to see if there’s a wall in front of us.”

“Oh.” Doing what he said, shockingly cooperative, Sirius took his brothers left hand in his.

“Now touch the wall and don’t stop until I tell you.”

Sirius complied, shivering. Whether it be from fear or the cold wall he couldn’t tell.

“Alright what now—?”

Sirius grip tightened as his brother moved forward, no warning given. He gulped down the impulsive words longing to jump off his tongue. And he waited until he heard his brother let out a sigh, one he could not differentiate from disappointment or relief.

“What? Is it there? Holy shit it isn’t there is it? Oh Godric we’re going to die in here—,”

“Shut up,” Regulus retorted finally. “It’s there.”

Letting out a sigh of his own Sirius nodded, still touching the wall. “Can I let go now?”

“No.”

“But it’s fucking freezing Reggie.”

“Just—!” Regulus huffed out his frustration before unintentionally giving his brother’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Give me a moment.”

It only took a few seconds for it to be beyond quiet.

The lack of noise made Sirius ears ring, and he hated the way his mind liked to play tricks with him— making him think he could hear clicking fingertips, nails scratching along the walls, or a far off voice waiting to blind him numb.

Regulus, however, he was used to the silence. He had grown safe within it, utilizing it when it benefited him best. Just as he served it when screaming absently into the void, not a sound leaving his stretched jaw.

And it would appear that it had not forgotten his offerings.

Left

Feeling air pass over the hairs now tall from a short chill running up his neck, Regulus heard a faint whisper in his ear. Tilting his head his eyes closed, pleading the voice to say it once more.

Left

“I’m sorry— I really tried but I can’t stand it. I need you to say something,” Sirius broke, “We’re not splitting up right? I don’t trust this house to not try to impale me or dismember me somehow—,”

“We’re going left.” Regulus replied, leading the way. “You can stop now.”

It didn’t take long for Sirius to flinch away from the chilling stone. “Thank Godric, I was starting to feel pins and needles.”

Walking slow and swiftly, Regulus held his arms out once again, except this time he let them drift up and down as well. The action made a noise that of a brushstroke, sweeping in a back and forth motion.

“How did you know to go left?” Sirius asked, this time in a normal fashion. “And why are you caressing the walls all of a sudden?”

“She told me too.” Regulus replied shortly, continuing like clockwork.

“Okay— that sounded creepy as shit,” Sirius remarked in a comical tone. “What do you mean ‘she told you too’? Who is she? Did you take your vitamins today-?”

“Sirius, for just a few minutes could you just not ask me a question—,”

Stop

Sirius screamed, “Horrid mother of mine— I heard it that time!”

Slipping his fingers a little forward, Regulus felt something smooth pass over his hand. Cool to the touch, and soft when pressed together. A fabric of some kind, fluttering by air which only the tips of his fingers could feel.

Bracing himself, Regulus leaned back into his brother. He was going to warn him to hold on, but then he felt something that lit his body with irritation.

“Sirius?”

“Yes?”

“Have you had your wand on you this whole time?”

“…”

“Sirius.”

“Yes?”

“Do the bloody spell you idiot.”

Rustling to his pockets, Sirius held his wand firm before speaking the word that would have been most convenient not even three minutes ago.

“Lumos.”

Regulus squinted out a glare at his brother, his eyes tensing at the new light within pitch black. “I should maim you.”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Sirius countered, covering the embarrassed bloomed across his face. “What about your wand?!”

“It’s on the table in the room.”

“Well, that’s not very responsible of you is it Regulus? Leaving your only defense behind.”

“Shut up and point it forward.”

“Fine, your such a—,” Sirius train of thought slipped from him the moment his eyes reached what was before them.

A veiled entry, fluttering to a wind they could not feel nor hear. It’s drape black and ripped, as if nails were taken to it, yet the fabric still shined in the light. There was no sign of age, discoloration or even dust. It simply hung in the air, not even connecting to that of a rack or the wall.

What was beyond, they could not see. Almost as if teasing them, the veil would only swing high enough for them to see the outline of the other side. No more, no less.

Regulus took a step forward, ready to embrace whatever resided on the other side. His brother, however, wavered.

“Reggie are you sure this is the best idea?”

“When did you become so reasonable?” Regulus quipped, lightly amused by his brother’s fear.

“Apparently when you stopped.”

“You sound like me.”

Sirius vocally gagged. “Don’t you dare ever say that to me again.”

“Then hurry up and come along.”

That was the last thing Regulus said before ducking under the black veil when it had reached its peak.

There was nothing left of him anymore. Not a glimpse of of his coal colored curls, not the even the sound of his clothes brushing up against each other.

“Regulus?” Sirius asked into the nothingness. “Regulus I swear on James if you pop out of there like a little shit and try to scare me I’ll strangle you.”

Nothing.

Gulping down his nerves, Sirius bounced on his heels, whilst tightening around his wand. “Okay, can’t let my little brother show us up can you now Sirius… Fine. Fine, fine.”

And he leaped… falling flat on his face… onto grass?

“Took you long enough.”

Huffing with a mix of amusement and annoyance, Sirius glance up at his brother— who didn’t so much as offer him a hand, only a shit-eating grin. “You’re a prick.”

Smiling even wider, Regulus watched as his brother scrambled up, making sure to check on his prized attire. “You should mind your manners brother.”

Furrowing his eyebrows at the sudden title, Sirius acted as if Regulus had grown a second head. “Brother? Mind my manners? Did you hit your head as well?”

Glancing from his brother to Sirius’ left, Regulus felt even more smug. “No, I landed gracefully with the help of one of our relatives,” he watched as Sirius’ head slowly shifted to follow his line of sight, “Now mind your manners and at least greet Anastasia. She did allow us to find her garden after all.”

Sirius went pink with shock and embarrassment. Barely a yard away from them way their ancestor, with a title including a plentiful amount of ‘greats’ he imagined. She sat with poise on an out fashioned swing made of only wood and rope ridden with moss. Both look aged, contrasting to the youth covering her features. In fact, everything around them look rather dull. The flowers were all in bloom and ripe in color, yet they stood so sickly. Although, Anastasia, even with the black and gray of her being, she look almost as alive as the two of them.

“Nice to finally meet you Sirius,” she spoke. Her voice was higher than he suspected, holding an echo to each syllable. “You’ve changed so much since I’ve last seen you, yet stayed the very same. Very fortunate of you.”

“Hi, yes, I’m sorry for… well that,” Sirius gestured  dramatically to the patch of grass he just fell upon. “It nice to meet you too, again, um— I’m sorry are you talking about a little while ago, ‘you last saw me’ or…”

A small smile crept up her face, but it seemed to hurt her too much for it to become full. “I used to watch you both when you were little.”

Scrunching up his nose, Sirius tilted his head as if to stop from saying something. He should have known better.

“Sorry that just sounds a bit creepy.”

“Sirius!” Regulus scolded, genuine in his disbelief this time.

“What it does?! I said sorry!”

“She’s a ghost Sirius, trapped in our house, of course she’s seen us!”

“Alright… touché, but why is it you’re trapped?” Sirius asked, turning his attention to Anastasia, who sat still but seemingly had breeze flowing about the strands of her hair. “Or are you? You did say you had unfinished business right? With the Malfoy family?”

Her expression was quick to turn gloomy and sour. “You would not need to know if you didn’t want to. I’ve been nothing but cooperative with your little seance, and you insist of asking more?”

“Sirius,” Regulus whispered harshly, ordering his brother to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius stated, not knowing which set of eyes he feared more. “I just want to know how to help.”

Anastasia’s head tilted, her brows softening as she rose from her seat. None of her footsteps making a sound as she approached the boy. Sirius tensed as she grew inches from his face, not seeming to think of personal space. He guessed in a way this was his karma.

She took her time studying his features, as if looking for the truth behind his eyes, but she knew it already.“You used to look just like your mother.”

Sirius bit his tongue, his jaw twitching at the comment. She was right. He was the depiction of his mother, many mistaking him for a daughter at first glance when he was a toddler, especially as his hair began to grow. His mother hated it as well, after Sirius had a personality of his own that is. She’s cut his hair in order to stop the reoccurring remarks, and she’d hex whatever she couldn’t fix with scissors.

The only way Sirius could bare to look himself in the mirror was by constantly changing with time. Sure there were things that he couldn’t change: the slope of his cheek, the color of his eyes, and the Cupid bow of his upper lip. But he could fix everything else by painting his eyes and nails colors that his mother would never be seen near, by dressing scandalously, and by the cut of his hair— always wild and all over the place.

“You’re lucky,” she complimented, a small hint of jealousy within her tone, “You’ve outgrown her.”

Slipping through his side, sending goosebumps all along his right arm, she floated in Regulus’ direction. Anastasia didn’t even look at him as she passed by, letting out a whistle of a whisper of which only he could hear.

“Some of us never do.”

Regulus didn’t need her touch to feel his bones go cold.

“Anastasia, what happened to you?” He asked, feeling his heart falter as him and Sirius followed after her— having to almost jog to keep with her deadly pace.

When she finally stood still long enough for them to catch their breath, they couldn’t help but gawk in awe at the vine infested statue in from of them. An Angel stood with its head down, depleted, as if weeping— grieving.

“I don’t really remember anymore,” she answered, hardly a whisper.

Staring in a daze, she hovered over the angel’s garb, scared to touch the piece. “I started hiding away my memories so that I wouldn’t be tormented anymore. Sometimes I come across a few,” she evaporated from the spot in an instant, reappearing atop a tree branch hanging over the boys, “Every one hurts more than the last. I often wonder if that’s another reason I ripped them from my head.”

Pinching his brows together, Sirius asks, “If you can’t remember, than why are you still here?”

Regulus couldn’t help but wonder the same thing. Without a purpose, a ghost would normally move on. Why hadn’t she?

“I cannot leave without her.”

Approaching softly, Regulus stared up at her with pure eyes, “Who?”

Anastasia smiled to herself, this time until her cheeks caved, revealing dimples both brothers could swear they had seen in their own reflections. Moreover, when her mouth opened as if she were to speak her lovers name, nothing left. Her lips just parted, agape, and her hand reached to cup her throat as if free the name from its cage.

Her chin quivered when she finally gave up her attempt, and she only wished she could walk away the wretched feeling.

There was something festering within Regulus he could not comprehend. He had assumed pity, perhaps sympathy, but he found neither fit.

He would not hold his tongue any longer.

“We’ll find her for you,” he promised, paying no attention to his brother, who was gaping at his audacity. “Just tell us where to start.”

“Regulus,” it was Sirius turn to scold.

“The mirror is where it began.” she whispered descending from the branch to lead them away.

Regulus followed without questions, determined not to lose sight of her. All while Sirius chased after him, tugging on his arm to gain his attention.

“Regulus, I won’t say I’m not proud by this kind gesture, but you don’t know how long this will take,” Sirius said, a worried pitch to his voice. “I can’t be here when mother returns, and if I don’t go back in an hour or so James, Lily, Remus— they’ll worry. Merlin forbid they call Dumbledore to find me only to see us in this—,”

“Time doesn’t move here.” Anastasia interrupted, stopping to point at a broken father clock, the hands stopped on three. “You’ll be returned to the time you came here.”

Regulus glanced back at his brother, his expression asking ‘any other complaints?’.

Shrugging his shoulders, Sirius gave in. “Sounds good.”

They continued down the grass path, noticing with every step that the number of wildflowers diminished. Instead they were replaced with white stone, building up to what look like an alter. Except, in stead of offerings and a monument of worship, there was a mirror, round and grand in gold. Candles leaked down the sides, dripping onto the cobblestones that mimicked horse hooves.

“This is where I awoke, and the only thing I can remember,” she stated somberly, her eyes now drained and dull.

It was as if the short trip had taken a toll on her.

Finally, she looked at them. There was no more fondness found, nor destain, only warning.

“If you touch the mirror, you won’t be able to leave until the memory is finished. And the body you inhabit won’t be yours,” she explained a deep gravity in her otherwise pleasant voice. “You’ll have to live within another mind. No autonomy, no control.”

“Well…” Sirius trailed with a prolonged sigh. “It wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’ve done.”

Glancing at Regulus, she awaited his answer.

“We’ll be fine,” he replied, giving his brother a look only he could interpret.

No backing out now.

Sirius nodded, taking his place next to Regulus as they held out their hands.

“Ready for our first adventure brother?” Sirius asked cheekily, hiding the fear lodged in his gut.

A small smile tugged at Regulus lips, and he deemed it worthy of a response. “Don’t change my mind now.”

Their hands pushed forward, touching the middle just for it to pool around their fingers and envelop them whole. It swelled around them, swallowing their being in silvered mercury, until it was all they could breathe.

The substance went thick as smoke down their throats, and when they exhaled their eyes opened. A new freedom in their lungs, but a different color welcoming their vision.

Their grey eyes now a whiter tint, and their hair falling lower than Sirius’.

There she was, gripping the engraved wood around the mirror they had just transformed through— Anastasia.

Youthful. Their age.

Alive.

[affordablebathroomrenovations]

Is a Bathroom Renovation Remodel Worth It? Here’s What Waterloo Homeowners Need to Know!

A lot of homeowners in Waterloo, Ontario, are choosing to upgrade rather than move. Not only can a bathroom refresh improve daily comfort, but it can also boost your home’s value.

Let's dive into key factors to help you decide if and when to go for a bathroom renovation remodel.

Why Now Is a Good Time to Renovate?

Staying put makes sense. A 2024 survey of Canadian homeowners found 94% are staying in their current homes over the next year. Of those, 25% plan to renovate rather than move, with Ontario homeowners leading at a 63% renovator rate (source).

Investing in your home is smart. Nearly two-thirds (63%) of Canadian renovators aim to enhance their home’s comfort and value, not just update for aesthetics. Bathroom remodels are especially popular, with about 37% of planned home renovations targeted at areas like bathrooms (source).

Strategic Planning for a Successful Bathroom Remodel

Before diving into a bathroom renovation remodel, having a clear plan in place can make all the difference. In many cases, success isn’t just about choosing the right fixtures or finishes. It’s about aligning your design choices with how the space will serve you now and in the future.

Assessing Your Needs

Start by identifying the primary purpose of the remodel. Are you updating an outdated space, solving functional issues, enhancing accessibility, or preparing for resale? These goals will guide decisions about layout, materials, and design.

Consider the following questions:

Who uses the bathroom most often: adults, children, guests, or older adults?

Are there storage limitations or layout inefficiencies?

Are you dealing with ventilation, lighting, or moisture issues?

Do you want a shower, a tub, or both?

This level of assessment ensures your remodel doesn’t just look good but also improves day-to-day living.

2. Layout and Functionality

Changing the bathroom layout can have a major impact on how the space feels and functions. Common layout improvements include

Relocating the toilet or vanity for more open space

Expanding the shower enclosure

Adding double sinks for shared use

Increasing natural light through a skylight or window upgrade

In older homes common to parts of Waterloo and Kitchener, poor ventilation and limited lighting are frequent concerns. These issues can be addressed with well-placed exhaust fans, pot lights, or LED mirrors that add both form and function.

3. Storage and Organization

Efficient storage solutions are a core component of modern bathroom design. Consider options like

Recessed medicine cabinets

Floating vanities with deep drawers

Built-in shelves or niches in shower walls

Over-the-toilet cabinetry

Smart storage design minimizes clutter and helps maintain the bathroom’s cleanliness and ease of use.

4. Material Selection

Material choice affects not only the visual appeal of your bathroom but also its durability and maintenance needs. For example:

Porcelain and ceramic tiles are low-maintenance and cost-effective.

Quartz is increasingly popular for countertops due to its stain resistance.

Matte black and brushed gold fixtures continue to trend in 2025 for a modern aesthetic.

When choosing materials, think about water resistance, slip safety, and ease of cleaning, especially in high-use or family bathrooms.

Planning for Smooth Execution

Proper planning is essential to avoid delays, stress, and unnecessary costs. Here’s how to stay on track:

Timeline: Most standard bathroom remodels take 2–4 weeks, though material delays or structural work can add time.

Permits: In Waterloo, permits may be needed for plumbing changes, structural modifications, or electrical work. Check with the city’s building department to confirm requirements.

Professional Help: While some tasks like painting or demolition can be DIY-friendly, licensed professionals are essential for plumbing, electrical, and waterproofing.

Contingency Plan: Always include a buffer, whether for budget or time. Unforeseen issues behind walls or under flooring are common in older homes.

Evolving Design Trends in 2025

Design preferences evolve, and today’s bathrooms are more spa-like, personalized, and connected than ever. Some current trends gaining traction among Ontario homeowners include

Warm, neutral palettes with soft beiges, greys, and earthy greens

Textured finishes like fluted vanities or zellige tiles

Integrated technology, including smart mirrors, touchless faucets, and heated flooring

Freestanding tubs, even in mid-sized bathrooms, where space allows

Natural materials, such as wood-look porcelain tile, to create a relaxing, organic atmosphere

While style is important, avoid overly trendy choices unless they align with your long-term tastes. Opt for timeless elements with accent pieces that can be updated more easily.

Final Thoughts

A bathroom renovation remodel is more than just a visual upgrade; it’s a chance to improve comfort, functionality, and long-term value. For homeowners in Waterloo, thoughtful planning and the right professional support can make the process smooth and rewarding.

Beothuk Contracting Group understands how to bring your vision to life with practical design solutions and skilled workmanship. Whether you’re modernizing an outdated layout or creating a space that works for your changing needs, their team is ready to help.Start your bathroom renovation remodel today by reaching out to Beothuk Contracting Group for a personalized consultation.

[vipblogposting]

Create the Bathroom of Your Dreams in Cranbourne East and Berwick

Why Renovating Your Bathroom is a Smart Investment

A bathroom isn't just a functional space anymore—it's a personal sanctuary. Whether you're starting your mornings with a refreshing shower or winding down in a warm bath, your bathroom sets the tone for your day. That’s why homeowners in Melbourne’s southeast are increasingly investing in high-quality bathroom renovations. From improving functionality to enhancing style, bathroom makeovers can significantly increase your home’s comfort and value.

Tailored Bathroom Designs for Modern Living

Every household has different needs. Some families may want a child-friendly setup with practical storage, while others prefer a sleek and modern design with high-end finishes. A well-thought-out renovation considers these personal preferences. That’s where expert teams like Bright Property Care come into play. With years of experience in home improvements, they focus on custom bathroom designs that match your lifestyle while staying within your budget.

What to Expect During a Bathroom Renovation

Renovating your bathroom involves more than replacing tiles and fixtures. It’s a complete transformation that usually includes layout planning, plumbing, waterproofing, tiling, and the installation of fittings and accessories. During this process, you'll work closely with professionals to decide on every detail, from the type of shower screen to the choice of lighting.

If you’re considering Bathroom Renovations Cranbourne East, you’ll find a growing trend of homeowners choosing contemporary designs with floating vanities, frameless glass showers, and matte black finishes. The goal is to create a spa-like environment while maximising the available space.

Meanwhile, Bathroom Renovations Berwick are often focused on blending modern updates with classic elements. Berwick homeowners appreciate elegant tilework, freestanding tubs, and a soft colour palette that brings a timeless charm to the space.

Smart Storage Solutions for Small Spaces

In many suburban homes, bathrooms aren’t always spacious. But with smart renovation ideas, even the smallest areas can feel open and organised. Wall-mounted storage, recessed shelves, and mirrored cabinets are popular features among homeowners looking to make the most of limited space. Incorporating these features can transform a cluttered bathroom into a sleek and efficient oasis.

Eco-Friendly Features and Sustainability

Sustainability is becoming a big focus for home renovations. Low-flow toilets, water-saving showerheads, and energy-efficient lighting are just a few examples of eco-conscious choices. Not only do these updates reduce your environmental impact, but they also lower your water and energy bills over time.

Teams like Bright Property Care often guide clients toward green renovation options, helping them choose products that are both stylish and sustainable. It's a small step with big benefits for your home and the planet.

How Long Does a Bathroom Renovation Take?

A common question many homeowners ask is about the renovation timeline. Typically, a bathroom renovation takes 2 to 4 weeks, depending on the size of the room and the extent of the work. Planning ahead with your renovation team ensures that the project stays on track and avoids unnecessary delays.

If you're preparing for Bathroom Renovations Cranbourne East, now is the perfect time to book your consultation and begin designing a bathroom that fits your vision. The same goes for those exploring Bathroom Renovations Berwick—getting started early means you can enjoy your new space sooner.

Choosing the Right Team for the Job

Bathroom renovations require the skills of qualified professionals. It’s important to hire a licensed and insured team that can manage everything—from demolition to final finishes. Look for companies with positive client reviews, transparent quotes, and a portfolio of completed projects.

With a commitment to detail and customer satisfaction, Bright Property Care stands out as a trusted provider in the Cranbourne East and Berwick regions. Their experienced crew ensures every project is completed to a high standard, using premium materials and smart designs tailored to your needs.

Bring Your Dream Bathroom to Life

Imagine stepping into a bathroom that feels like a five-star hotel—clean lines, soft lighting, and features that make life easier. It’s not just a fantasy; it can be your reality with the right planning and team on your side.

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[cafeshopinteriordesign]

Cake Shop Interior Design Examples in Japan

Unlike French boulangeries that may stake their reputation on a few specific kinds of bread, these Japanese bakeries are more likely to emphasize variety. The design of BRAIN’s bakery shops reflects this: despite each store’s unique exterior, the interiors share many common elements, including a central shiplap countertop and wood-trimmed cases, brass details, brick counters and walls, and terrazzo seats. Check their site to know more details カフェ 内装.

A cake shop’s interior should not only be attractive, it should also speak wonders about its main product. For instance, the Mintchi Croissant patisserie in Shanghai by Atelier FCJZ is designed specifically to answer one question: How does it feel to be inside of a croissant? The resulting scheme is evocative of the pastry, from brass details that mimic its golden color to a curved bench that echoes its crescent shape.

Kengo Kuma is well known for pushing the boundaries when it comes to unconventional materials. His inventive use of bamboo in this bakery’s facade in the quiet residential neighborhood of Aoyama in Tokyo is no exception, creating a serene forest-like space within.

Forget about the plastic cladding of a fast-food chain restaurant and instead consider this Japanese bakery with a wood cladding that resembles woven bamboo baskets. The sylvan-like store was designed by Kengo Kuma and specializes in a specific type of Taiwanese pineapple cake.

A central shiplap countertop displays pastries and a L-shaped lounge with terrazzo seats is placed to face an open kitchen. A row of minimal floating shelves is carved out of wood and spotlights above them bathe the goods with soft lighting.

Looking for more bakery and cake shop interior design ideas? Click HERE. Or read about this sugar pink bakery and artisanal flour shop with interiors that look good enough to eat. Or this unique bakery that was redesigned on a wooden railroad sleeper.

Another way to make a cake shop feel inviting is by adding some greenery to the place. This is a great way to add natural elements without scaring away people who are allergic to plants. However, you should be careful with using too much greenery, as it can become overwhelming and claustrophobic. A better option is to use wall art that features a green scene or flower motif instead of using stickers. This will create a more sensational pattern and leave the customer in awe of your artistic skills.

In the bakery, it is also vital to have enough seating so that customers can sit down and discuss their order in a comfortable environment. Having a variety of seating options is important, as different demographics will respond to different types of seating. For example, younger consumers will prefer a contemporary style of seating, while older customers would appreciate the classic look of wooden chairs.

The best way to design a bakery is to incorporate the customer’s needs into the design. This includes having a clear walkway that allows customers to easily access the products on display. A bakery should also have a clean, uncluttered appearance. This will ensure that customers are not overwhelmed by the amount of items available and will help them decide what type of treat they are looking for. A well-thought-out bakery design will result in a positive experience for the customer and will help the business grow.

[cortvdos]

he  scoffs,  half  an  eye  roll  as  she  questions  him.  a  finger  slips  beneath  his  collar  and  he  follows  the  tug  of  it,  body  shifting  forward  ever  so  slightly,  floating  away  from  the  rug  without  effort.  his  sternum  presses  against  the  back  of  her  thumb,  just  enough  pressure  that  he  can  feel  her  knuckle  against  his  skin,  that  it  might  leave  a  faint  mark.  he  could  lean  in  further,  until  the  sharp  edge  of  her  fingernail  digs  in,  until  the  pressure  against  the  ridge  of  his  chest  is  so  great  it  feels  like  he’s  suffocating.  he  doesn’t.  he  stays  still,  remembers  he  should  come  up  with  a  retort,  a  witticism  to  prove  how  unbuttoned  he  is,  but  she’s  already  moved  on.  when  he  listens  to  her  talk  about  her  studies,  about  her  interests,  he’s  rapt.  a  mind  he  wants  to  get  inside  of,  take  apart  bit  by  bit.  he’ll  make  a  point  to  ask  her  about  the  tibetan  death  rites  later,  wants  to  hear  her  explain  them,  talk  him  through  it.  right  now  though  he  just  listens,  thinks  about  how  cool  it  is  for  someone  to  have  things  that  they’re  really  seriously  into,  how  rare  it  is  for  that  to  be  authentic  to  them,  how  important  it  is  that  he  sits  and  listen,  how  it  will  make  him  more  interesting  and  cool  and  rare  by  association.   he  blinks  away  his  focus,  smirks  as  the  compliment  is  volleyed  back  to  him.  “  thanks,  ”  completely  himself,  it  had  been  the  cause  he  had  dedicated  himself  to  since  he  was  about  fifteen,  a  performance  of  authenticity  so  rigidly  pursued  it  could  only  really  boil  down  to  inauthenticity,  though  he  would  never  examine  or  admit  that.  the  weight  of  piper’s  words  escapes  him,  for  someone  who  thinks  that  they’re  such  an  expert  in  the  human  condition  his  blind  spots  are  shameful.  “what  if  i  want  everything,  ”  he  muses,  “  or  nothing  at  all.  or  if  wanting  itself  is  the  folly,  the  wrongness,  ”  he’s  working  his  way  closer  to  a  genuinely  held  belief,  a  return  to  strictly academic  exercise  would  be  preferable.  “  like  to  want  you’re  letting  your  desires  control  you.  maybe  to  achieve  something  really  great  you  have  to  abandon  that,  it  isn’t  about  what  you  want  it’s  about  what  you  do.  ”  he’s  getting  caught  up  on  his  words,  on  his  thoughts.  he  catches  sight  of  piper�� again,  pauses.  when  she  feeds  him  another  grape  he  lets  the  inside  of  his  lip  brush  against  her  finger  and  time  is  fucking  slow,  or  time  is  fast  and  they’re  slow,  he  really  can’t  tell.  he  holds  her  eye  the  best  he  can,  lets  the  moment  simmer  until  he  bites  down  on  the  grape  and  the  tartness  breaks  the  spell.  asceticism  takes  back  control,  he  moves  back  to  his  elbows  and  swallows.  looks  distractedly  at  the  books  on  the  shelves.  “  i  am  unbuttoned,  by  the  way,  ”  a  decent  collection  for  a  common  room,  “  i’m  cool,  i  don’t  care  at  all  what  people  think  of  me.  ”  the  contradiction  is  astounding. 

it never used to be this warm in march, he’d told her earlier, hot sun beating down through the stained glass window, colouring them red and blue and gold. climate change, she’d responded, a placard-wielding uprising building in her belly. but now the sun’s low in the sky, and there’s no excuse for the heat she feels blooming wherever he touches her, one layer of fabric between his fingers and her thigh. her eyes close, tune out of one sense and into another, focus streamlined to the section of leg heath’s closest to, the hairs that stand on end beneath her tights. there’s a tightening in her like lacing up a corset, everything squeezed in, organs pretzelled together. “and you’re unbuttoned?” she takes the bait, swirls it around the inside of her teeth with her tongue, a hint of irony in her tone, one eyebrow popped above her still-shut eyes. smirk puppet-string pulling at one dimpled cheek, her hand drops to his chest where his buttons would be if he weren’t in a moth-holed t-shirt, thumb hooking over the collar with a tug. “i guess the whole… medieval history angle, that’s mine. like my mom’s into old buildings from an architectural point of view, and dad’s— well he’s done all these papers on languages and the african diaspora, but… i’ve never seen either of them in armour. they’re not really into swords or old english and the only stuff they know about tibetan death rites is from my tenth grade history essay.” as if the mourning customs of the tibetan monks are a standard dinner-time conversational topic. for piper, they are.  heath’s head turns, presses flush to the soft part of piper’s leg, and something hard and tangible skitters in her rib cage like an insect, pulse a little faster. thankful for his initiative in holding the conversation, she swallows, attempts to find her voice from somewhere deep inside her chest, half-afraid that it’ll come out as a gasping, breathless howl. piper pushes up onto her elbows, careful not to jog him from his position on her leg, eyes boring down at him as the weight of recognition presses heavy on her chest. “uhh... okay. thanks,” is all she says at first, blinking rapidly, her heart a trapped rabbit with it’s paw caught, leaping around inside her sternum. “no, that’s— i mean... ditto. you’re completely yourself, too. it’s… yeah. refreshing.” real. is that a compliment? analysing only instigates overthinking, and piper tries to divert attention away from any subtext almost the second he’s said it. “—but i think you can be completely yourself and still not know what you want. or maybe you think you know what you want, and then later you realise you don’t actually want it.” it’s not intended to sound as pointed as it does. her head feels heavy trying to hopscotch over the trip-wires he’s set, like she’s a child again, a crayon clutched between her chubby fingers, attempting to colour within the lines of friendship. speaking only ever seems to lead to her conducting a post-mortem of entire conversations. instead, she sinks her hand down into the punnet, plucks out a grape, and reaches down to tuck her thumb over his lower lip, tugging his mouth open to press the grape onto his tongue. 

[joshconnor]

Floating Shelves

Introduction

Fitnfloat is a brand that specializes in providing a variety of floating shelves, which are a popular and versatile addition to any home, offering both functionality and style. Whether you're looking to display books, photos, or decorative items, or simply need more storage space, floating shelves are a great option that can complement any room's decor. From wall-mounted shelves to corner shelves, picture ledges to kitchen shelves, we'll explore the best options for your specific needs, and help you make an informed decision. Whether you're a DIY enthusiast, a professional designer, or a casual home decorator, this article has something for everyone who wants to add a touch of elegance and functionality to their living space.

Common Questions about Floating Shelves

Floating shelves are a popular choice for homeowners looking to maximize storage space and add a touch of style to their living space. However, there are many common questions that people have about these shelves before purchasing them. Below are some of the most frequently asked questions, along with the answers you need to know:

How much weight can a floating shelf hold?

The weight capacity of a floating shelf can vary depending on the brand, design, and materials used. However, on average, most Fitnfloat's floating shelves can hold between 20-60 pounds of weight. It's important to read the weight capacity specifications for any shelf you're considering, and to make sure the weight of the items you plan to display does not exceed the limit.

Are floating shelves still in style?

Yes, Fitnfloat's floating shelves remain a popular and trendy addition to any home decor. From classic white floating shelves to rustic wooden shelves, there are many designs and materials to choose from that can match your personal style and preferences.

Can I install floating shelves without drilling?

While drilling is the most secure and reliable way to install floating shelves, there are some alternatives that don't require drilling. For example, adhesive strips or hooks can be used to mount lightweight shelves, while brackets or brackets with anchors can be used for heavier shelves.

Do floating shelves make a room look smaller?

Floating shelves can actually have the opposite effect and make a room appear larger by creating the illusion of more space. This is especially true for lighter colored shelves, which can reflect light and create a brighter atmosphere.

What is the rule of thumb for floating shelves?

As a rule of thumb, Fitnfloat's floating shelves should be installed at a height that is comfortable for the user to access the items displayed on them. In general, the recommended height for floating shelves is between 6-12 inches above a piece of furniture or around eye level for a standing person.

By addressing these common questions, we hope to have provided you with the information you need to make an informed decision about buying and installing Fitnfloat's floating shelves in your home.

Types and Styles of Floating Shelves

When it comes to floating shelves, there are many different types and styles to choose from. Here are some of the most popular:

Wall-Mounted Shelves: These are the most common type of floating shelves and can be found in a wide range of sizes, colors, and materials. They are great for displaying books, plants, and decorative items, and can be arranged in a variety of configurations to suit your needs.

Picture Ledges: These are perfect for displaying artwork, photos, and other small items. They are usually shallow and can be arranged in a gallery-style display.

Kitchen Shelves: These are specifically designed for use in kitchens and can be used to store cookware, dishes, and other kitchen essentials. They can be made from wood or metal and can be installed in a variety of configurations.

www.fitnfloat.com.au

[chandiewashere]

𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 - chapter three

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eris vanserra x reader warnings: mostly me playing and projecting, so angsty, themes of grief, depression, self deprication, etc. a few fluffy bits to break up the heaviness, in general this is a pretty heavy chapter, trying to build the relationship!!, unbeta'd i go down on this ship alone series - wip ; taglist open

series m.list -> please follow the "a dangerous game of love and trust" tag for all updates on the series including extras!

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I haven’t seen Eris for a few days, and I’m starting to think I imagined him.

If it weren’t for this room, I would have believed it already.

Eris doesn’t visit, but that woman does. I’ve since learned her name is Mabel, and she is mostly silent.

Her hair is a muddy sort of brown, like wet terracotta, slowly shifting towards a dull silver. She reminds me of a cardinal, nearly as delicate looking as one too, red fading into grey. Mabel’s eyes never leave her work, but I’ve managed to see that they are brown too. Aged and wise. 

I pay attention to the details of her. I pay attention because it is easier.

Her quiet voice is smooth and comforting, hot maple seeping through my bones. 

“Please, move this way dear.”

Her hands are withered but sure, calloused but soft. They never press too hard. They never startle or hurt, gentle and precise.

“May I see the other side?”

Mabel is only ever here in the mornings and evenings. She checks bandages, cleans scabs, and replaces dressings. She looks after me with her wrinkled lips pursed, and flinches when I flinch, as if my pain is hers. She does her work and does not linger. 

Mabel always gives me a sad smile as she waddles out of the room. 

I can never find it in me to smile back.

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I am at the desk tonight.

I keep coming back here, keep staring at the marbled wood grain, keep trying to find the energy to pick up the pen.

I know I should write home. I know they are worried about me. I know that they don’t know I am safe.

The past three nights I’ve sat here, unable to start, but tonight? Tonight, I am unable to stop.

There are crumpled drafts littering the floor, as well as a few broken pens. I start, and I write and write and write, but none of it is coming out right.

I give up.

Again.

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I am crouched in a corner when he comes in.

Eris’ eyes sweep the room as he closes the door. I watch him. I watch as his eyes wander over the books and papers on the floor, then the empty shelves. He sees the open window and the curtains fluttering softly in the cool night breeze.

Then he sees me. 

I watch him watch me.

Slowly he makes his way over to me, crouching low to meet my eye level. He holds out a hand and motions toward the door.

“Come on.”

Gingerly, I accept his hand and his invitation. I ignore the hairs that stand up on my neck when I do. He smiles softly as we stand together. He leads me towards the door, then down a hallway.

I don’t have the common sense anymore to ask where he is taking me.

Eventually, we make it out to a courtyard surrounded by trees. The moonlight trickles down through the leaves, and the wind floats over my skin.

“I figured you would enjoy being outside for a bit,” he says as he drops my hand. “I realized that you’d been stuck up in that room and you were probably going crazy.” 

He isn’t looking at me anymore as he rambles, favoring his shoes instead. The hand that was holding mine now rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

He looks like a boy.

Something about that thought has a laugh bubbling out of me before I can even process it, and I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle it.

Eris stops talking and looks at me with wide eyes.

“What?” He questions incredulously, “What did I say that was funny?” 

His reaction only fuels my amusement and I start to laugh openly.

“Nothing! Nothing, it’s just,” I say while trying to catch my breath, “this is the most normal interaction I’ve had in a while.”

My laughter subsides, although the smile remains, and I exhale. For just a moment, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.

Eris smiles and starts walking into the trees as I follow.

We wander and talk about nothing until the sun peaks through the canopy.

I smile the whole time.

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I’m at the desk tonight.

Again.

Although this time no drafts litter the floor, and my eyes are dry. The sleek black pen is weighted in my hand, and it feels as if I do not hold it, I will float away. A small, crisp sheet of parchment lay in front of me, empty aside from Rhys’ name at the top. The thought of writing my father makes me want to throw up.

I sit staring at the rough scratch of my handwriting for what seems like hours. 

What am I supposed to say to him?

Sighing, I lean back, the mahogany floorboards creaking under me. I should write him, the thought persists in my mind. This being one of the few times I’ve had the energy to drag my body to the chair, to pick up the pen, I know that if I do not write home now I won’t at all.

Gripping the pen tightly, I drag the tip across the paper, the sound grating against my ears.

Rhysand,

I am safe.

Am I? I know that it will calm his worried mind if I say I am, and as much as I don’t want to trust Eris, I can’t help but relax when he’s nearby. That doesn’t mean I should. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t either, I think to myself.

Before I lose myself in my thoughts, I sign the letter and fold it. 

I haven’t tried using my powers since that night, but I can’t risk this getting into the wrong hands. I don’t know who has sticky fingers here.

Focusing on the small rectangle that has become a temporary lifeline, I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

It sends small earthquakes through my lungs.

Warmth licks at my bones, a smothered fire reigniting, and I try to focus on my brother’s face as it grows. Slowly the warmth gets stronger, heating me through until it almost burns when all at once it disappears.

I open my eyes as another earthquake shakes my body.

The letter is gone.

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Eris is sitting at the edge of the bed today.

He’s visited more since we walked in the forest. I don’t complain, and neither does he. Sometimes he just sits with me, sometimes I ask him questions, sometimes he asks me.

I hardly ever answer.

Today, he reads aloud. Whether it is for his or my benefit I don’t know. I can’t remember what book he said this was, and I wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was about, I’ve been too busy examining him.

He wears a tan shirt today, tight around his shoulders and chest, billowing out gracefully around his stomach and forearms. His hair, glinting in the fading sunlight, drapes around his face and down his back.

I feel his eyes on me for a moment. If he notices my staring, he makes no comment about it.

His eyes. They burn everywhere they look over me, not that they ever stray from my own for very long. As they now sweep over the pages, I wonder how it has not burst into flames. 

Even his voice, as it drags through the air, is warm. It sticks to my insides, melting and reforming them, licking up my sides and back. 

“Are you even listening?”

I wonder if I am on fire yet.

“No,” I admit.

Eris rolls his eyes and the lines that only show when he smiles wink at me.

“I don’t want to read anymore,” I huff as I lay back on the bed.

The bed shifts and I feel him lay a few inches away from me. There are a few moments of quiet as we stare up at the ceiling.

“Why did you bring me here?” the fleeting thought makes its way through my lips.

“Because you needed help,” he states matter-of-factly, “why did you stay?”

“I don’t know.”

I don’t tell him it’s because I am scared to leave. I don’t tell him it’s because sometimes it feels like I can breathe again when he’s nearby. I don’t tell him that I am terrified I won’t be able to anymore. I don’t tell him I’m afraid that the ghosts will follow me home, but it’s easier to face them with the light of him nearby.

“I like it here,” I do tell him.

We stare at the ceiling and pretend I mean it.

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I’m going home tomorrow.

I’m going home tomorrow.

I’m going home.

The thought isn’t as comforting as it should be.

· · ┈──────────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ────────────┈ · ·

Sun streams in as Mabel unwraps my bandages for the last time.

She is gentle as always, although chattier than usual. We make conversation, and she keeps saying things trying to make me laugh. She reminds me of a grandmother, although I have none to compare her to.

She looks back at me as she leaves the room and says a choked goodbye.

She is not smiling today. Instead, she is holding back tears as the wrinkled corners of her lips wobble.

I smile for her.

· · ┈──────────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ────────────┈ · ·

Eris and I walk through the forest one last time today. 

It’s still early, and the birds sing happily as the rising sun warms their wings. The leaves rustle in an invisible breeze and the smell of dew coats the inside of my lungs.

We dare not break the silence between us.

Eris stands a little closer to me today than usual. I can feel the radiating warmth tickle the skin of my arm and fight the urge to engulf myself in it.

Eventually, we sit together underneath a birch tree, and I absentmindedly pick at the white wisps of bark that cling to it. 

“I hope you’ll write me,” Eris breathes. Almost too soft to hear.

Too many seconds of silence pass.

“I want to tell you something,” I say, just as softly.

I want to tell someone. Just one person.

He turns to look at me with severe eyes, and nods. We both know what I mean.

So, we sit. I talk, and he listens. I cry and he comforts. I spill the tattered messes of my insides on the ground in front of him.

He treats them like they are polished gold.

· · ┈──────────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ────────────┈ · ·

The light is fading by the time we’re ready to leave.

Eris and I stand and dust the mud off our clothes. Eris holds out a hand and I take it as a metallic twinge takes to the air. 

We take a step and the forest I’ve spent nearly a month exploring morphs into the gray outline of my home.

Eris drops my hand as I turn around just in time to see his tall form disappear into the darkness.

I hope you’ll write me too.

· · ┈──────────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ────────────┈ · ·

note: hehe, this was fun. if you haven't noticed i LOVE writing angst. i also love writing about mental health. speaking of, i was struggling with my own quite a bit when i was writing this chapter so i wonder if that came through or not. anyways, i really like how this turned out in the end, and i like the build-up we're getting here. its setting up really nicely for the next major plot point. also bonus points if you caught the imagery with Mabel! if not, I'll give you a hint: 🕊️. let me know what you thought, i hope you enjoyed this chapter!

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taglist: @owllover123 @sol2694 @theviewfromtheotherside @bankerfrog @ummmmmwat @wishfulwithwine @baebeepeach @emptyporsche

· · ┈──────────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ────────────┈ · ·

Please do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works.

[guytransformedforever]

Can I have the black cap? Haha I'm a 5'4 Latino looking to see what happens

"Looking for something specific?" the voice that sounded right in your ear startled you so much that you almost dropped the old statuette of a man in a top hat that you were looking at. On this day, you decided to go home after work another way. You walked through the autumn streets and watched the leaves fall from the trees in the nearest Park. That's when you came across a gift shop and magic supplies. Without thinking twice, you entered it to satisfy your curiosity, walked past several shelves and, not finding the seller, decided to find something interesting. At this moment, a young man appeared from behind and asked a question.

"Um, nothing specific.... just looking... " you replied.

"Well. If you want to buy something, just call me." the salesman left with a sly smile on his face.

You walked around the store a little more and decided to leave when you noticed an old gym bag on the bottom shelf. Something about her interests you. You reached out and took it out. The price tag said "Free." You unzipped it and looked inside. The smell of old used clothes hung faintly in the air. Among several things, you noticed a cap. The most common black baseball cap with the words "love" on the back of the head.

"If it's free, I'd take it," you muttered under your breath.

"This is a free product. You can take just so" you started from what's behind you, the seller replied to your whisper. Wasn't he behind the counter at the other end of the store? "Just be careful. Many may not recognize you in this. Did you know that a headdress changes your image very dramatically?"

“Probably Yes. Thank you in any case. I think I'll go..." with that, you hurriedly left the store. Something about this salesman scared you...It was pretty cool outside, so you put on your cap right away. What did this young man mean when he talked about image? You thought about it as you walked home. But you started noticing something else... It's like a strange fog is spreading in your mind... A haze that obscured some thoughts. Your flight of thought seemed to be slowed down. You couldn't concentrate on one thing. Your thoughts floated independently from each other. You were already grabbing the handle of your front door when you realized you weren't home. You were standing in front of some gym. The usual fitness club, which is a lot around the city. 

"What the hell?" you thought, turned around and walked home from the gym. You must have been thinking harder than usual and got the wrong turn. Half an hour later, you were almost at your home. You pulled the door handle, opened it, and a huge Jock came out with a towel and a gym bag. "What?!" you exclaimed again when you realized that the fog had lifted in your head for a moment and you were back at some gym."Are you coming in?" the voice of the girl at the reception brought you out of your stupor. As if on autopilot, you went to the gym, paid for a class, and went to the locker room."What am I doing here?" a thought popped into your head and then went out. Without hesitation, you went to the gym and started repeating some exercises that others did. You were still wearing your cap, but you turned it backwards for convenience.Your thoughts were chaotic, your mind was melting, and the music in the gym was hitting your eardrums. After an hour of exhausting training, you went back to the locker room. And then you realized what your mistake was. Cap. It literally changed your image, just like the salesman said.You looked at yourself in the mirror, and at that moment your mind finally cleared of the last coils of fog.... It wasn't you in the mirror. Your body was taller, about 6.2. Your skin was paler, and your muscles were like marble. Thick, tense, sculpted. Not to mention your face. It was someone else's. A strange guy with a long, pale, Europoid face was looking at you. Long chin, sharp cheekbones, blond hair, and bright blue eyes... That's when you realized you were in a bind. How do you explain to everyone who you are if you don't even look like your driver's license photo? The problems are probably just beginning...

PS: the Seller just finished the protective ritual. He blew out the candles, swept away the ashes of herbs and paper, aired the room, cleaned himself up, and put on his badge. Why would he need a protective ritual, you might ask? would you want to communicate with dissatisfied customers who stop coming and asking for their life back? So he doesn't want to. And so from now on, none of the dissatisfied customers will be able to find the store a second time, no matter how hard they try. Well.. Happy Halloween, lovers of free...

[btsinwonderland]

A Drop of Poison - Ch. 3: The Library

A Loki fanfiction!

Previous Chapter --- Next Chapter

Full Chapter List

Chapter warnings: bit of smut at the end...

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

You placed your books on the nightstand and slumped onto your bed. The pillows caught your face in a soft hug and you felt the weight of the entire day sink into you. Your roommates were gone nearly all the time, working most hours of the night in the common room study area. It used to be lonely, constantly coming back to a room with three empty beds, but now you reveled in the emptiness.

He deserves it.

Professor Heimdall’s words bounced around in your mind.

He killed someone. A close friend of his father’s.

You tried picturing a younger version of your professor, whom you barely knew, being trapped in Azkaban. Is he truly a murderer? You thought about that and could not find a simple answer. Sure, he had a cold disposition. However, it was encased in a strange, jovial warmth that both intimidated and intrigued you.

His cool blue eyes entered your mind, and you wondered what sort of menacing secrets he held behind them. As awful as you tried to make him, there was something about it all that did not feel right. The way his lips subtly twitched when he threw ingredients into the cauldron and the way his eyes lit up when the students applauded him did not scream “evil” to you. You pictured his face in your vision and the fear in his eyes as the dead surrounded him. It was the face of a man trapped in a hopeless situation.

Professor Heimdall was not usually so clinical about his judgments. It surprised you he doled out such a firm statement. And to listen to him tell you that you were having silly dreams was even worse.

Freya…

Why had he uttered your name? That alone was proof enough. He needed your help. Professor Heimdall was hiding something else from you and you needed to find out what it was. Fine Heimdall, if you won’t help me, then I’ll do it myself.

You walked out of the common room and headed to the courtyard. Dusk was approaching, but there were still some students out, so your presence was not too suspicious. You walked across a couple lounging on a picnic blanket. The boy had his head in his partner’s lap. They giggled about something and took no notice of anyone else in their vicinity. You smiled at their affections wistfully.

The grass was freshly cut, and the air had a rich smell to it. You walked over to your favourite willow tree - the one that did not whomp - and sat at the trunk. There was a breeze which picked up your curly locks and moved them about your face. You tied your thick hair back and crossed your legs.

You breathed in and out, trying to remember Heimdall’s exercises. The scent of flowers in bloom distracted you for a few minutes until you could grasp some focus. It took several seconds of listening to your breath until you found yourself in a calm state. Your thoughts slipped out of your mind like water through your fingers. Your mind was empty, waiting to be filled. In this state of bored concentration, you felt the stirring of a question: What must I do?

It was the only question that floated in your mind; like a cloud drifting across a clear sky. Then you pictured something. A blurry image that slowly came into focus. It was a book, but the letters were unintelligible. It was on the shelves of the restricted section. The book was dark red, leather bound and cracked along the spine. As the image cleared, you saw the title: “Spells for the Common House Cat”.

“What the hell?” You said aloud. The vision dissolved as soon as you lost focus. You leaned back on the trunk and repeated the ridiculous title to yourself. Perhaps Heimdall was right, and it was all just a silly dream. How could this have been an important vision?

Your first impulse was to return to the common room, go to sleep and forget about the whole damned thing. Instead, you found yourself calculating how to get to the library unseen. Your impulse control was failing you as of late.

It was half an hour before it would be inappropriate to be out and about on the grounds. The sky was darkening quickly. You dashed past Skurge as he grumpily mopped the floors and slid into the library. There was a section on Magical Tax Law near the back you hid in; the books and the floor were so dusty here that you hoped no one would find you.

A few aisles away, there were students roaming the shelves.

“Come on Victoria, I can barely read anymore my eyes are going to fall out!” A low voice said.

“You’re clearly going to fail potions. We have our O.W.L.’s this year and I have to at least get Exceeds Expectations,” said a voice, higher pitched.

Fifth year potions, you thought. It was already an immensely tough course at the time with Professor Rattowl. You felt sympathy for the students.

“Have you heard, Laufeyson’s carryin’ the Slytherin name? He’s been to Azkaban,” said the boy.

The girl, Victoria, gasped. “What! How could they let him teach here?”

The boy said, “well we know how he got the job, when mum’s Headmistress, I guess they'll let anybody do it. I don’t feel safe knowing some felon is creeping around in the school.”

“Yeah, he must have done something awful to get into Azkaban,” she said.

“You know what I think?” he said.

“What?”

As their feet shuffled away, you barely caught his words. “I don’t think it’s no coincidence Rattowl bit the dust right before Laufeyson got here.”

The rest of the conversation was unintelligible whispers as you stood there like a stone and mulled over what they said. After a long silence, you heard the last student leave. The door ominously shut, and the sound echoed through the library. The flames in every lantern went out in succession. You looked out the glass windows, as moonlight was now the only natural luminance that could guide you in the dark.

Their words did not deter you from your path, though the questionable nature of Professor Rattowl’s demise was a new addition to your list of “things to investigate”. Your thoughts dispersed when you heard Skurge coming with his bucket and mop. The wheel squeaked loudly, and you thanked the bucket gods.

You darted into the restricted section. The door had a latch on it, which you carefully opened with your wand, trying not to make a sound. The restricted section was decently large, with tall shelves lining the entire wall. At the back of the area, was a cabinet where several scrolls were placed in rows of small, square cubbies. The bottom part had a cabinet just large enough for two precocious sixth year students to hide in. The doors had a large square cutout where a lattice covering was added. Lucky for those students, they could see if anyone was coming.

You smiled to yourself as you walked over to the cabinet and opened the door. On the bottom right, just above the hinge, was a carving in the wood. “Bad bitches make good witches”. You silently laughed to yourself at Valkyrie’s idea of ‘leaving a mark’.

Long tables extended across the area surrounded by uncomfortable looking wooden chairs. You walked over to the shelves and searched across the volumes for that strangely titled book about cats. Maybe you were crazy, but it was far too late to turn back now.

“Where could you be?” You whispered as your fingers traced the chains along the spine of a book that was as thick as your head.

The sound of the squeaky wheel came from a few bookcases away, and your heart fluttered nervously. You looked at the entrance to the restricted section and wondered if you could make an escape unnoticed. But it was too dangerous, so you crawled inside the bottom of the cabinet and shut the door just as Skurge came by. He was humming to himself and scanned the premises as he mopped. After a few minutes, he continued down the aisles and you no longer heard his voice.

You sighed and were about to crawl out of the cabinet when you heard voices. You went back into position and closed the door, staying absolutely still.

First you heard a woman’s voice. She was laughing in a flirty sort of way.

Then you heard another voice, deeper. “You’re a bad influence, aren’t you?” Your stomach dropped. It was Professor Laufeyson’s voice.

“Hmmm, let’s go in here, Skurge is done with his rounds.”

Was that Professor Sif? Your suspicions were confirmed when you saw Sif and Laufeyson enter the restricted section. She led him by the hand to the table in front of the cabinet where you hid. She leaned back on it and you saw her undo the clasp in her bun as Laufeyson approached her. Her black hair cascaded down her shoulders seductively. The look in Laufeyson’s eyes caused a tremor through your body. You wondered if Sif was blushing as hard as you were.

Your heart rate shot up when her hand reached over to him as she unbuttoned his shirt. He ran his hand down her arm and you closed your eyes, unsure of what to do. Of all the places to be, of all the worst times.

“You are quite a minx, aren’t you?” He said in a low voice. It was almost a purr.

Your eyes snapped open to look at him. His gaze was curious and inviting. He cupped Sif’s face and when his pink tongue came out to lick his lips, you bit yours to keep from breathing too loudly.

“Only when I want to be,” she said.

They kissed. You could hear the smacking of lips and clashing of tongues. You nearly gasped and put a hand on your mouth to stop yourself. A part of you felt guilty watching such a lewd display, but you could not look away.

She slipped off her cloak to reveal a blue button up blouse and black skirt. She undid the blouse. You saw him move her hair aside and kiss her neck. He traced his tongue up her jawline and sucked on her earlobe. Dear lord, help me. You wished you were anywhere else, and yet your nipples hardened underneath your bra.

“Why my brother doesn’t see the beauty of what you are, I know not,” he said, running a hand up her stomach. She moaned a little and leaned back further so that she was sitting on the edge of the table.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” she said between breaths.

“Why don’t you show me?” He said as he pushed her down on the table and opened her blouse. You saw her breasts openly now as he walked in between her legs.

She hoisted up her skirt while he undid his pants. Your mouth was gaping open. Sif lifted herself up on her elbows so you could no longer see past Laufeyson’s belly button anymore. You moved your head up for a better view, but hit your head on the roof of the cabinet. Your heart stopped as you looked through the hatching and saw him look in your direction. Surprise flashed on his face for the briefest of seconds before he arranged his features back into an aroused state.

Professor Sif turned her head, “what was tha- “

He rammed himself into her, and she cried out with a gasp. She writhed on the table, arching her back. He placed his hands on her breasts and pinched her pink nipples as he thrust into her. You watched shamelessly, with a hand on our mouth as your body reacted to the scene. You looked up at his face and froze when you saw him looking right at you. He held her down and thrust into her with an almost violent ferocity. You felt a strange heat in your entire body as his gaze transfixed you in such a grossly inappropriate state.

He came in a short groan, eyes only leaving you once Professor Sif got up. Her skin almost glowed from the sweat and you wondered if that afterglow was always so beautiful.

“That was…” she said in a dreamy voice.

She slowly buttoned up her clothes. There was a section of hair at the back of her head that was sticking up. You might have laughed had you not been thinking about the needful look on Laufeyson’s face just before he came. It was seared into your mind and you felt your lower abdomen tighten at the thought.

The professor did up his pants and walked towards the cabinet, looking at you with an unreadable expression, eyebrows drawn in. A lock of hair fell around his temples, and he pushed it back with his hand. His abdominal muscles were clearly visible as he buttoned up his shirt. You saw the slanted lines on his hips that led to a place that you dared not imagine. Heat rippled through you at the notion.

He turned around in front of you so that all you could see were the backs of his black trousers. Was he...blocking you from view so that Professor Sif would not see? Surely not.

“Now, can you tell me where Odin’s journals are?” Professor Laufeyson said.

“What?”

“Oh, you know, there were certain…works that Odin wrote and left here. What I was talking about earlier today. Do you know where they are? I would imagine they’d be here in the restricted section. Though I have looked and there’s not much, that’s useful here.”

She straightened her shirt and looked at him. “I believe Headmistress Frigga had a cleaning done and removed several books from this section. They may be somewhere in her office now.”

“Ah, I see.” He leaned back on the cabinet.

“Is this why you wanted us to come to the library?” She scoffed. “Loki, you could have just asked if all you wanted were your father’s books,” Sif said.

Professor Sif said no more, rushing out of the restricted section and slamming the door.

Professor Laufeyson called to her, “as I recall, I came to you with a question. And you took our conversation elsewhere.” He lowered his voice then. “Nonetheless, this was far more entertaining,” he said, drumming his fingers on the surface just above you. He stepped away from the cabinet, and headed out the door without another word.

Your heart pounded in your ears. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

[agntofhydra]

Sawbones // TWO

(gif credit) 

summary: Red String of Fate Soulmate AU

Soul mates have a red thread tied to each others pinkies that only one of them can see.

You’re the Resistance’s head medic. You can see the red thread of fate that leads you to your soulmate. Poe doesn’t believe in the soulmate / thread theory. You don’t agree with his tactics, nor does he approve of yours. Leia and Holdo just really want a win.

pairing: poe dameron x reader

rating: mature for later chapters

read me on ao3! 

part one here!

read on till the end for notes! 

SAWBONES

TWO // PULLED TAUGHT

No.

You hadn’t been avoiding him.

You were busy. Taking inventory, filling out incident reports, stocking, taking care of your patients - which, you noticed, had decreased in number over the last couple days. And you knew why.

Someone must’ve been taking better care of their pilots.

Jasti was released the morning after the whole - for lack of a better term - ordeal. She’d heard your violent retching and had banged on the door, asking if you were okay.

Your vision was white, and after about two rounds you were dry heaving. No fucking way, your mind rattled. The revelation shook you to your core. You were happy being unsuspecting, ignorant of the fact that your soulmate had been pittering around D’Qar for literal months while you sat in your office, pissing off FX-7 and berating their antics in your head. The furrow of his eyebrows, the flicker of concern in his eyes at your sudden change in demeanor when you saw his pinky also had ingrained itself in your mind. Lingered every time you shut your eyes. You must’ve stayed in the refresher for an hour or two, senses numbed to Jasti’s incessant banging on the door.

You also weren’t good with conflict, and a conflict this was indeed.

What were you supposed to do? Tell him? Would he even believe you? Ziff said he didn’t trust the concept anymore, too many girls taking advantage of where he once was soft. Exploited that weakness until it was solid beskar.

So no, you didn’t tell him.

You’d stayed busy. He was busy, too. Per your objections, Leia had him and his squadrons flying more recon and actually formulating a real operation to investigate the cargo ship orbiting around Kessel. You’d heard that from whispers in the hallway, and you didn’t really want to venture out for any updates.

Turns out, you wouldn’t have to.

As if your thoughts had summoned him, Poe was dragging a pilot from blue squadron into your medbay, one of their arms around his shoulder, one of his around their waist. His eyes were searching, panicked until they met yours as you flew from your office and threw the pilot onto the first open bed.

“What happened?” You asked, immediately checking for vitals. His skin was burning, clammy. FX-7 recorded his temperature and your heart dropped at the number.

“We were flying back, literally leaving hyperdrive when I was notified Blue Three was having trouble, and could barely steer his x-wing through D’Qar’s orbit.” Poe paused. “His skin is on fire.”

“I’m aware,” you tried not to bite back as you threw FX-7 an IV bag. You also did not dwell on the fact that Poe didn’t even know this pilot’s name. “Do we have hadeira serum?”

“You did inventory,” FX-7 duly responded as he inserted a needle into the pilot’s basilic vein. Poe cringed and looked away, eyes focused on you instead.

You hadn’t really done inventory, and you were cursing yourself for it now.

“Wait,” Poe frowned. “Hadeira? You think he’s got bloodburn?”

“He’s been in with a fever before,” you muttered as you rifled through the cabinet on the opposite wall. Poe followed, barking over your shoulder.

“And you didn’t ground him?”

You paused, closing your eyes for a second and taking a deep breath before returning to your search. You really didn’t need Dameron on his high horse right now, questioning your calls.

It was only fair. You had done it to him, you reminded yourself. That didn’t mean you couldn’t whip around and land one in the middle of his chiseled, ridiculously handsome and symmetrical face. You groaned audibly at not only your thoughts, but your inability to locate the literal life-saving serum.

“Back off, Dameron,” you said between your teeth as you all but sprinted back into your office where you kept the more valuable medicines. You unlocked the closet behind your desk with your hand and entered, eyes scanning the shelves. Once again, Poe followed.

“What’s wrong, doc? Don’t like it when people question your authority?”

You finally turned to him, slightly put off by the fact he was less than a meter away. You didn’t let it show.

“You wanna do this right now?” You raised your eyebrows. He crossed his arms over his chest and the thread around his pinky was directly in your field of vision. You held back the bile that rose in the back of your throat.

“His fever is so high that his blood is boiling right now. Which will kill him. So please, Dameron. If you think this argument is worth more than me finding the serum and saving his life,” you punctuated each word, “keep talking. But I’m not listening.”

Your eyes caught the vials to the right of his head, and he stepped out of the closet and into the expanse of your office as you grabbed the vials and quickly returned to the medbay where FX-7 had started hydrating the pilot. You handed the droid the hadeira serum and FX-7 made quick work of administering.

You let out a long breath. You weren’t totally in the clear, but it was as under control as it could be. Poe gave you a look and you nodded, silently telling him his pilot was okay. For now.

Poe stared at him for a couple moments longer, and once he was satisfied leaving him in the care of FX-7, he kicked your boot lightly.

“Can we talk now?”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded and led him back into your office. Poe sat down in one of the stark white chairs that matched the rest of your office as you locked the medicine closet. You turned around to him but kept your distance.

“What’s there to talk about?”

He bit the inside of his cheeks to keep him from grinning. “I don’t bite, y’know.”

You rolled your eyes, but nonetheless moved closer to him and sat atop your desk.

The red thread floated between the both of you, moving as if it was being jostled by the air currents in the room. Before you could even think, your left hand went to pluck at the string tied near the base of your finger. To your utmost surprise, the now tangible string pulled back due to your force. You let go in shock. The string vibrated and you watched the movement travel to shake the thread connecting to Poe. He coughed, left hand clenching and unclenching his fingers. You watched the action and met his eyes. Once again, he furrowed his brows.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

It was your turn to furrow your brows, and Poe continued, “Y’know. Looking into space and then turning pale like there’s a rancor in here that I don’t see. And then you look at me like it’s my fault?"

It’s now or never, you told yourself. Come clean.

“It’s nothing.” Coward.

Poe dropped the subject. “Anyways, you must’ve been swamped these last few days because you haven’t checked in to hear any updates on the cargo ship.”

Not trusting your voice, you just shrugged as your eyes rested back on the crimson that connected the two of you. Seeing it was definitely a curse. You tried not to dwell on how different things would be if it was Poe that could see it. What a weight off your shoulders that would be.

Maybe if he could see it, it wouldn’t be you on the other end, the voice in head told you. Poe was still rambling about Kessel and you definitely weren’t listening. You don’t want that, do you? For him to be soulmates with someone else?

It happened all the time though, people ending up with those who they weren’t tethered to. The galaxy was far too huge and vast, many people never having the opportunity to leave their home planet, let alone venture and seek out their soulmate. Some people, Poe included now, saw it as a myth, it was becoming so rare. You’d only ever known one pair of soulmates to meet in the years you’d been alive. Your parents.

Either way, your mind needed to slow down. You didn’t know Poe. From what you’ve seen of him, despite his impeccable physical features, you weren’t really a fan. But...just regarding his physical features? Big fan.

He snapped you out of your reverie. “Stars, you are infuriating.”

You apologized, placing your hands in the front pockets of your medic coat in hopes to ignore the thread, but it stuck out of the material of your pocket instead.

“There’s no harm in collecting more intel,” you told him. “Especially if it saves lives.”

He rubbed his forehead. “There is if it’s time sensitive! The ship could leave Kessel at any moment and then we’ll never know what was on it.”

You snorted. “You said it’s been in your knowledge for a while, been written off until now. I don’t buy it. I don’t know what you’re wanting from me, Dameron, but I won’t apologize. This is how I feel, and General Organa and Vice Admiral Holdo agree with me.”

“I want a common ground,” he said. Your gut twisted. “We met not ten minutes before you blasted me to pieces in that briefing room.”

“I don’t think you’re used to opposition.”

“I’m not.”

“You should always consider every point of view, especially for things like this. Have you heard about the terror running the First Order? You really want to face him in your little x-wing?”

Poe jerked his head. “Do not insult my ship.”

“Stars, Dameron, can you listen to a voice that isn’t your own for five seconds?”

“I was listening, obviously, ‘cause I heard your jab about my ship.” You could force-choke him right now. “But I get where you’re coming from. Where you’re more conservative and safe, I’m intuitive and risky and you hate it,” he said with a smile that met his eyes.

“I would call it impulsive and ill-informed,” you countered. You definitely didn’t hate bantering with him. You noticed subtly that over the course of the conversation, Poe had begun to move closer to you, inching closer and closer to the edge of the chair.

“Astute and adept,” he stood, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes never left yours.

“Reckless and arrogant.” You didn’t want him to come any closer, unsure if you would either retch all over his shoes or bunch up the material of his brown leather jacket in your grip to pull him closer.

As if the stars were listening and answered, FX-7 appeared in the doorway. Your eyes broke from Poe’s, turning your attention to the droid and Poe followed suit.

“Pilot Nunb’s fever has broken,” it said. “He will make it through the night.”

Night? You realized you’d been so consumed the last couple days you’d lost all concept of time.

“Great news,” Poe said, turning from FX-7 back to you. “I need to go tell the rest of blue squadron.” Poe shamelessly looked you up and down.

“‘Till next time, Doc.”

Poe sidestepped the droid in the doorway without another glance at you. You remained on your desk, hands still in your pockets as you watched the thread disappear into the wall as Poe left.

“It is hardly relevant to speak in matters that pertain to humans,” FX-7 began, “let alone ones that concern my superior, but if I may?”

You couldn’t hide your confusion. FX-7 never spoke to you unless it was a medical matter. You nodded for him to go ahead.

“You are consumed with plenty. I caution against adding Commander Dameron to the list.”

You frowned. “FX, do you know about the soulmate thread?” What harm would it be to tell a droid? FX barely talked to you, and chances were zero that the droid would air this to anyone else.

The droid lifted its metal head up and down. “Yes.”

It was the most humanistic the droid had ever been, and you felt mildly miffed. Has FX-7 always been able to not be so robotic? You’d save that thought to be pissed about another time.

“I can see it,” you said quietly. “It’s tied to him.”

FX-7 was silent, motionless for a few moments and it almost seemed like he had powered down. “That is…” he paused. “Inconvenient.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said, hopping down from your desk. Your hands left your pockets to run through your hair as you tried to clear your thoughts and just breathe.

“Is that why you have busied yourself more than usual?”

“Didn’t wanna deal with it,” you nodded. “Still don’t.”

“That will only prove to make things more arduous. You have two options when it comes to Commander Dameron, and you know which I favor. For the good of the Resistance and your work.” FX-7 then left the doorway to your office as promptly as he had arrived.

✗ ✗ ✗

You fell asleep in your office that night, or maybe it was morning by the time you collapsed against your desk. Despite FX-7’s confirmation, you couldn’t let yourself go back to your quarters when the pilot in your medbay was teetering on the cusp of cardiac arrest.

Leia Organa woke you by softly brushing the hair out of your face. Your head lifted instantaneously, a paper stuck to your cheek. You quickly removed it and smoothed down the rest of your hair to at least try and look presentable.

“General,” you regarded her, standing up from your seat. She smiled softly at you.

“Doctor, I apologize for waking you.”

You shook your head and tried not to wince when you peeked at the digital numbers glaring at you upon the wall.

“I needed to be awake, anyways. I’m late for rounds,” you muttered the last part to yourself.

“I came to update you on the operation,” she moved back around your desk and sat down in the seat Poe had occupied only a few hours prior.

“We’ve received intel that the TIE fighters stationed in front of the ship are no longer there, presumably to return to the First Order to refuel or receive maintenance. It’s a narrow window, but Commander Dameron and both Red and Blue squadrons have departed a few hours ago to hopefully investigate that cargo ship.”

You nodded at her words and contained the frown from surfacing on your face. Your stomach knotted, fearing that the absence of First Order protection was all too convenient, and they were falling into a trap.

The First Order was smart, something you had learned first hand. You’d been on their radar for as long as you could remember. The bad guys needed medics, too.

Some of your peers that you had completed medical school with had left to join, and ultimately you couldn’t blame them. The offer was tempting, yet mostly threatening. Most of them joined more out of fear than anything. You had been moments away yourself, but instead you were here. On D’Qar. A vital part of the Resistance. If you were someone who believed in such phenomena, you would swear the galaxy itself had made sure of it.  

“Have you heard anything since they left?” You asked.

Leia shook her head, trying to hide her worried expression. “They’re in good hands. Poe is the best pilot I’ve seen since…” She stopped herself. “He’s the man for this.”

“So I’ve heard,” you said. “I hope he proves me wrong. And also brings every pilot back in one piece.”

“Together, I think you two would make quite the formidable pair.”

“With respect, General,” you tried not to snort at her words. “I think it’s better if we keep our distance. Our stubbornness might tear a rift in the galaxy.”

“Or,” she winked. “It could bring it together.”

You had no response.

“I’ll be back should there be any word from Poe, and - “

Leia’s words were cut off by the familiar screech of a x-wings cutting into the atmosphere and landing on the runway.

Wordlessly, the two of you all but sprinted from the medical wing out into the open, expansive area that was the runway. Countless others were surfacing outside, watching the ships land and be courted off into the hangars for repairs. From what you could tell, they all looked fine. No exposed wires or blaster burns. For the most part, the squadrons looked untouched. The last ship to land was Poe’s black and orange T-70.

The second the x-wing was stopped, Poe all but threw himself from the cockpit, shucking his helmet off and chucking it at the ground. BB-8’s body blurred as the droid tried to keep up with his long, quick strides. His eyes met Leia’s first, immediately spurning his feet to turn in her direction. When he eventually realized you were also next to her, his eyes all but physically set you on fire.

You held your breath as he crossed the runway. Poe looked downright dangerous, he was so angry. Leia noticed this too, but did not change her demeanor as she waited patiently for him to come to her, hands clasped behind her back.

“Mission report, Commander Dameron,” she said.

“Can we discuss this somewhere else?” Poe asked as he stopped walking, finally reaching his destination. BB-8 rolled up a second later. His eyes flicked to yours.

“We can, but the Doctor will be there regardless.”

Poe wanted to scream.

“The mission went as smoothly as expected. We were met with no First Order resistance or ambush as we docked and investigated the cargo ship.”

“And what did you find?”

Poe took a deep breath, calming his heartbeat that was deafening in his ears. His fists clenched and unclenched, and unfortunately the thread was still there. Except this time, it was pulled taught between your bodies when it usually sagged with slack.

“We found spice, General.”

Oh.

Maybe you did believe in some higher power. There had to be someone pulling the strings behind this scenario. You wanted to laugh, point your finger and tell him ‘told you so’. But you didn’t, because the tension and anger in Poe’s body was so apparent that it looked like he was a chain pulled so tight it wasn’t a matter of if, but when he would snap.

So you settled for pursing your lips very tightly.

“Nothing else to report?” Leia questioned.

Poe shook his head.

“I’m glad you all made it back safe,” she said, putting her hand on Poe’s shoulder. “It was one mission, Poe. There will be other opportunities.”

He nodded, not meeting her eyes as Leia took her leave. The two of you stood in intolerable silence and you weren’t sure why Poe didn’t immediately sprint off as soon as Leia left.

“I’m glad everyone made it back safely,” you spoke slowly, offering a metaphorical olive branch.

Poe cocked his head, eyes narrowing as he met yours. You braced yourself, waiting for him to maybe pull out his blaster and take you out on the spot.

“Save it,” he said, though his voice didn’t hold the venom you expected. “Do you want me to tell you that you were right?”

You shrugged. “Not required, but I’m not against it.”

He did not accept your poor attempt at lightening the mood. Instead, he sighed deeply and dragged a hand down his face.

“I look like a complete joke . Making such a big deal out of this whole operation, only to be completely and utterly wrong.” He laughed dryly, and you tried not to wince.

“But you know who was right? A fucking medic. The holier-than-thou doctor who doesn’t ever leave her medbay, but the one time she does she completely undermines everything.”

Of course, it was your fault. Poe didn’t want to face the fact that his lack of patience and impulsiveness had forced him and his whole squadron to investigate a cargo ship full of spice. Against your better judgement, you let him continue his diatribe. He continued, berating your position, your lack of expertise and inability to, how did he put it? Stay out of matters that don’t pertain to you. He seemed to have forgotten the minute detail that Holdo had asked for you to be there, even though you reminded him of that fact last night.

After a ridiculous amount of time, Poe eventually stopped to catch his breath. As soon has he did, he tried to continue.

“Not to mention - “

You cut him off. “Are you done?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I could go on all day.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m sure you could. Because you absolutely have the right to completely tear me down when we met for the first time a couple days ago.”

“I’ve heard enough about you,” Poe countered.

“As have I,” you clenched your jaw. “Your reputation precedes your rank, Dameron. You really think you’re going to earn respect and trust around the base when you’re running through every female here? You think that speaks well of your character? You think that’s Commander behavior?”

Poe interlaced his hands on the top of his head as he laughed at you incredulously.

“I can’t even stand to breathe the same air as you right now,” Poe said.

How fucking immature. You narrowed your eyes. “Then stop breathing.”

At your words, the red thread tightened around your finger painfully. So tight, it felt as though it was about to cut through and remove the finger entirely. Your other hand rubbed at your finger -  desperately, futilely trying to loosen the string.

Poe watched your action, and then sucked in a breath through his teeth as he grasped as his own pinky in pain. He noticed his movements mirrored yours.

“Wha-” he paused. “Wait - “ Two pieces clicked in Poe’s brain.

But it didn’t matter, because you were already retreating, your steps quick and purposeful. You were fleeing back to the medbay and away from whatever was about to come out of Poe’s mouth. You couldn’t deal with it, not now and probably not ever.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes watched your hands before watching his own, his forehead creasing with confusion, then what you hoped wasn’t realization. You didn’t think your actions obvious, but if he felt the same pain you did, it was impossible not to notice.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, your mind spiraled. Poe called your name, your actual name, but you were too far gone and nothing short of the force would make you go back to him.

This time, your interaction with Poe Dameron didn’t end with emptying your guts in the refresher, but by entering your office and locking it.

Small victories.

_ 

thank you all so so so much for all the positive feedback and support!! i love it!!! i’ve gotten a couple requests for a tag list so if you’d like to me to create one / be added to it just send me a message! also, if i made a playlist for this, would y’all be interested? lmk! xoxo.