#I’ve seen the letter so I know this isn’t actually how it happened but

[rainbowroseart]

I love people’s fan designs for Glenn, but what if one day he was somehow in a cutscene and it was just

[charleslee-valentine]

I wanna talk about this scene.

A head kiss is *so* significant as a choice. Obviously he can’t kiss her lips unless he wants to have his face superglued to hers, but to waste time getting upstairs to have kissed her at all is sorta what I get caught on. There’s got to be *something* going through his head to make that decision over damage control.

We know the abuse of these women, tying them up in a medical chair, is because of what he went through in his childhood. The duct tape bindings in his high chair, the experimental surgical procedures from his father, the neglect; it’s all mirrored in the leather straps, the chair itself and the identical one up at the house. But we also know Bo, despite probably killing at least Victor, has undying devotion to his mother and her legacy. Trudy slaps her child no older than three across his face without hesitation. What affection might look like or have once looked like in the Sinclair house is curious.

The forehead kiss, in the context of the abuse, can read of both possessiveness and distance. Something like staking a claim, less intimate and affectionate than, say, one on the cheek. A heavily controlled sort of relationship. But back to actual affection.

With the Sinclairs, it’s very skewed what that might be like. When Vincent and Bo interact on screen for the first time, Bo is critically injured and angry. He snaps at his brother, but his remorse is immediate and he uses words as a form of affection. Promises as apologies. Almost like begging, a kind of worship on its own.

Which itself ties into his relationship with their mother too.

Trudy is kept down at the church, having her perpetual funeral service. Bo is seen on screen for the very first time kneeling at her coffin in a probable prayer. But that kind of devotion I think is the Sinclair way of affection. As in religion, which has a recurring symbolism in House of Wax, and as such in the characters lives. Prayer drawing parallels to love isn’t surprising.

Something interesting is that in numerous religions, head kisses can be the passing on of a blessing. Bo forces Carly into the same bindings he suffered in for years, but he grants her a blessing before he leaves her there. It doesn’t seem affectionate at first, if anything it’s just kind of condescending, but knowing how Bo works is what makes it much more interesting.

The question is why?

Bo consoles Vincent after he hurts his feelings by talking about their mother’s blessing and legacy. All of Ambrose is a gift from a woman who treated them horribly, and they accept it. The killings are literally for her. In that way, I think Bo is apologizing. He’s inflicting on this woman something that destroyed his life, and he isn't some zombified, all magical slasher; he’s still very much a human being who feels pain and emotions. A lot more emotions than either of his brothers seem to show on screen, actually.

His role as the leader -or the preacher of this church they’ve built, hence why he finds Carly hiding under the robes in the church- isn’t without remorse. It’s do what’s got to be done. Which started with his parents. Victor says in the cold open, “I’m doing the best I can,” while wrestling a toddler. They call little Bo the monster while they’re actively hurting him. These excuses are pre-programmed into his complex.

In regard to further biblical imagery and the Sinclair parents, is the theater. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? plays nonstop, with the specific scene with Carly being hunted in the theater taking place during Jane’s song. The first two lines of that say, “I’ve written a letter to daddy, His address is Heaven above.” There’s this idea of communicating with a dead parent again, just like Bo speaking out loud to Trudy’s corpse, but now it’s outwardly tying it in with religious beliefs. If Bo is the preacher, he’s simply passing along the holy message instilled in him by his parents above. Bo *is* Baby Jane in that way, but not for the most obvious reason. While yes, he is harsh to his brother, as Baby Jane treated her sister Blanche badly, there’s also the fact that he’s a washed up, desperate, abused child who craves love and validation and normalcy again. Using his communication with the divine up in Heaven above to spread a blessing is a way of getting approval. With a detached kiss to Carly, his crimes are the gospel.

A consistent theme here is not only his relationship with being abused, but also with Vincent. Biblically, conjoined twins are considered a mistake of nature. God creates two human souls, but it is the fault of nature that their bodies combine. However, because of the risks, it is also considered mostly immoral in the church to separate them if one or both will have their lives risked. For the Sinclair twins, their father did this surgery himself, at home, which is obviously wildly illegal and dangerous. That makes him a sinner and an obstacle to a perfect Ambrose, on top of being an abusive asshole. So he’s killed, implied to be shot by Bo directly. That bullet was his punishment as much as the highchair was Bo’s punishment. Vincent may not have gotten the highchair, but he does have the marks on his face to show for what Victor chose. The surgery, the sin of going against the new plan, left Vincent scarred and missing not just tissue but parts of the bones in his face. Having to wear the masks and being disallowed from leaving Ambrose is his punishment for Victor’s moral crime. God took from them both unfairly and I think, despite his devotion, Bo doesn’t quite believe in the faith fully because of that.

Again, he’s human. He has his doubts and fears. His reassurance to Vincent in the form of “Ma would be proud” goes for himself too. And his subsequent “She always said that your talent would make up for what God took away from you.” Vincent doesn’t need convincing though, he needs an apology. That’s what Bo’s speech about Trudy is, is an apology, but that doubles for both him and Vincent. And the head kiss too. Because again, he’s operating on what he’s supposed to do. It’s a routine.

At that point, I think Bo doesn’t get satisfaction from fulfilling God’s (ahem, Trudy’s) plan anymore. Carly, and by extension every other girl who was down in that cellar at one point or another, is a sacrifice to it. She’s duct taped in that chair because someone has to be suffering in order for the Sinclairs to thrive. That’s the way it’s been before. Someone has to be hurting to need God’s grace so badly as to keep up what they’re doing, rather than just forgetting Ambrose. But what makes me think Bo specifically has stopped deriving anything positive from that order, is that he also tells Vincent “We almost finished what Mama started.” Based on the number of empty seats in the theater alone, they could theoretically kill a lot more than just the six kids that night. Why stop there? Because of the sacrificial lamb down in his cellar. I think Bo thinks that his actions will trigger be some fateful event that’ll free them all of Ambrose. Some great flood or some such. And when it doesn’t come for an entire decade after Trudy’s death, I think his desperation is growing more and more over those ten years to where his faith is now slipping. Back around to the head kiss, the silent promises he makes to Carly is to reassure himself that she’ll be special and it’ll end with her.

Choosing Carly specifically, could come from a biblical Madonna-Whore complex. Bo saw the whole group the night before, only two of which were girls obviously. Between them, Paige is pregnant. The Bible states directly that she should be burned for that (as she is out of wedlock.) Ambrose is, to him, a Holy place, but bringing Paige in and keeping her alive, no matter for how short a time, would technically be making the entire land impure. So Carly it was. I do think he has an attraction to her, since whoever has the video camera that night takes special care to record her lips, and then he makes a comment about them after supergluing them. It’s just the fact he could’ve kissed her at any point before the glue came out, and chose not to. Just that little head kiss. Because as much as he’s preached, he has to resist temptation himself or it’s all for naught. Does that mean I think he doesn’t assault any of the women? No, absolutely not. There’s a sex swing in that cellar. It’s just a matter of repenting. The first time we ever see Bo’s face, he’s on his knees in the church. Out of all the empty buildings in Ambrose he chose to go pray at church before the group showed up. He knows what he’s gonna do and knows he shouldn’t. Hence the other meaning of the kiss again, the apologetic side combined with the resistance.

Bo is such a deeply, deeply complex character. He went through so much only to turn around and inflict so much. Going back to their father’s choice to do the surgery on his own, the impacts of having a whole person removed from the back of Bo’s head is so unknown.

From the way they were conjoined, their skulls may have very well been attached. Seeing as Vincent has impacts to the development of his brow bone, cheek bone, lower jaw, and nasal bridge, those bones would have to go somewhere, and the realistic answer is that they would’ve been fused to Bo, or at least the parts of those would’ve been there. All in the back of Bo’s head, directly against his skull. To me, it’s incredibly, incredibly unlikely that no impacts would’ve been made on Bo’s brain development. How much of his violent impulses are even his own, and how much comes from a traumatic brain injury, inflicted by their father himself. Certainly blaming that baby for being a monster, when it’s a consequence of his own behavior, seems about fitting with the rest of the manipulation processes that go on in that family. Which Bo had to learn from somewhere. Trudy was likely his biggest abuser, but I think Bo modeled a lot of himself, unconsciously, after their father. Killing him was just taking on that role, and the religious filtering of it all, is Bo’s way of processing that. The father, the son, and mama’s Holy Spirit.

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter twenty-three | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | coriolanus snow, canon typical violence, canon typical death, oral sex (m. receiving), implication of committing murder | lmk if I forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 coriolanus gets more blood on his hands, he also gets his cock sucked.

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 two more exams to go!! can't wait for it to finish! Make sure to reblog and give your feedback! <33

beta read by the birthday girl @nowitsmissing

masterlist | navigation

The next days of Coriolanus Snow are spent in constant paranoia. He avoided you and refused to make eye contact. He was simply so afraid of what was going to happen. Before him, you were much closer to Sejanus. Snow briefly wondered if you interacted with Sejanus because of the power his family held. But he quickly dismissed that thought. Surely you wouldn't have been so calculating since childhood.

District 12 was in chaos trying to find out what happened with Mayfair and Billy Taupe. Spruce had kept his lips sealed. However, he knew that won't be the case for long.

Sejanus Plinth would be dead. And Spruce would know exactly who is responsible. But Coriolanus thought that he would escape to the north before it happened. Lucy Gray was in a hurry too. She was the lead suspect as Mayfair was the reason she was in the games.

Today was the day the bodies were found. Rotten. It was a miracle it was hidden for so long. He had an inkling it was due to you. Because the bodies weren't found at the original place of murder but on the outskirts of District 12. People rarely go there.

The Peacekeepers were talking about it right now. Coriolanus carefully listened, trying to see if anyone had any knowledge of what had actually happened.

“They’re both locals, but one of them is the mayor’s daughter. The other one’s a musician or something, but not one that we’ve seen. They were shot dead.”

“Did they find who did it?” asked a Peacekeeper.

“Not yet. These people aren’t even supposed to have guns, but like I told you, they’re floating around out there,” another replied. “Killed by one of their own, though.”

“How do they know that?” asked Sejanus.

‘Shut up!’ thought Coriolanus. Knowing Sejanus, he could be one step away from confessing to a crime he didn’t even commit.

“Well, she said they think the girl was shot with a Peacekeeper’s rifle, probably an old one that got stolen during the war. And the musician was killed by some sort of shotgun the locals used for hunting. Probably two shooters,” Smiley reported. “They searched the surrounding area and couldn’t find the weapons. Long gone with the murderers, if you ask me.”

Coriolanus’s nerves unwound a bit, and he ate a forkful of pancakes. “Who found the bodies?”

“That little girl singer — you know, the one in the pink dress,” said Smiley.

“Maude Ivory,” said Sejanus.

“I think that’s it. Anyway, she freaked out. They questioned the band, but when would they have had time to do it? No guns were found, no prints either,” Smiley told them. “Shook them up pretty good, though. I guess they knew the musician guy somehow or other.”

Because of the past night’s events, the commander locked down the base for the day.

He and Sejanus floated around, trying to look normal. Playing cards, writing letters, cleaning their boots. As they knocked the mud from the treads, Coriolanus whispered, “What about the escape plan? Is it still on?”

“I’ve no idea,” Sejanus said. “The commander’s birthday isn’t until next weekend. That was the night we were supposed to go. Coryo, what if they arrest an innocent person for the murders?”

‘Then our troubles are over’, thought Coriolanus, but he only said, “I think it’s highly unlikely, with no guns. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Coriolanus came into your room that night. Ready to confess his sins and come clean. His mouth went dry when you opened the door. Your lips stretched into a lazy grin. “Hi, Coryo,” you said, as your hand was on the shirt, getting a grip on the fabric to pull him inside of the room.

“What did you do?” you asked him as you pushed him down onto the bed. You stood at the side, towering over him. Your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“I- I didn't do anything,” he said, “I missed you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You fucked up. Real or not?”

“Real,” he muttered.

“Worse than murder?”

Coriolanus winces.

“Do you care about Sejanus?” He asked, hoping that the answer would be in his favor. He could feel his palms sweating, and he pressed his hands onto the sheets.

“No.”

Coriolanus blinks in shock. “No?” He questions, visibly confused, “But- but-”

“Is this about you sending the jabberjays to Dr. Gaul?”

Coriolanus managed a nod. In truth, he had suspected you would find out as Dr. Gaul seems to trust you. Which was one of the main reasons he wanted to come clean beforehand.

You let out a harsh chuckle, “Yeah, Dr. Gaul told me to keep an eye on the boy. I told her he murdered innocent citizens who were against the rebellion. You presented a death warrant to her, I signed it.”

You eye Coriolanus with a smirk. “You should know you can't keep secrets from me, baby,” you shake your head, “I don't know why you try when it's so obvious.”

“Sejanus Plinth and Spruce, the leader of the rebellion, will be dead soon. No need to worry about them, Coryo. Good job, Dr. Gaul is impressed, she sees your potential even more so than before.” you add.

“Is there anything else or…?”

Your eyes turn lustful as you begin to slowly check him out. His heart starts to beat faster, his blood rushing downwards. A tent quickly forms in his pants. It was from your heated gaze alone.

You tease him with a smile, “You're such a boy.”

“Shu- shut up! It's on you- it's because you're looking at me like that,” he whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like you'll eat me up,” he replied.

“That's the plan,” you whispered, as you went on your knees in front of him.

He lets out a desperate, needy noise at the sight. You looked so pretty like this. He spreads his legs, making up space for you. You bite your lip in anticipation. Your mouth salivating for his taste.

“Holy shit, dove,” he whines when your hand presses into his bulge. You palm him through his pants.

“So needy,” you murmur. “Do you want my mouth on you that bad?”

“Yes,” he gasps out, willing to beg. “Please.”

“That's a good boy.”

You unzip his pants, dragging them down around his knees. His dick is strained against his boxers. A wet spot on the fabric. It was clear how much pre-cum he was leaking. It was pathetic too. But you didn't blame him for it. You pressed your thumb on his clothed tip, and gently slid your fingertip back and forth, letting his sensitive slit feel the slick texture of the fabric.

“Fuck,” he curses, “Don't tease me.”

“I am not teasing,” you lie.

You pull his boxers down, letting his cock spring free from its confines. The tip is red, the veins on his length popping out, just waiting to be traced with your tongue. You don't let a second go to waste as you let yourself lick his slit. You hold his cock by the base, as you make sure to enjoy his taste like it's a lollipop.

You lick all over, slathering his cock with your saliva. You make sure to trace his veins before you find your way back to his tip. You take his cockhead inside the warmth of your mouth. Coriolanus groans, it took him an iron of will not cum right then and there.

You slowly take more of his length inside and he lets out a whimper. His hand rests on your head, trying so hard not to pull you forward and make you choke on his cock like you were supposed to.

His free hand fists the sheet, as he bites his lower lip to stop a groan from escaping. He could feel that he was getting close to snapping. “Fu-fuck,” he lets out, “Dove… that's so good.”

You continue to suck his cock. You hollow your mouth and he lets out a whimper, his hips bucking up. His cockhead reaches the back of your throat. Surprisingly you don't choke. With a moan of your name, Coriolanus could feel himself cum inside of your mouth.

You taste his salty, thick cum. Letting it coat on your tongue, some of it escapes from the corner of your lips. You pull away as his cock softens and wipe your mouth.

You sit down beside Coriolanus who is trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself in. “Thank you,” he said, “that was good.” You smile at him. Your hand on his cheek. You caress his face.

“You needed to relax, after all, you need to have more blood on your hands,” you said, your smile turning cruel.

“Lucy Gray?” He questions.

“Lucy Gray,” you confirm.

Coriolanus nods, “Yeah, I understand. She will be the only witness left except us.” Coriolanus takes a deep breath. “We'll need to find a way.”

“Let Sejanus die first. I can stay here for a few more days. I'll help you figure it out.”

Coriolanus agrees with you and turns to leave. Before you shut the door, you say to him,

“I was only friends with Sejanus because of you. Because you seemed to be close to him and I wanted to be closer to you.”

After everything, that's not a surprise to him. Though he feels his heart flutter. He falls asleep on his bed with a stupid, lovesick smile, momentarily forgetting about how red his hands are.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The next day Coriolanus was instructed to stand in a squad flanking the hanging tree. Coriolanus knew why. He had already seen Spruce being dragged into the base. Likely to be tortured for information. Coriolanus knew he was protected by you, so there wasn't much to worry about. Sejanus has been missing since morning. He knew what that meant. Dr. Gaul had nailed his coffin.

The Peacekeeper van arrived and both Sejanus and Lil stumbled out in their chains. Sejanus Plinth was accused of treason. He was caught.

Arlo, an ex-soldier toughened by years in the mines, had managed a fairly restrained end, at least until he’d heard Lil in the crowd. But Sejanus and Lil, weak with terror, looked far younger than their years and only reinforced the impression that two innocent children were being dragged to the gallows. Lil, her shaking legs unable to bear her weight, was hauled forward by a pair of grim-faced Peacekeepers who would probably spend the following night trying to obliterate this memory with white liquor.

As they passed him, Coriolanus locked eyes with Sejanus, and all he could see was the eight-year-old boy on the playground, the bag of gumdrops clenched in his fist. Only this boy was much, much more frightened. Sejanus’s lips formed his name, Coryo, and his face contorted in pain. But whether it was a plea for help or an accusation of his betrayal he couldn’t tell.

The Peacekeepers positioned the condemned side by side on the trapdoors. Another tried to read out the list of charges over the shrieks of the crowd, but all Coriolanus could catch was the word treason.

He averted his eyes as the Peacekeepers moved in with the nooses, and he found himself looking at Lucy Gray’s stricken face. She stood near the front in an old gray dress, her hair hidden in a black scarf, tears running down her cheeks as she stared up at Sejanus.

As the drumroll began, Coriolanus squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could block out the sound as well. But he could not, and he heard it all. Sejanus’s cry, the bang of the trapdoors, and the jabberjays picking up Sejanus’s last word, screaming it over and over into the dazzling sun.

“Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma!”

Sejanus Plinth is dead.

It's Lucy Gray's turn now.

NEXT PART

[impala-dreamer]

Who We're Pretending To Be

A Story from the YOU Universe

~Joe finds himself getting too close to one of his grad students and he fights the urge to fall completely.~

Joe Goldberg (Jonathan Moore) x F!Reader

5,019 Words

Warnings: NSFW.

A/N: If you've not seen the Netflix show YOU, this may not be your thing. Still a great story, but it helps to know the show. Also, if you've not seen the show, I suggest you get right on that because it is AMAZING.

Set between Seasons 3 & 4. Slight spoilers for s4, but not really. 

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The classroom seems cold today, like there’s something missing. It’s distracting. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s off, but there’s a charge in the air like something’s about to happen; as if lightning could strike at any second.

I don’t mean proverbial lightning, as none of my students seem to have grasped any of the contextual undertones of the book we’re discussing, but actual, live lightning. If I opened the windows behind my desk just a crack, a bolt would sneak through and bury itself in the base of my skull. Maybe that’s what I need- a jolt of electricity, something to break me out of this fog that crept up around me and climbs forever higher threatening to suffocate me.

I think I’d take the lightning to the skull over suffocation, but we don’t always get what we want.

I’m perched on the edge of the desk when the door opens and Y/N comes rushing in.

Suddenly, all of my attention is on her.

She’s never late. Never rushing, always at least ten minutes early for every appointment, every class. She seems- off today, as well. Perhaps she can feel the imminent lightning strike as well. Wouldn’t that be funny? I find a kindred amongst these idiot grad students who can’t even seem to end this horrid debate.

“I am so sorry, Professor Moore.”

Y/N’s voice cracks a bit, which in itself isn’t very unusual. She’s one of the quieter students I’ve encountered, and the only American in my current circle of acquaintances. Her accent is faint, as if she’s attempting to hide it from her schoolmates. She’s been here a while, I can infer; sprinkling in local slang and adding letters to words where back home there would be none. She’s trying hard to fit in, but why? Why not be herself?

“I got held up by-”

I hold up my hand and smile softly. “It’s fine, Y/N. Please take a seat and try to catch up.”

For fuck’s sake, she’s only twenty minutes late, but it looks like every second has weighed her down like lead.

The others pick up their debate and I sit back a bit, cross my arms, pretend to listen. This teaching thing isn’t as hard as everyone makes it out to be. Occasionally, I toss out an idea and let them run with it. Sometimes, I pay attention, mostly I don’t. Mostly I’m thinking of You. Of how beautiful You looked at that art show, of how You gasped when you saw me like You couldn’t decide if You wanted to run to me or away.

From the corner of my eye, I see Y/N timidly raise her hand and You are temporarily pushed aside. She keeps her hand up but close to her chest, as if the very act of asking to speak is somehow terrifying.

How can someone so brave be so terrified to do something as common as speak in class? She’s clearly not a scared person by nature- she moved across an ocean to attend university when she could have gone for free back home to whatever state college she decided to attend. I’ve peeked at her transcripts- she’s smart. Not win a genius grant or a full ride smart, but smart. Why is she so nervous?

I smile and a bit of her nerves seem to quell. Her shoulders relax an inch and she smiles back.

“You know you don’t have to raise your hand, Y/N,” I tell her, laughing gently to put her at ease.

She dips her chin and then looks up with the most beautiful gaze I have ever seen. Her lashes flutter upwards in slow motion, the darkness of her pupils expand, pushing nearly every fleck of color away except the gemlike glow cast by the stained glass window over my head. She smiles and her lips shine like glass. Soft, pink, beautiful glass. I can’t look away and yet I absolutely have to. Thankfully, she speaks and I can act like I’m moving away to sit in my chair and not to get away from her.

“Sorry,” she says, sweet voice sweeping over the room. “I just didn’t want to jump in because I was late but-”

“But you have something to add,” I finish for her.

Her eyes float back to me and the atmosphere shifts. The foreboding of a lighting strike vanishes and the room seems to warm up. Quickly, I sit and scoot the chair close to the desk, set my elbows on the top, clasp my hands near my lips. I can’t stop staring at her.

She nods. “Yes. If that’s alright.”

There it is again, the tiniest speck of British on her tongue. How long has she been living here, and why? It can’t just be for school. She’s too interesting for that. She dresses to blend in; muted colors and clean jeans, her hair always swept back, face free of plastering makeup or too much color. There’s only ever that pink gloss and a gentle brush of mascara. It’s as if she doesn't know how beautiful she is, or perhaps, she doesn’t care.

Or was she one of those kids who never really got any attention until they blossomed but by then it was too late to fit into their personality?

She chews her lip nervously and shyly looks away from me.

No, she knows. She knows how beautiful she is, she just isn’t one to flaunt it; doesn’t need the attention. Or is that how she draws them in?

She’s already talking, but I can’t hear a thing she’s saying. I can hear her voice, that honey like glaze she adds to things when she’s speaking passionately, but the actual words, the meaning- I can’t follow a damned thing. I’m too busy trying to figure her out.

You flash through my mind for a moment; a sweet memory of a smile in the library when You didn’t think I was looking.

What is it about a smile that says so much without words? Does it show who we really are or who we’re pretending to be?

“I just think that love shouldn’t be so easily condemned.”

Y/N’s comment breaks through my thoughts of You and I clear my throat, straighten up in my chair, focus.

Across the room, Nadia rolls her eyes, clearly disagreeing with Y/N’s interpretation. “This isn’t love, it’s obsession. The two can’t and shouldn’t be intertwined.”

Y/N bites her bottom lip and shakes her head.

What does that lip gloss taste like? Berries, perhaps… No. Stop it. Focus.

“I disagree.” Y/N sits forward and tucks her hands below the table. “Love is obsession. Obsession is love. It’s not a tautology, no, but you can have one with the other. If you’re not even a little obsessed with the person you love, is it really love at all?”

My mind is zinging, my ears ringing. Does she truly believe that, or is it all for the sake of debating Nadia? They’ve been at war most of the semester, but this seems truthful, deep.

The bell rings before I can recenter and add anything. I give my head a little shake and stand up, the chair rolling back behind me.

“Class dismissed. Great job today. Lively, wonderful discourse.” I fake a smile at the rest and then settle on Y/N.

She’s taking her time, hanging back as she gathers her things. She stuffs a notebook into her bag and the pen she’s been using rolls away from her.

“Crap.” She lunges across the table for it, but it’s too close to the edge, too far from her reach.

I drop down at the last second and save it from a dusty fate of rolling across the floor. “Gotcha.”

She’s staring when I stand up. Our eyes meet and she doesn’t shy away, but looks even deeper somehow. A smile lifts her cheeks and my pulse quickens.

No.

She holds out her hand and there’s a fleeting second when I want to trace my fingers across her palm, feel how soft and warm she is, but no. I toss her the pen and turn, trying to get her out of my head.

I have more important things to do than become a tired cliche. Some professor falling for a student. It’s an outrageous thought, and besides, I don’t need Y/N, I have You.

I hear the zipper close and a chair being pushed in. She’s leaving.

She lingers in the door and turns back to me with a sweet smile. “Have a good weekend, Professor.”

Her tone is so genuine, so kind that it nearly knocks me backwards. I can’t remember the last time anyone has truly wished me a good time. It’s such an overused pleasantry, so common and boring, but not when she says it. Not when she smiles at me like that, with her eyes still and focused on me.

The warmth spreading through me is real as well and I can’t seem to push it away. “Thank you,” I managed, barely able to stand let alone return the sentiment. “You too.”

The rest of the day goes by quickly but it feels like forever. Two more classes, two more groups of students droning on about what the author really meant, when none of them, not a single one seems to be able to read between the fucking lines. None of them can step back and see the whole picture, capture the meaning as a universe unto itself and not just a line in black and white on an otherwise blank page.

Y/N could read between the lines. Y/N would understand the sum of it all. She would get it.

Stop. Thinking. About. Her.

On my walk home, I think about You. Wondering what You’re up to, where You are tonight. The sun is setting, dragging the sky down into a deep pink and I wonder if You are seeing the same colors where You are. Someday, we’ll sit together on an island in the Pacific and see what that sunset looks like. Would You paint it for me, I wonder…

Y/N crosses my mind for a moment as I gaze at the light reflecting off a window as I pass. Would the sunset hit her shining lip gloss in the same way? Would the pink deepen with the sky? Would she smile if she caught me staring, back away if I leaned in to drag my thumb across her juicy, pink bottom lip?

No.

Darkness has settled and I haven’t moved to turn on a lamp. I’m stuck, glued to my sofa, my hands nailed to my thighs. I keep my eyes open for fear of seeing her face, but bouncing around the room looking for a distraction is only giving me a headache. I need to get out. I need something to do. I need-

A knock at the door.

Who would be knocking at my door at nearly ten o’clock at night?

Curiosity pulls me off of the couch and I switch on the lights as I head to the door. The peephole is clouded as fuck, but I can see her outline. My stomach tightens, my shoulders tense.

What is she doing here?

Her hand raises to knock again, but I unlatch the door before her knuckles hand. I find her dangling in the air, her startled face the most appealing thing I’ve seen in ages. Her eyes go wide, her jaw drops just enough to give me a peek at her tongue. Quickly, she rights herself and shies her gaze away. She chews her lip and I notice the pink gloss is gone, replaced by a deeper red.

Everything about her is different tonight. Her hair is down and fresh, her eyes are lined in black and the color blended above brings out the prisms in her eyes. Her clothes are strange as well: a short skirt, tall boots, a blouse that’s too tight to hide anything. There’s a gold string around her throat, something old, a gift perhaps from a dead relative, or a chance find at an antique shop. She would like diving through boxes of discarded wares looking for treasures, wouldn’t she?

Or maybe I’m just distracted by her appearance. Maybe I should stop trying to pick her apart and send her far, far away.

I’m not that man anymore. I’ve changed. I’m good. I have to be good for You.

It’s been too long since either of us has said anything and the fact of it is hanging in the air between us like some kind of glowing, awkward sign.

Thankfully, she speaks.

“Um… Hi.”

It isn’t much, but it breaks the painful silence.

I smile, confused but curious. My ultimate downfall.

“Y/N. What are you doing here?”

I should say something about it being inappropriate, something about contacting me only during office hours, but she knows. That’s not why she’s here. I can see it in her eyes.

Her hands are tucked behind her back, I notice. She’s holding something, not just shoving her tits in my face, although, I can’t say that I mind. She sees that I’m looking and turns to the side a bit to hide it more.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, calming herself, steeling her nerves. Why is she so nervous? What secret is she hiding? What plan has been brewing all day in her head?

That’s it, isn’t it? She was late this morning, distracted and timid because she was planning to come here.

I should be flattered, but I’m too intrigued by her boldness as she slides past me into my flat.

“I know this is highly inappropriate,” she says, the confession like a song on her lips. “But… I… Well…”

Her nose scrunches up in the most adorable way while she searches for the right words. It’s endearing and makes me want to sit for hours and listen to her talk, discover exactly who she is and why.

I’m still standing in the open doorway, I realize, so I move aside and let it close. My back presses into the door and I hold my tongue, letting her get to the point.

She’s struggling, dancing around it in her head.

I want to crack open her skull and watch the thoughts spark through the gray matter like shooting stars.

“If you’re worried you’ll get in trouble,” I say, trying to get things moving, “you won’t. I’m just wondering why you’re here and how it is that you know where I live.”

She laughs and digs her tooth into the corner of her lip. “I’m not… stalking you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Nothing that nefarious,” she goes on. “But I did do something bad.”

The nerves seem to fall away from her the more she speaks and her demeanor changes. Her voice deepens ever so slightly and her hip pops to the side as she looks me over. Is she… flirting with me?

“I doubt you’ve done anything newsworthy, Miss Y/L/N…”

She takes a step forward and her lips pucker gently.

She is flirting with me.

“I hope not,” she says with a little laugh. “You see, I work part time in the admin office…”

I didn’t know that. I don’t know a lot about her. So many things to uncover, so many artifacts to dust off and examine.

“OK…” I push off from the door and take a step towards her. She counters, stepping backwards, guiding me to follow.

“And, well, I accidentally was looking at your files and-”

“Accidentally?”

She presses her tongue between her front teeth and smiles, eyes falling across my face. “Accidentally on purpose,” she clarifies. “I was… curious.”

“About me?”

Another step closer but she doesn’t move this time, letting me close the space between us by a few forbidden inches.

She sighs sweetly. “A little, yes.”

I dip my chin and look up, lifting my brows in question. She pulls in a quick breath, clearly enjoying the look I’ve given her.

“OK, maybe a little more than a little.”

One more step and I’m closer than I’ve ever really been to her, except just now when she invited herself in. I take a breath and she smells warm like vanilla, sweet like honey. The fantasy of berries on her lips falls away and I suddenly want to bury my face in the crook of her neck and do nothing but breathe in her scent, feel it invade my senses, infect my bloodstream.

Her chest heaves with a heavy breath and her eyes grow a little darker. She wants me.

“Maybe a lot curious,” she whispers, lifting her chin and blinking slowly.

Is she daring me to kiss her? Can she feel the lightning between us? Dare I?

No. She’s a student. She’s off limits. She’s not… You.

She must notice my hesitation and steps back a pace. She clears her throat. “Anyway. I saw that it was your birthday today.”

It’s not my birthday. Not my real birthday, anyway, just the one on the fake passport with the fake name and real photo.

I smile because I have to. “It is.”

Whatever she’s hiding behind her back shifts between her hands. “And, well, it’s presumptuous of me but I’ve never heard you talk much about friends or family and… you don’t wear a… ring. I just… Well, I know how hard it is to be a world away from what you know, and this city isn’t exactly kind in general, so…”

She’s rambling and I don’t ever want her to stop. Her voice ebbs and flows over me like a sultry tsunami and I can feel my fingers twitch, my blood rush through my system faster and faster.

“I just don’t think anyone should be alone or forgotten on their birthday so-” Finally, she reveals the mystery behind her back and holds out a green glass bottle. “I took a chance that you were a scotch man. At first I thought wine, but I know nothing about wine, and the guy at the shop said this one was good, so… Happy birthday, Professor.”

She hands me the bottle and without thinking, I take it. It’s not expensive by any means, but it’s the gesture that counts. She doesn’t let go right away, holding it with me, as if she can communicate her desires through the blown glass.

“Thank you.” I smile, let my finger brush against hers. “This is… very thoughtful.”

She lets go but doesn’t move otherwise. Her eyes are locked on me, her stare so pure.

I have to get her out of here.

Y/N shrugs and smiles, so confident now, so sure. “It’s nothing, really. I don’t even know if it’s any good.”

Her meaning lingers and I nod, gesture to the sofa as I start to peel off the seal on the top of the bottle.

“Join me for a glass?”

She bites her lip again and I nearly lose it.

“Love to.”

The scotch isn’t terrible but it’s not great. More like something you’d grab if you were just looking to get drunk, not necessarily gift someone you’re trying to impress.

Is that what she’s doing here? Trying to get me drunk? Surely, she knows she’s impressed me long before today. The looks between us in class, the lectures directed almost entirely at her have not gone unnoticed, but this, this is different. This is dangerous. She is dangerous.

The sofa suddenly feels too small. We sit close, drinking and chatting about life in London. She tells me about her family back home and how she had to cross an ocean to escape a misspent youth and an abusive father figure. I lie my way through a few answers but mostly, I let her talk.

The more she drinks, the looser her tongue gets, the freer her gestures. More than once, her hand falls to my knee and even though I should, I don’t push her away. Even though I should stand up, take her glass, ask her to get the hell out of my house, I can’t. I can’t do anything but stare at her lips as she speaks, drown myself in the tone of her voice, memorize the shape of her ears, her nose, slope of her shoulder. I’m lost in time with her and even though I know the clock is careening past midnight, I don’t care. I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to move. I want to be frozen in this moment with her. I want to die in her arms but not before…

“Professor?” She laughs gently, loose and relaxed from the alcohol. She leans in, her shoulder pressing against mine. “Are you even listening to me?”

Honestly, I have no idea what she’s been saying, but I can’t let her know that. I shift a bit, turning towards her. There’s barely room left for the Holy Ghost, as they say, but I doubt he’d begrudge me a little closeness, especially on my- on Jonathan’s birthday.

“I’m listening,” I whisper, captivated by the way she’s glowing. “I’m always listening to you.”

She squirms a bit and smiles behind her glass, takes another sip, downing the rest. There’s a drop of amber gold on her lip and it takes every ounce of restraint in me not to sweep it away with my tongue.

She pats the back of her hand against it and the moment is gone.

“Ya know, you’re one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. And I’m not just sayin’ that. You really are. I get you. I see you, Jonathan Moore. I see inside you.”

She slurs a bit, but not enough for it to be considered a crime if I touch her. That’s all I want to do, just a simple touch. Just to feel how soft she is beneath my fingers, how smooth the curve of her cheek.

Ripping myself away from the impulse, I take the glass from her hand and set hers next to mine on the coffee table. “I think you’ve had enough, Miss. Y/L/N.”

Her hand lands on my chest, right in the very center of me. Can she feel my heartbeat? Does she know how much I want her?

“You can call me by my name, ya know,” she says, dropping her chin and smiling. She’s so close that it would take but a tiny nudge to taste her. “Everyone just calls me Y/N/N.”

This is insane. She needs to leave. I need to slam the door behind her and never open it again.

“Y/N/N.”

Her name falls from my tongue like an incantation and her eyes go hazy. She leans closer, her breath fanning over my lips.

“Say it again,” she asks, nearly begging, “please…”

Fuck, this isn’t good. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. I need to- Fuck, what does it all matter? She’s beautiful and interesting and smart and sitting next to me barely dressed and all she wants is me to whisper her name. What’s the harm?

“Y/N/N.”

The spell falls over her and I know it’s too late to back away. Her eyes fall closed and she leans in, pressing her crimson painted lips to mine. She exhales, pushes herself into the kiss, lets out a tiny moan.

She feels so good and it’s all I can think about. She pulls back and I lean in, needing more. My arms wrap around her, stealing her away. She melts against me, opens her lips to my tongue. The vanilla on her skin mixes with the scotch on her tongue and I’m blown away.

“Professor…”

If feels wrong, so fucking wrong, but I can’t stop tasting her, can’t stop breathing into her with every ounce of air in my body.

I let her go for a second, thinking she’s changed her mind, but no, she’s even more ready than I am.

She stands up, fits her knees in between mine and slowly unbuttons her blouse.

My eyes are huge, I know it. I must look like an idiot but I can’t help it. She’s here, beautiful and curvaceous, teasing me, undressing for me. It’s all for me. She’s here for me.

The blouse floats to the floor and she looks down at me, a hint of previous nerves returning. Her bra is pale pink and covered in lace. Something so pure and innocent covering up something I would kill for.

I would, I realize. I would kill for her.

She wiggles out of her skirt and her hips are distracting. I want to touch, to feel my bones crushing into hers, to sink myself deep inside just to see what it’s like, to know her, to feel all of her.

“You like?” she asks, innocence ringing in her soft voice.

What happened in her past that would make her ask such a thing? Who hurt her so badly, who crushed her self esteem to the point that she wouldn’t be able to tell if I was enjoying her delicious display?

“Of course. You’re… absolutely stunning.”

I can’t say more or I’ll break. I reach for her and she slides into my lap, locking her thighs around mine. She presses down on me and my cock responds, all blood and logic rushing down to push back at her ass.

She wraps her hands around my neck and bends to kiss me. Her fingers tangle in my hair, she curls them, tugs gently, testing, enjoying. Her kisses deepen and her hips roll. I’m about to lose my mind.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first day of class,” she moans, scraping her nails across my scalp.

The sensation is intoxicating and my eyes roll back a bit as she tugs hard. Her right hand is locked in my hair and her left is dragging down my chest. I should stop her. I should stand up. I should…

“Fuck.”

Her hand sneaks into my slacks and she scoots back onto my knees for better access. I can’t even think straight as she rubs at my cock. Her hand is soft, warm, firm. I know I’m moaning, but I can’t help it. I might just die here beneath her.

Her tongue glides across my lips. “So hard to sit in class and not dream about fucking you…”

Something snaps inside of me and I let go. I grab at her tits, peel the delicate lace down and pinch her nipples hard until she’s crying out and arching against me.

“I can’t even read anymore,” she admits, nearly breathless as my lips seal around her left nipple. “Every page makes me think of you. I can hear every word in your voice. I- oh God-”

I bite down just enough to stop her train of thought and I look up to see a blank, beautiful stare.

“I want you,” she whispers, lips never quite closing after.

Fuck. This is what I was trying to avoid. This feeling, this hunger inside of me. This need to fall into someone else, this treacherous lust that forces me to act.

“Please…”

Her hand falls to the nape of my neck and it’s so delicate, so tender that I break.

Wrapping my arms around her, I stand and twist, flipping her over onto her back. She gasps and reaches for me, kissing through the shock while I tug the slacks from my hips. She yanks at my shirt, fumbling with the tiny plastic buttons, licking at every new inch of exposed flesh.

“Want you inside me so bad,” she sings, nearly praying as if I’m some ancient god on high that can make all her dreams come true.

I don’t know about all of them, but this prayer, I can answer.

I tear the lace from her hips and fall down over her, crushing her into the old sofa. Her breath stops for a blessed second and I swear I can hear her heart racing through the silence. She runs her hands across my shoulders and down, curling them around my hips while spreading her legs wider.

“Please… Please… Please…”

Her whine is pathetic but I can’t get enough. If I had it in me to drag this out, to tease her for hours, I would, but the scotch has clouded my head and the sight of her strung out and desperate makes it impossible to wait.

She inhales hard when I sink into her. I can feel myself falling but I press my hands beside her head and hold on as best I can.

She feels like heaven.

Or the closest thing to heaven I’ll ever know.

Wet and warm and tight, I can feel her throbbing around me. Every thrust is like magic, making her shiver and squirm and tighten up even more. She clings to me, nails digging into my arms, mouth searching and thirsty for more.

“Jon-”

I almost go insane. It’s not even my name, but it feels so right on her lips that I wish it was.

I feel her orgasm; her body clenching down on me and pulling me in deeper. It’s so hard not to scream her name at the top of my lungs. Nearly impossible not to stay here forever.

I fall down, shove my face into the crook of her neck and thrust a few more times. I know it’s over too soon, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

She rakes her hand through my hair, gently this time, and finds my lips, kissing me sweetly.

“Hi,” she laughs when our eyes finally focus and find each other through the afterglow.

God, she’s beautiful. So giving, so loving, so perfect in a million different ways that it’s actually breaking my heart.

I smile and peck her lips as I go soft inside of her.

“Hello, You.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[sociopathicartist]

In case I don’t tell you enough, I love you.

a letter from sans directed to you, his lover.

y/n,

it’s been five years since monsterkind was freed from the surface.

it’s been four years since i’ve met you.

it’s april, and i’m still missing you.

maybe it’s stupid of me to miss you considering that i left your house only a few hours ago, and i’m laying in bed writing this on some loose paper i found on my floor while i think of you.

weirdly enough, the silence in my room is now unsettling compared to how calming it used to be. i guess the fan in your room blowing wind on your bed that i’ve yet to see turned off has grown on me. or maybe it’s the rain sounds you always have playing on your tv that clash with the fan that grew on me.

or maybe it’s you that's grown on me.

sometimes when i have a nightmare or i can't sleep i play fan and rain sounds on youtube to help me rest, not even thinking consciously about it anymore. it always just makes me feel like i’m back in bed with you with my eyes closed, waiting for you to come back from the kitchen with the glass of water that you wanted.

i wish that i could sum it up and say i can't find the words to describe how i feel, but that’s a lie. i know exactly how i feel about you.

tracing my phalanges along the little scars and nicks of your skin when i’m next to you never fails to entertain me. neither does running my hand through your hair, or twisting the rings on your fingers, or kissing you quickly for the 1000th time. i never thought i would be fond of that sort of stuff, i never thought i was a guy for any sort of romance.

i guess i just never realized that all i needed was the right person to give it to me. all i needed was you.

i’m not the best writer. even my lab logs from the rare times when i help alphys with her scientific tests are messy and short out. it’s almost like having all these thoughts about you is starting to eat me alive. i guess i have nowhere else to put them but on a piece of paper. if we ever get married one day like i hope we do, i’d like to give this to you. who knows when that will be though, so i guess this letter will just sit in one of my drawers collecting dust until i can give it to you. it kinda sucks to think about the fact that these words might never reach you, but that’s the way life is. it sucks most of the time.

i get this weird sinking feeling in my ribs near where my soul rests sometimes. it’s mostly when i think about how i miss you. sometimes my hand reaches up and brushes up and down my shoulder blade when i’m lying in bed alone, mimicking the motion that your hand does to me all the time when we lay together. i don’t even notice it happens anymore, but when i do and i realize you’re not actually there, that’s when that weird sinking feeling happens. it also happens on the rare thought of you not being in my future one day, even though i know that won't happen. i know you wouldn’t leave me.

i can’t help but wonder what this feeling was before i met you, and why i never got it.

was i just empty all the time?

even though i remember in great detail why my depression was so bad back then, back before i met you, i guess these happy years with everyone have slowly washed away that feeling. i felt so horrible for so long, and i didn’t care to ever try and get better because there was no point back then, but for some reason whenever i try to think of what was there in my life that i had like this, it’s almost numbed away from my memories. it’s like a bad nightmare that got washed away with the morning light.

that’s not to say i’m not thankful and glad i’m doing better now. sure, i’m still working things out, but who isn’t? i don’t think i wouldn’t have ever actually gotten help if it wasn’t for you, though. you’re really the only person who's ever seen me so clearly. i love how i don’t even have to tell you if something is wrong anymore, you just look at me and know. did you know that i’ve never had anyone take the time to notice the small difference between my genuine smile versus my resting and permanent one? the day you pointed that out to me was the day i realized i liked you.

i also thought it would take me a while to realize when i liked someone seriously. i think the last time i ever had a crush was… actually, i can’t remember. in the movies and books, it’s always the same scenario of ‘i like you but i haven’t liked anyone before so i don’t realize i like you until it’s too late’ but that wasn’t the case. i knew the moment i liked you.

it was this odd twinge in me that just kinda sprung throughout my bones. i think it’s the same equivalent of getting butterflies in your stomach, but without a stomach. i noticed your looks before, and i guess this sounds weird to say, but it was like after so long of friendship that i actually… noticed you.

you looked so beautiful, and you still do.

the shock at work and from other people was really funny when they found out we were dating. i don’t think they ever actually thought i’d find someone to settle down with. our friends knew better though. as shocked as our friends tried to act, it was pretty obvious that they were expecting it. i can’t believe it was that obvious that we liked each other.

there’s no big resolution to writing this. i just felt like writing it so that i could share the feelings i feel about you but that i forget to say when we are around each other. it’s not like i can get a single word in with how much you smooch on me though. not that i mind.

it’s not to say that if my puns ever get too much for you, or if you decide that i’m too lazy and you feel like you can’t leave, you can. i just really don’t want you to. i have a strong feeling that you don’t ever want to leave either.

i can’t wait to see how the rest of our lives turn out together. when we move in, get married, and just enjoy each other’s time. i know it’s crazy to hear from me, but i can’t wait to do the dishes with you and put away the laundry as you fold it. i can’t wait to enjoy your company every day one day. i know it’s a bit selfish, but i hope that things stay like this forever.

i hope that you get to read this one day, and in case i don’t tell you enough, i love you.

[fan-fantasies]

Perfect Timing

A/N: this isn’t great but I have baby fever and this helps lmao I needed some fluff in my life

Pairing: Osferth x reader

Warnings: mentions of sex, pregnancy

“You look nervous, baby monk,” Finan chuckled as he looked over at his friend.

“Wouldn’t have to do with a certain, pretty Dane would it?” Uhtred added.

Osferth’s face heated up at their words but he refused to answer. Truth is, he was nervous. He hadn’t seen you in months and he wondered if you would welcome him back with open arms. The two of you didn’t leave on bad terms, quite the opposite actually. But Osferth couldn’t help but get in his head about things, especially concerning his feelings for you.

“I wonder if she’ll even remember ya. I told you you should’ve given her a parting gift,” Finan winked. Osferth scowled but it was soon overtaken with a look of nervousness when the gates of your village appeared in the distance.

The men led their horses to the stables to be fed and watered and then sought out the ale house to do the same for themselves. Osferth tried not to look too eager as his eyes scanned every inch of the town he passed through, looking for any sign of you.

“We don’t serve riff raff in these parts!” The ale house owner yelled when she noticed them walking in, a joking smile on her face.

Uhtred hugged her before settling down at a table. Ale was poured but it didn’t to much to ease the young man’s nerves. His eyes kept darting around and his friends noticed.

“Madame, does (y/n) still live in this town?” Sihtric asked the owner, causing Osferth to nearly choke on his ale. The woman eyed Osferth for a moment before turning to Sihtric.

“She does. She usually spends her evenings down by the river. The cool water eases her,” she said. Osferth became worried that you were ill, wondering what the older woman meant.

“Sounds like we should take a trip to the river,” Finan said.

The men all missed you and regretted leaving you behind in the town. But the open road was no place for a lady such as yourself, no matter how tough you acted. Uhtred wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if something had happened to you while with them.

You were always so kind to them and took them in while they were in hiding. They quickly adopted you into their family and were anxious to see you. No one more than Osferth though.

As they approached the river, they could see a figure with their back turned to them up ahead. You stared out at the sunset, lost in your thoughts, so much so that you didn’t hear them approaching.

“That’s quite the view!” Uhtred called out, causing you to jump. You spun around without even thinking at the voice of your friend.

Their eyes all fell to your arms that were cradling your swollen stomach. Your eyes widened as you realized what they were staring at.

“I see there is much catching up to do,” Sihtric chuckled. All of the men had smiles on their faces except for Osferth, who was too stunned to move.

“Os…” you whispered. His eyes were glued to your stomach and you felt almost uncomfortable under his gaze. All color drained from his face. The men looked between the two of you before realizing.

“That’s not quite what I meant by a parting gift, baby monk,” Finan mumbled to him.

“I think we should give them a moment,” Uhtred said. “Come and find us after. We have missed you.”

“I’ve missed you all too,” you said sincerely.

Your heart was racing as they walked off, leaving you and Osferth alone.

“I would’ve written, but I didn’t know how to get a letter to you,” you said.

“Is it…?” He pointed at himself and you frowned.

“I’m almost insulted, Osferth. Of course it’s yours,” you scoffed. His hands grabbed yours and he finally looked at your face.

“I’m sorry, I just…it was one time,” he mumbled.

“And that’s all it takes,” you sighed. “Don’t feel obligated to be in our lives. It was an accident.”

You pulled away from him and turned back to the sunset. You had imagined this moment a hundred times, and you often hoped that he would be accepting of it, maybe even excited.

“I’m just surprised, is all. I have thought of you every moment since we left and I just never imagined such a blessing in my life.”

He wanted to hold you, to take you in his arms and never let go, but he was afraid to touch you. He was scared to harm you in some way so he refrained.

“You’re all I’ve thought about since the moment I met you,” you admitted. He knew you were fond of him, and him of you, or else you wouldn’t be in your current predicament.

You trusted Osferth and that’s why you allowed him into your bed months prior. You were both tired of being virgins and sought comfort with one another, promising that it would not negatively affect your friendship.

It certainly did affect your relationship, however, you just weren’t sure if it was for better or for worse.

“How long will you be staying for this time?” You asked.

“How long until the babe is here?”

“I’m told it will be soon.”

“I will stay as long as possible, until you and the babe are healthy enough to travel and then we will return to Rumcofa. If that is okay with you, that is,” he quickly added.

“You should like us to come with you?”

He reached out for you again and ever so softly took your hand.

“I would’ve liked it 9 months ago and I would love it now.”

“I was so worried we would never see you again. Or if you did return you’d be upset with me.”

Yours eyes were cast down on your feet and he gently lifted your chin so you could meet his gaze.

“My love is going to bless me with a child of our own, how could I ever be mad at that? I’m only sorry I never told you how I truly felt before and left you with any shred of doubt.”

Tears began to slip down your cheeks and he was scared he said something wrong.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m so emotional these days,” you sighed, quickly wiping your face.

“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. May I hug you?” He asked. You quickly nodded and you laughed at how cautious he was taking you in his arms.

You nuzzled into him and finally felt peace for the first time in months. Osferth jumped back suddenly when he felt something move against him.

“Was that…?”

“Here, place your hand here,” you said, putting his hand on your stomach. Tears filled his eyes as he felt his child dancing in your belly. “It seems she knows her father is here.”

“You believe it’ll be a girl?” He asked, his eyes lighting up as he felt the movement again.

“I’ve dreamt of her, of the three of us,” you said quietly. He knelt down and laid his head against you.

“Hello, my sweet girl. I bet you’ll be beautiful just like mama. I already love you so much, just like I do your mother,” he whispered.

“You’re going to make me cry again,” you sniffled. He rose to his feet and took your face in his hands. He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips that melted away all of your previous tears.

“Let’s get you into bed. It’s getting late,” he said.

“That’s how we got into this situation in the first place,” you joked.

“It is, and I wouldn’t change it for the world,” he laughed.

He brought you back to your house where your friends were already making themselves at home.

They all congratulated you and were thrilled to learn you wanted to return to Rumcofa with them once the time was right.

A few days later and you held your newborn baby girl in your arms. Osferth was a great support during the birth and the first time he took her in his arms, his entire world stopped. He praised god for this blessing and for the timing of his return to you.

He finally had a family of his own and he swore one day he’d make you his wife to show his love and appreciation for you.

And they lived happily ever after and nothing had ever happens again.

[partmathpartmagic]

"Give me six months"

This is a chapter from a longer fic that you can find here. It's a letter from Astarion, written over the course of six months immediately following the defeat of the Absolute. The premise is that you two are taking some time apart after the main events of the game so he can figure his shit out a bit. I love his friendship ending because he's so happy and proud of himself, but I wish it were possible to have that and the romance as well, so this is me making that happen.

Darling,

It’s been 3 days since you saved the world. I can hear you objecting to my phrasing, so let me rephrase: it’s been 3 days since I saved the world and you were also there. Better, my dear?

This is very irksome, you know. I thought I’d make it more than 3 days without being so desperate to talk to you that I write a bunch of sentimental words down for all the world to see. And even worse, it would’ve been far less than 3 days if I’d been able to find any parchment in this godsforsaken city (we could have just let it burn, darling, no one would blame us!).

Frankly, I’m rather upset with you. Yes, I’m actually making up my mind right now. You don’t deserve a letter from me, you’re too lovely and too brilliant and too beautiful and you make it impossible to live without you.

I’ve decided to help out the spawn in the underdark. There. That’s all you’re getting from me.

______________

Perhaps I was a bit hasty. I apologize.

That’s something I’m working on doing more of, apologizing. I am getting quite a lot of practice, spending every day with people I seduced for… I’d rather not write his name, actually. But you know. People I seduced in order for him to turn and torture and starve and imprison them for a century or two.

As such, I am becoming an expert at apologizing for things no one could ever really apologize for.

If I was in a better mood I’d make a joke about how I’m spending time with thousands of my exes and you should be jealous. You’ll just have to imagine how hilarious it would be, and then pretend it’s not funny even though you’re smiling, and then roll your eyes at me like you always do. I even miss your exasperation. That’s… horrible. This is horrible.

I know it was my idea to go off and figure things out on my own but I’m beginning to suspect I’m the stupidest elf to ever live.

I can’t tell anymore if I’m being funny when I talk or if I’m just being mean. Is that how other people feel about me, that I’m mean? I think it probably is. Maybe I don’t want to be mean. That doesn’t sound right. I think I’m okay with being mean, I just want to be doing it on purpose.

You’re always so kind, but you have your meaner moments, don’t you? Gods, you’re so terrible with children. The things I’ve seen you say to them. They all think you’re dreadful. That’s something at least.

You see, I find it easier to bear your absence if I pretend your presence isn’t the best feeling in the world and everything you do isn’t perfect. I’m never able to pretend for very long, but I get a good couple minutes each day where I convince myself I’m scandalized by how you talk to children and not completely enchanted by it, and I miss you just slightly less.

_______________

It has been one month since we saved the world. I miss the sun almost as much as I miss you.

My siblings have actually made quite a bit of progress with the spawn. They’re talking about starting a school for the younger ones. It’s very strange. I hope they don’t become good people or we’ll have nothing to talk about anymore.

I had a chat with Sebastian this afternoon, which was also strange. He said, “it must be difficult seeing our faces day and night. Torturing yourself isn’t going to change anything for us. You’ve apologized; you might as well go figure out your next move.”

I think he’s just sick of seeing me and wants me to leave, but he found a kind way to say it.

But he’s not wrong to assume I have no plan after this. I might head above ground tonight and explore the city a bit, see if anything inspires me. I haven’t breathed spore-free air in what feels like years.

I think I could be okay with not having the sun if I had you. Having neither seems… unfair.

I suppose I deserve a bit of unfair.

_______________

2 months. Some very strange things have happened.

Firstly, I did take that walk. I very purposely avoided the part of the city where I heard you had settled, and then of course wound up walking right past a house that apparently belongs to your sister. I thought she was you for a moment and my heart stopped. Metaphorically, anyway.

I don’t love how much it destroyed me looking through a window and seeing someone I thought was you holding a child and kissing a spouse. Which is to say that it completely destroyed me even as it made me happy seeing you apparently happy.

I’m adding this experience to my list of reasons why forming attachments with other people is actually a bad idea and never worth it. I also have a list of reasons why attachments are good and worth it every time, which has only ever consisted of one item, which is your name. The good list wins every time, a fact which has also made its way to the bad list. No one person should have that much power!

If I’m not allowed to ascend, you’re not allowed to make me love you. It’s just as bad. You're drunk with power, darling, and it's time someone called you out on it.

Gods, you’ve completely distracted me from my point. Anyway, after I finally remembered that 2 months would not have been long enough for you to grow and birth and raise a toddler, and after I looked into the window once more and realized your sister does not actually look much like you at all, and also after I looked at the mailbox and saw your second name with a different first name, I pieced things together. Not quickly enough to keep your family from noticing the crazed vampire staring in their window, I’m sorry to say. Do give them my regards.

But after that, I ran into someone I recognized from the palace. One of the butlers, I think, or a general thrall. He was so excited to see me that he stopped me in the middle of the street and started calling me “Master” and babbling about having the carpets cleaned, so I said “strange man, what the hells are you talking about??” And he told me I was the most senior spawn still living and as such… have inherited the estate.

Now, I know this is difficult to believe given my refined manners and, well, my hair, but I’ve never actually owned a palace before. Much less one where I was trapped and tortured for a couple centuries. It’s a complicated situation. Everything is still very much in the air, but I wanted to tell you, and this is how I tell you things now. I will update you once I have an update.

_______________

I adopted a cat. I ran into Halsin on one of his supply runs into the city and he had His Majesty from Last Light with him. Apparently His Majesty had been picking fights with children (and more power to him, I’m sure you’d say), and I remembered his regal little face and volunteered to take him in without a second thought.

We are still… feeling each other out. But I gave him his own room in the estate, which I think he appreciated. The cat, I mean. Halsin doesn’t get a room.

I also do not have a room in the estate, as I am unwilling to set foot inside the building until it has been completely gutted and cleaned and the dungeons walled off permanently. Strangely enough, our old friend Barcus sent me a great team of his people to handle the renovations. Demolitions, as you can imagine, have been smooth, if a bit too enthusiastic. The gnomes have also been very nice about the whole vampire thing and willing to work nights whenever I need to be there to make decisions.

On a related note, I’ve added another item to the long list of crimes Cazador committed: laying carpeting over completely gorgeous vintage wood flooring! Murder and torture is bad, but that’s a whole other level. Thank the gods we got that criminal off the streets.

(Did you notice I wrote his name out? And then made a little joke? I think I’m rather proud of myself for that)

For the first time I’m glad we’re spending this time apart, because truly all I can talk about is tiles and paint samples and upholstery and you’d probably stake me within a couple days of being in my presence and it would be absolutely justified.

I ache for you.

_______________

3 months.

I have been thinking about my lists. I think, perhaps, it’s a lot of pressure to put on someone, making them the sole positive attachment in your life.

I say this because I’ve been spending time with His Majesty to help him acclimate, and a gnome worker commented the other day that I’m the only living creature this cat will tolerate. It made me so sad, thinking of this lovely, affectionate cat who is only ever lovely and affectionate with me. Everyone else’s experience with him will always be negative. I’ll be the only one who’s sad when he dies, and people won’t even be sympathetic to me because they’ll think, well, he wasn’t very nice anyway, good riddance.

It seems like we at least owe it to our loved ones not to leave them alone with their grief when we die.

And no, my love, I did not see the parallels to any vampire with which we are acquainted, at least not until Halsin came by to check on him on his way out of town and I gave him this whole monologue. And then he just sort of stood there looking at me until he very gently hinted that perhaps there are other people who would be willing to love the cat “if he’d just show them his belly instead of his claws.”

At that point I just thought he was hitting on me, but after he explained a little further I finally got what he was trying to say.

Which is how I ended up wine drunk with Halsin last night. We have… a surprising amount of things in common. It was disconcerting.

He also offered me some sort of mysterious substance from his pipe which I politely declined, and it was only after this that he told me a friend of his had smoked it just the night before and it had sent them into a panic attack. So if Halsin ever offers you his pipe, darling, just say no. Given your already nervous constitution, and I say this with love, you’d be absolutely fucked.

Speaking of drunk! You may be wondering how I’ve been keeping myself fed. Some of the Sharess employees have picked up on the increased demand from all these newly-free vampires and have started offering blood drinking as a service, but I’m hesitant to drink from another humanoid. My siblings think I’m being a stick in the mud, but I’ve heard them talking about people they’ve tasted and none of them sound anywhere close to the experience of drinking from you. I feel as if I’ve only ever tasted the most exquisitely aged brandy and I’m being offered tiefling wine as a replacement. I just think it would break my heart.

That said, non-vermin animals have offered a surprising range of flavors. I’ve found I’m partial to owlbears. Something about the risk makes them taste better, I think. Sort of earthy and vegetal? Not bad. In the alcohol metaphor this would be something akin to a local brew. Still a downgrade, but different enough that it doesn’t sting as much.

My good list has 3 names now, by the way: you, Halsin (this was a wine decision, but I’m allowing it for now), and His Majesty.

_______________

4 months? I think?

Listen darling, I’ll just get this out of the way: I’ve had many glasses of brandy. What’s that you say? How many is many? I stopped counting at six, my dear!

You know sometimes I think, absence is absence makes the heart grow fonder. And then I think of you, my blossom, my peach, my absolute tadpole (workshopping that one but i like it), and I think, well fuck. Maybe I’m making it up, maybe she’s not as wonderful as I remember?

And so I thik of all your worst qualities, and I concentrate so hard on them, and my love, my petal, my sweet corn, do you know what happens then? I can’t even think of any

OH wait, that’s not true. That thing when you talk and you have a bubble in your throat that you haven’t swallowed and your voice comes out weird and it makes me want to set myself on fire

Also you’re so hard on yourself, it drives me up an absolute wall. I just want to grab your shoulders and shake you and yell “be nice to my girlfriend”

And then grab other things and shake them…?

I’m far too drunk to be seductive, but just imagine me saying some absolutely filthy things in your ear right now in that voice you like. YOU KNOW THE ONE. Gods, I can’t wait to use it on you again.

I just waaaaant. I want you here so bad all the time.

I want your smell and your touch and your skin and your everything everywhere on me and around me

And… in me? Cheeky, darling. I’m not saying no, but now’s hardly the time

Love and like and cherish and worship and want, a.

_______________

No one has ever felt this ill before and no one ever will again.

I refuse on principle to take back anything I wrote last night, but let’s all agree to forget the corn thing, shall we?

And that cheeky bit at the end–really very unbecoming of you to take advantage of an incapacitated elf like that. Again, I’m not saying no, just. The timing really makes me think less of you, love.

_______________

To be honest, darling, I’m running out of things to say. Six months is a month away and I’m trying so hard not to just watch the clock all day (well, all night).

Has this time been worth it? Nothing is worth this, but if I put aside the heartache, it’s been amazing. I truly never thought I’d be able to become… whoever it is I’ve become.

When the tadpole happened, I saw hope for the first time. I thought I’d finally have control over my life if I had control over the tadpole. If I had control over everything. I honestly never saw another way.

It’s a testament to you that you saw all of this coming from the beginning. You looked at me, this open wound oozing hurt and fear and anger, and you saw a person. You thought I was funny (admit it) and clever, and worth getting to know.

You gave me the space to say no to you, and loved me regardless.

I don’t think I’m nearly as powerful without you, darling. But over these months I’ve accomplished things I’m proud of all on my own, which is fairly unprecedented.

I’m beside myself with excitement to see you again, to give you a tour of this place. You’ll like what I did in the bedroom. And that’s not even a line, I genuinely think you’ll appreciate the color palette! It reminds me of you.

And maybe if you like it we can engage in some mutual appreciation, if you know what I mean.

I don't, but maybe you do. My pickup lines have gone all to shit without you, my muse.

My good list has several names on it now. Yours is still at the top. But you're not the sole thing keeping me afloat anymore. I thought that would make me feel distant from you in some way. I never realized it would give me even more space to appreciate you for who you are instead of what you provide.

Knowing I don’t need you gives me more room to want you, I think.

Anyway, I’m not sure I have another one of these installments in me. Thank you for reading this far, if you have. The version of you who is sitting at your kitchen table reading this (that’s a guess but wouldn’t it be funny if it was right?) has been my companion for all these months, and I cherish her as I cherish every other version of you.

A.

_______________

Sending this today.

I want to be clear, I don’t expect anything. I didn’t ask you to wait around pining for me for all this time, and I wouldn’t have wanted that anyway.

So if you’ve moved on, if you’re happier where you are, if getting this letter ruins your day–it’s alright. I will miss you, maybe forever, but I have friends and a new line of work and a handsome son (to be clear I’m referring to His Majesty, I didn’t give birth since the last time I wrote). All of these things will keep me afloat.

However, if your heart and your life still have room for me, and if you think I would improve them with my presence, I will be overjoyed to share all of these things with you.

I want to meet your sister and hear you try to make conversation with her toddler. I want to show you everything I’ve done to update the estate, and I want you to make it feel like home just by being there. I want to hear all of your thoughts on Jaheira and Nine-Fingers and speculate on their love life.

I want it all, and I want it all with you.

See you soon, my love.

[urfavbooblover]

Letter with lipstick || Ada Wong x female reader

Warnings: none

(remind me if I missed any)

- Resident evil 4 masterlist link -

Y/N’s pov:

Earlier:

Sitting on my bed, i stared down at the letter in my hands. Her handwriting was beautiful, less of the words she wrote to me. She’s on a mission again, all the way in spain and couldn’t tell me one thing about it, neither why she was there. “It’s important”, she committed to the paper i was holding.

She just ended the letter with “Love, Ada”, as my eyes landed on the kiss she placed right next to it, with the lipstick she always wore. The kinda red i love seeing on her and she knew all about it. I let out a sigh, “The woman that you are, Ada.”, i said, folding it together again.

Ada and I are close, too close just to be partners. We ‘slipped’ one time and in the next moment you saw our lips all up on each others.

I missed her. I couldn’t stand the thought of now not seeing her again for who knows how long. She’s good at what she’s doing, fulfilling her job just for everyone to be more than satisfied and i was feeling proud of her, for how far she has come. But the thought of losing her, especially when she’s so far away, has taken over my brain.

I informed myself about the situation, asking everybody for detailed answers. Anybody needs to know where she’s at, no? They weren’t down right away to tell me, but eventually gave in. Who were they to stop her from going there? Exactly, she did her own thing, going after what’s happening in rural spain.

“I need you to take me there.”, i commanded, standing tall against them. There was nothing they could do about this either. I’m not easily giving up, someone must have the trust to let me ‘surprise’ my woman. At least that’s what i liked to call it. I know Ada will be more than caught off to see me, however she wouldn’t mind. Quite the opposite. I can’t expect much different than a nice welcome.

Present:

Now here i am. I’ve been dropped off by the helicopter and one of my kind co workers who brought me to this place. I can thank him a lot for this, i guess i owe him something but that’s not my worry yet. I have to find her. So i didn’t think much, i rather started looking at the area around me.

It looks like a farm, the area is completely destroyed. I walked over dead bodies, scrunching up my face in confusion. Nothing i’ve never seen before, but someone must’ve been the cause of this. Was it Ada?

I was informed about a little story, so i went careful into this. I was here for only one thing actually. Ada. Whatever comes in my way isn’t as much as important as her, nothing is. No one else. I was ready to be confronted by her pretty self and sped up my walking through the paths and winding ways.

I was prepared for everything. I had my weapons and all that i could possibly need. I’d do anything to bring us both out of here. Anything for us. She surely knows i don’t give up easily and most definitely wouldn’t on her. No one even compares to her and the way she makes me feel. There’s no one quite like Ada.

I needed answers though. Am i really on the right track? I guess i was answering my own questions and thoughts when i came across a giant creature laying eliminated on the ground. Who else could’ve defeated it? She was here, i was more than convinced.

I jogged along the stony and muddy path, when i suddenly heard something. I slowly moved forwards to where those sounds came from, confirming myself that i’m hearing voices. It was all blurry and i didn’t know whose it might be. Till i made out the statute of a familiar woman. My eyes landed on her, my woman.

“No way..”, i whispered to myself, taking one more step towards her. “Ada!”, i shouted, catching her attention. Her body turned around, slightly facing me. I felt something in my stomach, when i saw her face. She immediately recognized me, her gaze softening but then again with confusion written all over her. She was completely stunned and couldn’t seem to move.

“Y/N?”, she said in a questioning tone, as i moved over to where she was standing. I was about to open my mouth, before i glanced down. A man stood there, his eyebrows were furried together as my face expression could be read as jealous. Who the fuck is he?

“Y/N. Look at me.”, i heard her soothing voice close to my face, interrupting my staring interaction with that guy. I slowly turned my head, seeing the slight worry on her. “What are you doing here? How did you get here in the first place? Are you hurt?”, she placed her hand on my arm, only ever showing so much weakness around me.

“I’m okay, Ada. I came here just for one reason, it was a pretty long flight.”, i explained, looking into her eyes that always shined so beautiful. “What about you?”, i asked as she moved her hand down to grab my own. “I’m on this mission, i was doing fine till i saw you. Now i’m feeling even better.”, she gave me a small wink before that strange man interrupted us.

“Uhm? I’m still here.”, he said in a nervous tone, letting out a playful chuckle. “Who is-“, “I have a deal with him.”, Ada interrupted my question, knowing what i was about to ask. She knew how protective i can be of her. Not in a controlling way though, most things i do are out of worry, making sure she’s doing as okay as she always claims.

“I got a name too, lady.”, “I’m Luis. You must be that girlfriend Ada kept mentioning and talking about.”, he continued. Ada’s eyes widened in response as a smirk formed on my face. So she called me her girlfriend behind my back? “Well yes i am.”, i confirmed very proudly, as i could see a rose color appear on her cheeks.

I placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, taking her hand in mine. “I missed you, Ada.”, i whispered and watched her nervous state. “I missed you even more, Y/N.” I smiled at her, before looking down at Luis once more. “You surely don’t mind.”, i said, pulling Ada with me as we walked away from that scene.

“Hey! How am i supposed to get up here though?!”, Luis yelled after us, all desperate. We both chuckled to ourselves and i took Ada to a quiet place. I moved close to her body, our face just a few inches apart. “I came here just for you.”, i whispered, tilting my head a little to the side.

“Oh what would i do without you, Y/N.”, Ada responded in her typical flirty voice. “Be glad you have me.”, i muttered, closing the gap between us. It’s been way too long since the last time i felt her soft lips against mine. They tasted just like cherries.

[mymainwastoocluttered]

Birthday Cake (Malleus Draconia)

There's actually a tradition about birthday cakes back where the Prefect comes from.

Original idea by @strawberry-pie-thoughts

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

On one hand, he’s really happy that he got invited to something, and by the person he loves the most no less. On the other hand, he’s a bit upset that she’s making an event on his birthday and depriving him of a nice outing to look at the gargoyles and celebrate. Sure, she sent him a very cute letter to wish him a good birthday together with the invitation for the event, but other than that, he has not seen her during the day. Not even once.

— (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Malleus spent the entire day stirring a complicated mix of feelings inside his gut.

Lilia enjoyed teasing him for “pouting” far too much.

There’s still a mischievous smile on his mentor’s face as they walk to Ramshackle after classes. Silver looks uncharacteristically watchful—which is something coming from the ever so sharp knight in training—, but there’s no tension on his shoulders, no sign of threat anywhere. Sebek is, for the lack of a better word, jittery, and has barely directed a word to Malleus after he wished him a great birthday in the morning. While being known for not “having any chill”—the Prefect’s words—, today Sebek seems even more agitated than usual.

Malleus isn’t sure what to think about that.

Their odd behavior doesn’t get better as they approach the old dorm’s door, much to his confusion. Ramshackle is widely known for being the most peaceful place in Night Raven College, as it houses the ever so kind Prefect, whose kindness never falters whenever someone needs it. All students know that this is truly neutral ground, and that if they think it wise to defy the magicless student, they’ll be met with the fury of all seven Housewardens.

So how come these two are so nervous?

“Did… something happen?” he asks, finally, tired of their antics and still upset with the lack of his Child of Man on the day that is supposed to be his.

“No, something is about to happen!” Lilia laughs, floating above the ground like a giddy bat. “Go on, open the door!”

Malleus wants to ask, but he figures none will tell him. Not when even Sebek, who’s always tripping in his words to tell Malleus the smallest details of, well, everything, hasn’t said anything yet. Oh, well. If Lilia knows what’s going on, it can’t be too bad.

So he opens the doors.

And steps back, startled.

“SURPRISE!”

Standing there, with a big smile and a bigger glittery “happy birthday, Malleus” plaque, is his beloved Child of Man. She beams at him, shaking the paper a bit before throwing it over her shoulder so she can throw her arms around his torso and hug him tight. Behind her is a large group of people, from all Houses, all wearing party hats and holding confetti poppers.

“... what?”

A quick flash of light brings him back to his senses just in time to see Cater Diamond dive behind Trey Clover in between giggles. Malleus blinks a few times before a soft chuckle leaves his lips, arms finally moving to hug his dear Prefect.

He has heard of surprise parties, and Lilia has thrown a few over the decades he’s been alive, but he has never seen one like this.

“... thank you, this is the best birthday party I’ve ever had.”

“Wait until you see the cake!” (Y/N) grins up at him, leaving his embrace—much to his displeasure—only to take his hands in hers. “I worked really hard on it with Trey!”

The inside of the dorm is all decorated in black, white and Diasomnia green, with balloons and ribbons and “happy birthday” banners. There’s a lot of people, including people Malleus can’t believe are here—how in the world did she convince Leona Kingscholar and Idia Shroud to come will be forever beyond him. He allows her to pull him to the table where a beautiful two tier cake sits. The base is a dark gray that reminds him of a castle, and around the top tier is curled a very familiar dragon. On top of it sits a very beautiful gargoyle candle.

“I asked Crewel to enchant the dragon so it won’t go bad,” the Prefect explains as he takes in the cake, standing near his chair.

“I have no words to show how happy I am right now.”

“Ugh, stop your melodrama and get on with it,” that’s definitely Leona Kingscholar, who’s thrown on some couch like a ragdoll.

(Y/N) beams—she actually bounces a little in place—, asking someone to turn off the lights and light the gargoyle candle. Malleus knows this tradition, and claps along as everyone sings the birthday song. Some voices are louder and more enthusiastic than others, but none of them matter when his dear Child of Man is right by his side, allowing him to hear her clearly. Her cheers are the only one he hears when he blows the candle, the air leaving his lungs carrying his wish to become closer to the darling girl.

“Who is the first slice for?” the Prefect asks once the lights go back on, already taking off the candle and the dragon so the cake can be cut.

“The first slice?”

“Where I came from, you give the first slice of your birthday cake to the person you love the most!”

“Then it is yours.”

The best part of this birthday, as Malleus will remember for the rest of his long life, is the heavy blush that covers her cheeks and the blinding smile she offers him as she eats the first slice of his birthday cake.

From now on, all of his birthdays will have cake, so he can keep giving the first slice to his most loved.

[prying-pandora666]

“The Search” Rewrites, Book 4: Air, Leaks, and A Call for Help from the Fandom

I’ve talked a little about the Book 4: Air restoration project @book4air. If you haven’t seen it yet, check it out! Three full episodes are already out and episode 4 is going to cover Zuko’s early days right after his banishment, exploring his relationship with Iroh and the world as Zuko understands it as a lost boy rapidly coming into manhood.

Wait until you hear the VA’s performance with music and everything! It’ll break your heart.

But I want to talk a little bit about what comes after these next few episodes: our adaptation of “The Search”.

If you’ve seen our adaptation of “The Promise”, you’ll know it was quite faithful. This won’t be the case for “The Search”. For the purposes of the overarching story we are telling, this story is getting overhauled. (Please still support the original release if you’d like to see the canon version).

The biggest change that’s been announced is the addition of Toph. The team felt that a story about family, identity, and faces could benefit from including Toph’s perspective as she comes from a unique but toxic family situation, has a strong conflict between the performance expected of her versus who she really is, and is completely blind and so faces don’t even register for her.

Here is the sample scene we released:

But I want to talk a little bit about what we are changing about Zuko and Azula’s roles in the story. While the set up is virtually unchanged, there is one small alteration that makes a big difference.

(Sorry for the poor quality, this is technically unreleased content and I’m being kinda risky leaking it.)

Ursa’s letters are now a diary. This means that rather than get random flashbacks, the narrative framing now becomes Zuko and Azula reading these entries together. As a result, they get to discuss their discoveries about their family, and even share each other’s perspectives.

What that means is that when things like Zuko dangling Azula over the cliff happen, now we actually are forced to address it. The characters have to talk about how they treat each other and the reasons why. They have to confront the toxic family dynamic they’ve been forced and groomed into since childhood. Zuko has to realize his mentally ill little sister isn’t the monster here and in fact he’s the one with all the power now, and Azula has to realize that Zuko can be trusted if she can let go of her fear long enough to talk to him about her vulnerabilities.

We also address issues like this:

Many people criticize this for being OOC, but I think there’s a way this could easily not be. Sokka has been known to be juvenile and reactionary as a first response, the difference is that he always eventually apologizes and learns from his mistakes. Without even needing to be asked.

Threatening a mentally ill person who has just been removed from an asylum—even as a joke—is not okay. It would be questionable even if they’d been friends before this, but considering their prior relationship it really does seem like an boneheaded lack of awareness or compassion for how triggering this could be.

So rather than remove this interaction, we addressed it. And I am really taking a risk posting this here, but here is a brand new script page:

Sokka isn’t just comic relief. Sokka is smart, Sokka is compassionate, Sokka is brave, and Sokka knows when it’s time to apologize and reach out versus when it’s time to fight.

Safe to say, there are several things that stay the same and we tried to keep faithful to the spirit of the story, but there’s a lot we wanted to do for the Gaang and for the Fire Sibs, and I hope you’ll join us on this adventure, whether you’re a diehard fan of the comics and just looking for a fun AU, or you hate the comics and would like a rewrite, or even if you’ve never read them and would just love to return to the world of ATLA.

The only trouble is, we can’t do it alone. The project is very expensive and time consuming to produce. Our team pays for everything out of pocket and some of us don’t even have reliable housing, so it’s been a hard time.

If you can help in any way, even only by spreading the word so YouTube will stop burying us in the algorithm, that would be huge!

If you can afford to help, we have a Patreon where you can get all sorts of early goodies.

Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated! As the head writer and voice of Azula, this project is very near and dear to me. Avatar was my first pro-writing gig when I was just a homeless 19 year old, and it’s here for me again as I struggle to rebuild my life and health that COVID destroyed.

I love this series and the community that has helped me through the hardest times in my life. I can’t wait to make something beautiful with you all!

[butt0nzz66]

okay I got some sleep my thoughts have changed slightly.

So after a little spiral of sadness yesterday and grieving the incredible love and softness we got in first 6 episodes. I got some sleep and watched it again with the bf who in respect to my obsession has watched all the seasons with me to understanding what I’m yapping about.

I actually am beginning to like it more and can’t lie I really enjoy episode 7 I love the angst, Mr fingerton of worldwide and the wedding. I think this did a great job of demonstrating Colin’s internal struggle between loving and wanting pen but not been able to reconcile both sides of her and the wedding was a happy one until big QC rocked up. I even didn’t mind the entrapment comment because as one other poster pointed out he’s lashing out in anger because he knows he basically ran to the carriage and didn’t give her a min to breath after lol.

However I am still struggling with a few points and I have laid out what I think they could have done to improve it with a few short scenes.

The ending of episode 7 e.g. lack of a wedding night. I personally think the queen thing could have happened after, so we get a sweet wedding night where things aren’t perfect but they are moving towards understanding eachother, this gives us as the viewers a min to breath and then next episode is the queen/cressida drama and then this new wave of struggles for him(yes even with the couch sleeping) or them against the world kind of approach.

Another thing I found is while I do think they actually portrayed quite well him talking to various people to reconcile his feelings in the last episode e.g. Cressida, Eloise, there was a lack of communication of his growth to Penelope and while yes he’s a sulker that isn’t a heathly representation of marriage like you need to talk. I think this could have been improved with a very simple “I’m trying to get to that, but it’s just going to take me time” kind of line in the study love confession.

I also would have LOVED to have seen the conversation between Colin and Violet following the letter Penelope sent, to see her go from shocked to impressed and to see Colin realise maybe I am a lil jealous and dragging it out a bit. She was so insightful with him in episode 4 I think we could have all benefitted from her wisdom and maybe pointing out that while LW didn’t always do things in the right way she has always tried to save the Bridgertons because she loves them more than anyone.

Finally if we could have added a short scene of them after the ball going home and her being like “no more on the couch?” or them running to the bedroom laughing not even sex just fluff then that last sex scene wouldn’t feel quite so plonked in. Like don’t get me wrong I’ll take any crumb I can get but would have been nice to have an intro to it.

I think if we sacrificed a few sub plot scenes for that then it would be a 10/10 despite the angst being dragged on a bit. But maybe that’s just me having too much drama in my own life I don’t want it in my escapism show.

Also the end of season 1&2 was pretty similar in a lot of miscommunication and drama right up until the last second so it was silly of me to hope for something more.

So big shout out to the BF who watched it and gave his perspective of colins feelings which I think helped me get out of my own way.

And I’ve seen a few posts saying why is everyone so critical and quite frankly um because that’s how I feel? Like overall I loved the season definitely my favourite of the 3 and all the actors did a brilliant job however I will point out where I think things could be better. Which is why I’ve tried to word things in a more cohesive way now I’ve had time to reflect. Forums like this are built from discussion if you don’t like what someone is saying scroll on past, to be honest reading your positive analysis gave me a new perspective and improved my thoughts of it so that’s great and thank you, but if you don’t like what I have to say please let me know your thoughts, mute me or scroll on by and stay in your happy bubble because honestly it was a great show overall.

sorry for my rambling but the comedown is worse than any drug and I miss them already 😢

[sophielovestaylor]

CALLING ALL SWIFTIES!! PLEASE READ THIS 🫶🏼🫶🏼

hey y’all!! this is an extremely big ask but i’ve been trying to get in touch with taylor and her team for ever, to hopefully one day try and meet her and i know it might not be likely but even if it isn’t i hope this message reaches her somehow!! let’s try make it happen swifties!

hi taylor!!! im not sure if this message will ever reach you or not seeing as you propably get loads of messages each day, but i’m gonna try and shoot my shot and see if by literally a miracle you’ll be able to read this message im gonna write to you!!

firstly, i’ve literally thought about writing this letter to you so many times (like SO MANY TIMES) but somehow my words always felt like they weren't enough to express the gratitude, admiration, and deep connection i feel toward you and your music but today i have FINALLY decided to just let my heart speak, and so therefore im writing to you! but no matter how hard i honestly don’t i could ever truly write how much you actually mean to me, how much your music has impacted my life, or how your presence in the world has been literally a light during some of the darkest times l've ever experienced (im so sorry if this letter might seem really creepy or weird i promise im just a normal 15 year old girl who loves her cat!!)

tbh i can't exactly pinpoint the first moment i discovered your music (i think it was around like 2017 and i was like 10) but when i first started consciously listening to you and knew who you where which is around when rep was released i remember how it felt and god was reputation such a good fucking album (rep tv or debut tv when because i am ACHING for those vault tracks ma’am!!!!) when i first listened to folklore when it came out it was like someone had finally put into words all the emotions i was too afraid or unable to express, your lyrics spoke directly to my heart and and it felt like for the first time, someone understood me and to me it was more than just listening to music it was like you were a friend who was there for me when I needed someone most, and your music even though you literally didn't know me at all helped me so much more than you could ever imagine

third off i just want to say thank you for being such an amazing person, you have one of the most genuinest and kindest souls i have ever seen, and beyond the music, i have to tell you that who you are as a person has been an equally important source of inspiration for me, i’ve watched you navigate your career with such strength, and an unwavering sense of self, even in the face of incredibly difficult situations (scooter braun they could never make me like you) and you as a person has shown me and so many others that it's okay to stand up for yourself, to speak your truth, and to own your story, even when the world tries to silence you.

your bravery in standing up for your rights as an artist, your dedication to us swifties, and your ability to remain authentic in an industry that often values image over substance has been nothing short of inspiring, you’ve faced public betrayal and criticism, yet somehow you continue to rise above it all with such resilience and this is something i honestly respect so much and you are honestly so so brave and such a role model for people all over the world (especially me) and watching you navigate those challenges with such literal amazingness gave me the strength to face my own challenges with a little more courage and to be myself no matter what anyone thinks and i will forever appreciate you for teaching me life lessons sometimes that nobody around me could

i have never felt more love and genuine happiness for literally anyone ever, i’m so proud of how far you’ve come in life and that you finally find someone that treats you with all the love and respect that you ma’am deserve (mrs kelce when????)

anyways tay i don’t want to bore you but thank you for being such an inspiring role model in my life, you’re music was always there for me when i needed it and even if you don’t know me i will always and forever be in your corner and will always root for you! when i stayed up watching the vmas i literally SCREAMED when you won!!!

when i first started secondary school, i used to go through a ton amount of bullying and people coming at for over nothing everyday over literally just the way i looked and i used to get added to so many group chats and get mugs of me posted alllll over peoples snapchat stories just because i was a little bit different to everyone, but through all of that who was there for me? FOLKLORE AND EVERMOREEE 🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️!! you’re music and a lot of the things you’ve said about mental health and empowering women has helped me find my voice and my confidence and to be myself no matter what and i’ve made every single moment since then to embrace myself as a person and make the most out of my life!

this year i’m about to sit my gcses which i honestly find so freaky! but to end this off, hopefully if you ever see this i’d love to one day be able to meet you and i know you propably get a thousand of messages a day of people asking the same thing, but to me meeting you would literally be a life long dream, i would love nothing more than to actually just sit and talk to you and hang out with you and literally just be two normal people having a conversation, so maybe if you do happen to see this..maybe it’ll work out 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

i love you tay, and i’ll always always be in your corner rooting for you!! <3

- sophie 🫶🏼

here’s my socials for any of y’all that want it!! :)

insta: sophiegrrce

snapchat: sophiegrxce12

twitter: sophsversionx

[lightofraye]

An Open Letter

Dear Jensen,

You don’t know me. Chances are, we may never meet. Not unless I get very lucky at a convention or one of your Radio Company concerts. I wish I could say I’d be okay with that, but the fangirl in me has to be honest—it would be an honor if I could. (You’re actually on my bucket list, believe it or not.)

However, that’s not the point of this letter. Call it an open letter, on the off chance you come across it. I imagine your Ackles Army fans will disagree with what I’m about to say, as they’ve disagreed with a ton of the posts I’ve written in the past. That’s okay. I think I’m a part of a small sub-section of the fandom that see you as a person, as opposed to an object to admire for beauty and only that.

You’re a human being. A flawed, imperfect human being. Yes, you have aged like fine wine. I’m not going to deny that. For someone approaching his 50s, you look at least ten years younger. Add in green eyes, that wicked smile of yours when you use it, and many a person would be swooning. You seem to know when to use it and that is always a dangerous thing, regardless of the person’s gender.

You’re also a talented actor—when you apply yourself. When you apply yourself, many are shaken by the depths. I know especially in earlier seasons of Supernatural, we were floored. There’s immense potential in you. It’s been seen. It’s been recognized.

Then something happened.

You lost yourself. You were once an orchestra that was in tune, playing beautifully. Your energies were in synch with Jared and the show. You were doing well in conventions. As time progressed, cracks were beginning to be seen. At the end of Supernatural, those cracks were gaping wide, seeping wounds for anyone to see. (Well, anyone not of your Ackles Army fan group.)

You wounded Jared with your actions. You accused fans of not being true fans of Supernatural if they didn’t believe or support The Winchesters. You made up stories, twisted the truth. More things became obvious—friendships made for the benefit of yourself as opposed to the benefit of the heart and soul. It would seem to the outsider that sycophants were giving you the worst of advice while you were ignoring the ones you should be listening to.

You pushed a narrative that to many were obviously untrue. The discordant notes in your orchestra were getting louder, noticeable to even those who weren’t musically inclined. You still push that narrative and to many of us, myself included, we frown and purse our lips, aware of just how false it is.

While you are looking better as you have been seen in conventions, there’s something tugging at the eyes, pulling at the soul. Is it just the discordant notes? Is it the insincerity of the stories? Is it the signs of excess alcohol that can be seen at the edges?

Or is it the tons of photos and videos that we’ve seen since 2019? Where the unhappiness is so noticeable that those who care feel their hearts aching and wishing we could reach through and give you a genuine hug? To give you something real that isn’t acquired by having a somewhat well-known name and money to spend? That the only benefit would be to the heart and soul and not to the pocketbook?

To industry experts, you had potential. But since the end of Supernatural, the offers weren’t flying to you like you expected. You called Eric for a role in The Boys and you were supplied Soldier Boy. Then you reached out to Ben for Big Sky. You’ve been sort of networking to those you’ve worked with in the past or had a shared history at the CW, but nothing beyond that.

You coasted, when you should’ve worked. In Hollywood, the real work is at premiers and red carpets where you meet other people in the industry and make yourself known. You have charisma; it radiates off you on the screen. But you don’t spread it.

You can’t expect the pollen to come to you. Be the butterfly, be the bee, and go hopping from flower to flower.

Go spend a month with Jared. He’s had regular work for twenty-four years. He took his career responsibly and maybe he’s had some missteps, but overall, he’s had praise from cast and crew alike. He’s ran regular success, enough that his future is secure for some time.

Humble yourself. Set aside your pride. We do believe in you, we believe in your future as an actor, but for all that is good, please, acknowledge there’s much you do not know.

One of your biggest cracks would be your marriage to Danneel. We do not see any joy or happiness there. No real love. Despite your exaggerated narratives that you tell at conventions, it’s just not believable. Is it fear of being seen as a failure? Is it fear of being alone? Is it fear of losing access to your children? Given you barely see them already….

The only failure is never try a different way. Your narrative to Hollywood is wildly inconsistent, other than the loud blaring that says you do not know who you are. That you change with who you are with.

Who is the real Jensen? Who is the man behind the beauty? Who is the man behind the mask? Is he still the little boy who was wrongly taught by his father that the beatings were meant with love? Is he still the young man who thought he made the right decision to go through the wedding when he wasn’t ready? Is he still the one who decided that perhaps it was best to rarely be home as he couldn’t be himself there?

Who are you, really?

I would love to set that orchestra back to being beautiful music again.

In eternal melody, Raye

[onlyymirknows]

Hello! For the violence ask game 9 and 13 💜

Hello!! Answering them in opposite order so people who just wanna read about Reiner don’t have to suffer through me going bananas over the Raid of Liberio.

13. worst blorboification

I admittedly don’t know what this means exactly. I assume it’s similar to uwuification? But less making them cute and more oversimplifying the character/intensely focusing only on certain aspects?

Anyway I’m going to say Reiner. Now I am often guilty of doing this to him, I think. Meaning it doesn’t bother/upset me that we blorboify him at times. Mainly I feel like a lot of us tend to paint him in post canon as this mostly silly himbo who has nightmares/the sads.

Imo he really isn’t a himbo (assuming I actually understand the meaning lol.) Plus his mental health struggles would probably also be just, uh, A LOT more. Just way, way more. I could elaborate but (1) I’m not a psychologist and (2) I could talk about it forever. Maybe a diff time lol.

9. worst part of canon

I have a joke answer and a serious answer.

First the joke answer, Reiner sniffing that letter lol. To me it feels like an out of place callback that undercuts much of Reiner’s development. It’s also a single panel that’s fun to meme about sometimes so it gets a pass.

Three things came to mind for the serious answer. First is how incomprehensible Eren’s magical attack titan/founding titan combo is. Second is how Isayama handled geopolitics, which disappointed me. Third (and the one I chose) is the execution of the Liberio festival plotline.

Originally I typed out a big explanation about why aot’s geopolitics bothered me in general. Then I got onto a side tangent about the Liberio Festival and realized that this is actually my least favorite thing lol. Specifically the lack of clear explanation of what happened.

Up until the time skip the plot of aot is explained in a pretty straightforward way. I think this is especially the case when it comes to expounding on the big twists we all love so much. The reveals of RBA are treated like detective stories where after the fact we’re shown the clues and how the characters pieced it together. (I’ve seen people complain about this, saying it’s spoon feeding the audience but I disagree lol)

Then the time skip happens and it feels like the narrative gets so cloudy. Since the question of Eren’s motivations is THE plot of post time skip, I do understand the much increased ambiguity. If we got clear answers in the moment that’d ruin things. However I think the reasoning behind the raid of Liberio is left without a meaningful explanation.

I like to think my critical thinking skills are pretty good and I needed people to explain it to me multiple times. I understand it now but geeze it requires reading between a lot of lines. This in itself isn’t wrong but it’s such a departure from how storylines were dealt with that I hate it lol.

Because lemme tell you, the number of people I’ve seen not understand that Eren wanted Willy to declare war is substantial. I think the fact that Eren and Zeke basically set up the festival to bait Willy into declaring war is even less understood. When people say “Eren had no choice but to rumble” I believe many of them probably feel that way because they don’t understand this arc.

The specific misunderstanding being that Eren attacked because Willy declared war. That if this hadn’t happened Eren wouldn’t have transformed and the raid wouldn’t have happened at all. The fact that this big of a misinterpretation happened so easily is really unfortunate. (It does NOT help that the anime cut out a pretty helpful detail.)

With the Reiner/Bertholdt reveal people aren’t confused by the main plot point: Reiner and Bert are titan shifters who want to destroy humanity for currently unknown reasons. Instead I see people ask stuff like “why did Reiner freak out about Ymir being able to read the words on a can?” or “why does Reiner choose that point to reveal himself?”

Anyway I think that’s probably one of the worst parts and it’s not even about the events of the story itself. Just the execution of the narration. So uh.. maybe I didn’t technically answer the question 😆

[atinylittlepain]

Firehouse Harrington - Chapter 8

fireman!Steve x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

Steve is trying to get better. She is trying to move on.

warnings | 18+ angst, mention of alcoholism, therapy talk, sad times folks

a/n | I dedicate this chapter to all of the asshole neuro grad students I have dated, your douchebaggery is astonishing and inspiring lmao

song for this chapter: Rapt by Karen O

......................

“Well, how did this past week go, Steve?”

“Um, better– I think.”

“That’s good. How was it better?” He tries not to roll his eyes at that, but still lets out a huff, sinking further into the sofa.

“I, um, I’ve been doing the mindfulness stuff? Every morning, like you said. And I’ve been doing the writing stuff in the journal you gave me.” Doctor Staub nods at that, lightly smiling.

“I’m glad to hear that. But, you know, those things I assign you to work on are only good if they help you make real change in your life.” Steve sighs and Staub raises a brow at him.

“So, what kind of changes have you made, Steve?” He huffs, but takes a deep breath, something he hates to admit works really well in keeping him from lashing out.

“I’m still not drinking, at all. And I’ve been spending more time with my friends, making more of an effort.” Staub nods.

“Good, good. I know we had discussed friendship being a part of your values. It sounds like you’re working on being more in line with that. Have you given more thought to what we discussed last week?” Steve makes a low sound in the back of his throat, shaking his head.

“I mean– I have thought about it– I just don’t know what’d I’d even say– I just– she– I don’t know.” Staub hums.

“Have you tried writing a letter to her? You don’t have to send it, obviously, but it might be a good place to start.” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. He had tried writing a letter in the fucking journal his therapist had given him, but he got all of three sentences down before he was dissolving into a mess of tears. 

“I just don’t think she’s gonna want to hear anything I have to say.” 

“Sounds like you’re jumping to conclusions, my friend. Look, I can’t make you do anything, but you did tell me your biggest reason for wanting to make changes was her.” Staub sets down his notepad, fixing Steve with a firm look.

“There’s no question, Steve. You fucked up– bad. But from what you told me, it sounds like there was real love there, and that deserves enough respect to at least make things right. I want you to keep thinking on it, ok? What would you tell her?” 

Steve still doesn’t like therapy, but even he has to admit that it seems to be helping. He’s been going for a while now, but hadn’t been trying until after that night at the hotel with her. It just so happened that the next day he had already had an appointment scheduled, and when he didn’t show up, Staub called him. Steve had started drinking the moment he left the hotel, and by the time his phone was ringing he was a pitiful, mumbling mess. But he had been just about shocked sober by what Staub told him over the phone that day.

“Look, kid, I don’t have a horse in this race. But it just seems like a real shame for you to be fucking yourself up like this when there’s really no need for all this bullshit.” No one had ever leveled with him so clearly. No one had ever been so certain there was a way out for him. So, Steve actually started trying in therapy. 

He has six weeks under his belt, but he still has a hard time thinking about that night. When he thinks about what he wants to say to her, all he knows is that sorry wouldn’t come close to covering it.

…

“Oh! Sorry about that, I–”

“Well, if it isn’t neuro’s golden girl. Did you have a good winter break?” She hasn’t seen Thomas since the night of the banquet, and, now running into him coming out of her advisor’s office, she can’t help but think that he looks even smarter dressed down in a crewneck sweater and levi’s. She offers him a smile, scoffing at his remark.

“If you keep calling me that, I’ll start getting a complex or something. But, um, my break was good, yeah. How was yours?” Her break was shit. She spent most of it between her dorm room and the lab, burying herself in preliminary research work and spending her nights listening to her Mazzy Star CD and crying. But Thomas didn’t need to know that. 

“Oh, you know, the usual. Went home for a bit, then came back a little early to get some work done. Speaking of, I heard you’re officially on board for next year. Congratulations, I can’t wait to see what you do.” She feels a blush spreading at his words.

“Thank you, I’m really excited– and also relieved– to be on board, as you said. I can’t wait to start working.” He grins, perfect teeth and a perfect dimple in his one cheek.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I already saw you starting to work in the labs over break.” Her face falls, embarrassed, but he laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose before smiling at her.

“Hey, your secret’s safe with me. But I admire that, you’re obviously a hard worker. I’d love to hear more about what you’re thinking about for your research– maybe over drinks some time?” She really hadn’t been expecting that, and can’t help but trip over her words a bit.

“Oh– I, um– I don’t know–” Thomas sighs, cutting off her floundering.

“Oh, shoot. I just put my foot in my mouth, didn’t I? Totally forgot about the firefighter boyfriend.” She’s quick to shake her head at his words ignoring the twist of a knife in her chest. His face lights up once again in hope.

“Um, it’s not that– we’re not– I’m not– not with him anymore.” Thomas raises a brow at her.

“No?” She shakes her head, letting out a sigh.

“It’s just– is that like– appropriate?” He lets out another laugh before fixing her with a crooked grin.

“Why? Because I’m on the admissions board?” She nods and he huffs, pursing his lips.

“Well, seeing as you’re already signed, sealed, delivered for next year, I’d say there isn’t a conflict of interests anymore. So, how about it?” Part of her wants to say no, out of reflex. But she manages to stop herself. It has been nearly two months after all. Maybe it’s time to move on. She tries her best to smile brightly at him.

“Um, ok, how’s this Saturday?” His dimple pops again as he nods, and she feels the lightest flutter in her chest, a welcome change from the dormant cobwebs that seem to have set up shop there. She digs into her tote bag in search of a pen.

“Here, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.” She brandishes the pen and is only a little surprised when he, without hesitation, tugs up the sleeve of his sweater and holds out his forearm for her. She finds her footing quickly, holding his wrist and scribbling her number out. He huffs out a light laugh as she finishes, both of them glancing shyly at each other as she steps back. He offers her one more flashy grin as he starts to shuffle backwards down the hall.

“Alright, golden girl. I’ll call you.”

…

She almost doesn’t answer the phone that night, already wavering on going out with Thomas, but when she does buck up enough to pick it up, she’s surprised by who it actually is. She’d recognize that gruff voice anywhere.

“Um, hey– hi. It’s me– um, Steve. I– how are you?” She’s honestly stunned. He hadn’t tried to call her at all since that night. A week after the incident at the hotel, she had returned to her dorm to find her friend waiting with a box of her things. He had dropped it off, no note or message or anything. She hated how much that had hurt. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hate him, even though she knew she should.

“Um, hi, Steve. I-I’m ok, yeah. How have you been?” She doesn’t know what to say, it feels like a thick swath of cotton has settled in her throat.

“I’m doing ok, yeah. Um, I was wondering if we could maybe talk sometime?” She hesitates to answer, her stomach twisting, but Steve presses on.

“I’m not asking you for anything, it’s just– it’s for this therapy thing? And, you obviously don’t have to forgive me, um– I’d just like to say my piece– if you’ll let me.” Now she’s really shocked. That he’s still doing therapy. That his voice sounds so unsure and timid. It’s a far cry from the Steve she had gotten used to. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose to steady herself.

“Um, ok– I get that– do you wanna, like, get coffee?” She can hear the heavy sigh he lets out over the phone, can practically picture him raking his hand through his hair.

“I– yeah– thank you– that’d be great. When are you free?” She tells him she’ll have time Thursday afternoon and he tells her he’ll make that work, awkwardly going to hang up, but she stops him.

“Steve? I think it’s really great you’re still going to therapy.” He lets out a light laugh, his voice crackling over the phone.

“Yeah, I guess you were right about that, about a lot of things actually.” She doesn’t have time to think about what his words mean because he’s already saying a quiet goodbye, the click of the receiver jostling her out of her swimming thoughts.

Thirty minutes later, her phone rings again. She tries to not let guilt slither in as she makes a date with Thomas for Saturday.

…

Thursday comes before she’s ready. Her last class ran late, and she now has to hustle to get to the coffeeshop they had agreed to meet at. It’s one close to his apartment. She remembers how whenever they both, by some stroke of luck, had nowhere to be in the morning, they’d slink down the block to the shop, taking a close booth in the back and sharing breakfast. Perhaps uncharacteristically, Steve had an affinity for the crosswords in the daily paper, and they’d quietly work it over, hands brushing across the table. She has to physically shake her head of the memory as she keeps walking towards the shop, her heart seizing up the closer she gets.

He looks well, really well. She sees him before he sees her, tucked away in the same booth they used to share. He has on a navy sweater, sleeves rucked up under his elbows. He was always pretty to her, but now, he looks healthy, the typical dark circles under his eyes faded into barely there smudges, the only word she can think of to describe his hair is fluffy, perfectly flopped over his face and tucked behind one ear. When he catches her gaze, his eyes are clear, awake, a far cry from the cold stare he had fixed her with that night at the banquet. His lips crook into just a ghost of a smile, brow creasing. She muses that he looks just as nervous as she feels. As she makes her way over to him, he stands, smoothing his palms down the front of his jeans. She has to resist the urge to reach for him as she stands in front of him, and by the way his hands flex by his sides, she guesses he’s doing the same. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Hey, it’s good to see you. Um, thanks– for doing this.” She smiles, nodding lightly as they both sit down. She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands to keep herself from fidgeting from nerves.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well, Steve.” It’s her clinician’s voice, the one she uses in the hospital when she gets to interact with patients, and it doesn’t feel right using it on him, but she’s not sure what would be right in such a situation. He offers her a small smile and a low “thanks” wringing his hands where they’re resting across the table from hers. He seems to be having a hard time holding her gaze, his eyes keep darting down to the side of the booth. She breaks the silence.

“You said you’ve kept up with therapy? How is it going?” 

“It’s been good– um, better. Doc says I’m making real progress. I-I’m not drinking anymore– and I’m doing that meditation shi–stuff you wanted me to do. You were right– it, um, it really helps.” She smiles at that, tilting her head to catch his downturned gaze.

“That’s really great, Steve. It sounds like you’re working hard.” He shrugs, offering her half a smile.

“What about you? How have you been?” She sighs.

“Um, I’ve been doing alright. Working hard, but that’s nothing new. I, um, I got accepted. To IU for next year, so I guess I’m officially a grad student.” Steve nods at that, eyes darting up to hers only briefly before focusing back on his hands.

“You deserve it, probably more than any other student. Work so hard.” She knows it’s a sore spot, for both of them, so to hear him huff out even that means a great deal to her. Steve sits back in the booth, holding her gaze as he speaks. 

“So, I’m not expecting anything from you. I just ask that you listen to what I have to say– is that alright?” She’s stunned by his meek demeanor, the uncertainty in his expression, but she nods. Steve huffs, his shoulders slackening just slightly as he looks down to his side again before finally holding her gaze.

“It’s not enough– fuck, I know it’s not enough– but I want to tell you how sorry I am. Not just for that night– a-at the hotel– but for the way I treated you the whole time we were together–” his eyes dart back down to his side and she tries to crane over her seat to see just what it is that keeps pulling his attention, but his gaze has already focused back on her as he continues.

“The way I treated you was terrible– and, fuck– you deserve the world– um–” This time, when his eyes dart away again, she leans over the table and sees that what he keeps looking at is an open journal laid next to his lap, his obvious penmanship scribbled across the pages. She huffs, not quite sure what she feels at the realization that Steve had prepared something to say to her. When he looks at her again, worry is splashed across his features. She sits back, for a moment taking in the sight of this man who is so changed from what she remembers. There’s no simmering anger in his eyes, just clear anxiety. 

“Steve, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to use a script. We can just talk, ok?” He nods, lightly chewing on his lip. She sighs before continuing.

“Is it alright if I say something now?” He nods again, his eyes unwavering now as he looks at her.

“I know that you really hurt me, Steve. In more ways than one. And I also know that you carry a lot of pain with you, and I’m just relieved you’re finally talking to someone about it. I can forgive you, Steve. And I can be happy for you, that you’re obviously trying so hard to get better. And I also can never forget the way you hurt me. I think that’s going to stay with me for a long time.” It’s a therapy trick, from dialectical work that she had been studying recently, using “and” statements instead of “but.” She means it though, all of those things she said are somehow true at the same time. A heavy silence falls between them, Steve nodding at her words as he stares at his hands. His voice is a hoarse whisper that she can barely hear over the din of the coffeeshop when he finally speaks.

“I’m so sorry. You– you were everything to me– and I just wish I had treated you like it.” There’s nothing else to be said, not really. She lets out a long sigh.

“I should go, I have a shift starting soon. But, I’m really glad we talked, Steve. I hope you’ll keep taking care of yourself.” She doesn’t have a shift starting soon, but she knows she needs to get out of here before she does something she’ll regret later. She slips out of the booth, shrugging her coat back on as he stands. He stammers a bit, running a hand harshly through his hair before finally looking at her.

“Thank you– for everything. You, um, you really changed my life. And I’m just sorry I couldn’t be better for you.” Her heart catches at his words, and she’s moving before she can really think about it, wrapping him up in a hug that he clearly wasn’t expecting, his hands hovering lightly over her back. She breathes in deeply, the scent of him that she had gotten so used to, murmuring softly into his chest.

“Goodbye, Steve.” She’s quick to pull back from him, sniffing away tears that are threatening to spill over as she gives him one last smile, his expression slack in seeming shock at her actions.

She keeps it together the entire walk back to campus, but dissolves into sobs with the soft click of her door behind her.

…

“Red or white, what do you think?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, what was that?” Thomas smiles, laughing lightly.

“What would you like to drink? Are you more of a red girl or do you like the sweet stuff?” She smiles sheepishly at his question. Truthfully, she had no clue which she liked, most of the wine she had consumed up to this point had come in a box. She sighs, pretending to think on it.

“You pick. I’m not exactly a connoisseur.” He grins at that, glancing back at the menu before looking up to the waiter.

“We’ll do a bottle of the seventy-five merlot.” The waiter nods, taking the menu, and Thomas looks back at her with a crooked smile.

“It’s a nice red for beginners. You should be able to handle it, yeah?” It takes every fiber of her being not to roll her eyes at that, instead smiling lightly and nodding. She’s learning very quickly that Thomas is quite confident in himself, flirting dangerously close to arrogance, but she knows her mom would tell her he’s certainly too big for his britches.

She doesn’t want to be here, not really. It’s a swanky restaurant uptown, and she’s in her nicest dress (because Thomas had told her to wear something dressy) and all she wants to do is curl up in bed and think about Steve like she had the last two nights since they got coffee. But she knows she needs to move on, so she white knuckles her way into smiling and laughing at all of Thomas’ stories, making polite conversation. Although she doesn’t have to try too hard at keeping up a dialogue, Thomas seems fine to keep talking all on his own. Quite frankly, he won’t shut up about his research, something she finds funny considering he had seemed so excited for her to tell him about her work. 

“Yeah, it’s just a real lightning in a bottle type thing, you know? I’m just glad I caught my idea and pursued it, and now it looks like all my work is gonna pay off.” She smiles, swirling the wine in her glass. She’s decided she really doesn’t like red. Before she can give him some sort of expected response, however, a flashing light catches her eye, followed by the loud blare of a fire alarm.

The whole restaurant gets evacuated out onto the sidewalk. She’s just grateful she had half a mind to shrug her coat on before they all got shepherded out into the cold night. Thomas meanwhile, is less than enthused, scoffing and muttering about how he “can’t believe this, so ridiculous.”

And then a fire truck pulls up, and she can’t help the little kick her heart does at the sight. The throng of people is a bit too crowded together and all she can see is three firemen helmets walking into the restaurant, her shoulders slumping in dismay. It’s a calm affair, at least, the manager comes out promptly and lets the patrons know that there’s been a gas leak and they’ll unfortunately have to close for the night. She has to stop herself from laughing at the scrunched-up look on Thomas’ face, catching herself as she starts to see a way out of this already long night. Thomas sighs, bringing a hand to rest on her upper arm.

“Well, not exactly as planned. But would you like to come back to mine?” It’s entirely too forward, and confirms her hasty exit route.

“You know, it’s been really nice spending time with you, but I have a morning class tomorrow and I should probably just get home.” His grin falters just slightly, brow creasing.

“Um, ok, if you’re sure about that. Can I get you a cab?” She huffs, glancing around and seeing a payphone a little further down the block.

“Actually, I’m just gonna call my friend to pick me up. Save myself a little money, yeah?” His grin has completely dissolved now into something more like a grimace, but he nods.

“Alright, golden girl. I’d like to do this again, huh? Some time soon?” She nods, trying to keep her smile from melting off her face in complete resignation. She does her best not to flinch as he lays a kiss on her cheek, murmuring a low “good night” before he turns and heads off in the other direction, shrugging his coat closer around his figure. 

Once he’s far enough away, she sighs, letting out a low curse as she walks over to the phonebooth. She’s frustrated more than anything, at Thomas, but also at herself, that she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Steve. She leans against the wall of the phonebooth, waiting for her friend to pick up. But when the dial tone just keeps ringing, she huffs, slamming the phone back onto its receiver and shuffling back onto the sidewalk. 

The crowd has dispersed, the firetruck still there alongside the restaurant. She cranes her neck, looking for a taxi passing by, but with little luck.  What she hadn’t been expecting, although maybe hoping for, was someone calling her name. She whips around, and sure enough, it’s him. He has his helmet cocked on his hip under one arm, his heavy jacket hanging loosely open. Uncertainty is clear across his face as he says her name again like a question. She can’t help but laugh.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.” The furrowed look on his face slackens a bit, enough for him to share a disbelieving chuckle with her. She steps a little closer to him, now seeing that those two young men, the same ones she met over Thanksgiving, are who he’s working with tonight as they load their gear back into the truck. 

“Are you– what are you doing out here?” She sighs, offering him a crooked smile.

“I, um, may have been getting dinner with someone at that restaurant before– well, it doesn’t really matter now.” Steve’s face sets in a deep frown, but he nods.

“Can I ask where your date went?” She laughs at that, toeing her shoe into the ground.

“I sort of ditched him. We didn’t exactly hit it off.” She hopes she’s not imagining the flash of something that skitters across Steve’s face at that, but it’s gone in an instant as he huffs at her words.

“Are you alright? Nothing happened, right?” It’s her turn to huff, shrugging lightly.

“I’m fine, just hungry. I didn’t even get a meal out of it, just a glass of really gross wine.” That coaxes a full smile out of him, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed seeing that, such a rare piece of Steve. He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous flutter seeming to run through him.

“Well, I mean, the guys and I are off duty now– we were gonna stop and get something on the way back to the station. You could come with us if you want? We can drop you back at campus too.”  She stutters a bit at the invitation. Every part of her wants to say yes, but every part of her knows she should say no.

“Oh, I couldn’t– I don’t want to– like, impose– you don’t have to–” He cuts her off with a gentle hand on her arm.

“I’d be happy to, really.” 

And so, she finds herself riding shotgun in a firetruck, stealing glances at Steve in the driver’s seat. He had relegated the other two men to the back before she could say anything otherwise. Definitely not how she had been expecting this night to go.

“What are you in the mood for?” She’s snapped out of her thoughts by Steve’s question.

“Oh, um, I don’t even know. I think just about anything would sound good right now I’m so hungry.” He hums, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You eat lunch today?” She sighs, a shy smile as she tells him she hadn’t. He knows her too well, and had often gotten on her for breezing right over lunch when they were together. She had gotten worse about it recently, with all her work in the lab and without him reminding her. He just sighs, a slight smile quirking his lips.

“I guess some things don’t change. You must be starving, ba–” He clears his throat, stopping himself from saying whatever term of endearment she thinks he was about to call her.

“I think I know a good spot. Let’s get some real food in you, huh? Wash down that gross wine.” She laughs and is rewarded with another smile from him as his eyes briefly dart over to her. For the first time in a while, it feels like she can take a breath without it getting stuck in her chest.

…

“God, this was such a good idea.” Steve huffs a laugh around a bite of his burger, eyes crinkling as he looks at her where she sits in the passenger seat. She practically moaned when they pulled up outside the burger shop, the same one she had gotten takeaway from on Thanksgiving to share with him. Greasy bags of food in tow, when they pulled back into the station, Steve promptly handed the two men - Miller and Thompson - their orders, all but shooing them out of the truck. He had offered to drive her back to campus right away, but she had told him she’d rather eat with him, while the food was still hot. He didn’t need to know that wasn’t the only reason. So, to avoid the ruckus of a crowded fire station of middle-aged men, they stayed in the truck, eating around shared smiles and simple talk. 

She goes to dip a few fries in her milkshake, and Steve groans.

“I forgot you do that. So gross.” She snickers, happily chewing her fries.

“Oh please. You never even tried it. How do you know it’s gross?” He shrugs and shakes his head, but she’s already dipping a few more fries in her shake before holding them in front of his face.

“Just try it, Steve. C’mon.” He grumbles, but gives in, tentatively biting down on the fries. She doesn’t miss the way his lips brush her fingers. He chews slowly, eyes scrunched closed, before letting out a long sigh as he swallows.

“Yep. I was right. That’s gross.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes, but can’t help the grin spreading across her face as she looks at his smug expression. They hold each other’s gaze for just a beat too long, both of them looking away, focusing back on the remnants of their food. Steve breaks the silence first, clearing his throat.

“This is probably a stupid thing to ask, but can I know who you were going out with tonight?” She sighs.

“Steve–” He’s quick to shake his head, his hands up in surrender.

“No, I know– that’s a stupid question and you don’t have to answer.” She leans over the console slightly to catch his gaze.

“It’s ok, really. Um, I went out with Thomas Klein.” She can see the furrow settle between his brows, but she rests her palm on his knee, drawing his attention back to her.

“I went out with Thomas Klein, and it sucked.” His brows shoot up, eyes wide as he looks at her. She just nods.

“Yeah, he’s a grade A dickhead.” Steve’s face crumples again at that as he turns in his seat to face her.

“He didn’t try anything, did he?” She laughs, shaking her head.

“God, no. He just– fuck– he is so full of himself. I think it might actually be a personality disorder.” She’s got him laughing with her now, shoulders lightly shaking. He sighs as they both quiet down.

“Is it bad that I’m kinda happy you don’t like him?” She offers him a small smile, shaking her head as she sits back in her seat.

“Honestly? I don’t think I could like him even if I tried. Or anyone else for that matter. Fuck, Steve– I just– I wish– more than anything– that you hadn’t done that– that night at the hotel.” His face falls, eyes stilled on his hands in his lap.

“I think I wish that more than anything too.” A long silence settles between them until she finally glances at him again.

“Can I just– can I ask why? Why couldn’t you believe me when I told you there was nobody else– why couldn’t you believe what I told you about my research?” He huffs before meeting her gaze, a deep frown across his face.

“My, uh– my therapist says my brain is like a dog with a bone. Once it’s set on something, it has a hard time letting go of it. It was never you– I know you know that– I just– fuck– I felt so out of control around you.” He sighs, flexing his hands before continuing.

“I guess I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop– you were too good for me–” She goes to protest, but he shakes his head.

“You were too good for me– and I knew that and I knew that eventually you’d figure that out– a-and you’d leave, just like everyone else.” His last few words are a hoarse murmur that she barely hears. He clears his throat again.

“It was easier to get angry– it’s always been easier to get angry– so that’s what I did. And the way I treated you because of that– it fucking destroys me thinking about it.” Silence falls over them again. 

“I didn’t want to leave. I-I still don’t want to leave.” His eyes dart to hers in a flash, wide and questioning.  She shakes her head.

“I know it’s stupid– I should hate you for what you did. But I can’t. I still care about you, Steve. And it drives me mad that I can’t stop. But–” 

“But?” He’s leaning slightly over the console, lips parted as his eyes search her face. A few rogue waves have flopped over his eyes and she has to resist the urge to sweep them back. She lets out a long sigh.

“But, I don’t know how we could– how we could go on after that. I don’t think I can do that either– a-and I feel trapped in this– this limbo of wanting you so badly, but knowing I shouldn’t.” She slumps back in her seat, quickly glancing at Steve whose eyes look a touch unfocused, like he’s working through something just out of reach. He finally lets out a ragged exhale.

“What if there was another option?” She raises her brows, her head tilted as she waits for him to continue. 

“I mean– fuck, everything about us was a little sideways– wasn’t it? Even that first time at that bar…” He trails off and she can feel heat rising in her cheeks, remembering that night all those months ago. She shakes her head of the memory, focusing back on him.

“What are you saying, Steve?” He huffs, eyes scrunching shut before looking back at her, wetting his lips with the quick pink of his tongue.

“I’m saying– I’m saying I’d give anything to start over with you– to do it right.” She sighs, a deep frown settling across her face.

“Steve, you’re asking a lot of me.” He shakes his head, hand clenching against the wheel where it’s draped.

“I know– fuck, I know– but, losing you– it-it woke me up. I’m still fucked up– I won’t lie to you– but for the first time in a long time, I’m awake. I just want you to have me awake.” She opens her mouth, but promptly shuts it, unsure of what she really wants to say. She can see the pooling tears in his lashes in the dim light of the garage.

“You can’t hurt me like that again, Steve. I think I’d really break.” His face crumples as he takes a shuddering breath.

“I know– I’m so sorry. You don’t owe me shit– but if you gave me another chance– I promise you I’d– I’d rather die than treat you like that.” She huffs.

“Well if you do treat me like that again, I think I’ll have to kill you anyways.” The crooked grin she offers him sends them both into a clipped laugh, silence quickly consuming it. Steve is the first to speak.

“So, what does all this mean?” She shifts in her seat to fully look at him, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“It means we’re gonna take this slow. A whole lot slower than before. You’re gonna drive me back to my dorm and you’re gonna ask me out on our first date and I’m gonna say yes. And maybe I’ll let you kiss my cheek.” There it is, that big, bright smile of his that makes her heart roll over in her chest. His eyes are wide, eyebrows raised as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“Ok, um– slow is good, yeah. Whatever you want.” She grins, bringing her hand over his atop the steering wheel.

“Well, I can tell you what I don’t want. Thomas fucking Klein.” Steve laughs so hard he snorts, a sound she had never heard before, a sound she never wants to stop hearing.

She lets him kiss her cheek.

[fangirl-writes]

Ghosts

Steven Crain x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): canon-level things: death, drinking, swearing, etc.

Notes: My yearly re-watch of this show reminded me that I'm in love with Steven Crain. So...have this.

Summary: You’re Steven’s wife, someone who, not dissimilar to his siblings, can feel the supernatural- sorry, the "preternatural". Turns out you’re about to feel a lot.

It’s the books on the shelf that make Steven grimace.

The entire collection of his books are sitting neatly on the top shelf, “Crain” staring at him in big letters on the spine.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I was a fan,” Irene says.

He tries not to hold it against her, but the truth is that it’s hard.

He’s run into it before, a fan trying to slip their way into his books through made up stories or things they’ve convinced themselves they’ve seen.

Things he never has.

“That’s my favorite, the first one,” she says.

The Haunting of Hill House lies in Steven’s hands, the chapter book of family trauma that got his work off the ground.

“Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone at Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes at her perfect quotation.

“I can’t imagine what it was like living there,” she says, not catching the way his express has soured slightly. “The most famous haunted house in America.”

“In fairness,” he says, almost bitterly. “It wasn’t famous when we moved in.”

Memories long repressed peak towards the front of Steven’s mind, but more specifically that night…the last night.

So, he says, “besides, you’ve got me beat.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if you actually saw your husband hanging upside down over your bed, you’ve seen more than I ever have. I’ve never seen a ghost.”

He slides Hill House back in its place on Irene’s shelf.

“But your books?” She questions, a wrinkle in her brow.

“Not in Arlington, Denvers, Alcatraz,” he gestures dismissively at the rest of the set. “On the Queen Mary or in Williamsburg. And not in Hill House.”

Irene seems taken aback by this, like someone had just told her her favorite love song was written by someone who’d never been in love.

“The way you write, I just assumed-“

“Other people’s stories,” Steve clarifies quickly. “People like you, Irene. I give them the right voice, that’s all.”

The creak of the front door opening distracts them from the conversation and you step through the door.

“Sorry!” You chirp. “It was open and I didn’t want to disturb the interview.”

“That’s all right,” Steven says. “We’re finished up with that part.”

You nod, walking over and handing him a folder that he thanks you for before sliding it into his bag.

“This must be your infamous wife,” Irene says.

“Oh, yes,” Steven replies, sliding his hands into his pants pockets as he stands back up. “Follows me to every house. Heck, she’s half my research team…I’m the other half.”

Irene chuckles politely and you smile at him.

“Y/N,” you say to her, offering a hand.

“Irene,” she replies, taking it lightly.

Your smile is soft but bright and Steve’s mood is brought back up by your mere presence.

“Well, I hope tonight is a game changer for you,” Irene says, directing her attention back to him.

“How so?”

“Maybe my Carl will finally give you a story of your own,” she says. “You were one of his favorite writers so maybe that’s the reason…for all this.”

You easily see the pessimism rising in your husband’s eyes as he turns his gaze to the ground and sighing before answering.

“You know, I can tell you one thing about Hill House that isn’t in the book.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Irene replies, eagerly moving forward to listen more intently.

You wander around the house, eyes scanning over everything, just as Steven had done minutes prior.

“All those years trying to understand what happened in that house, you know what I never found?”

Your fingers trace over a picture frame, Carl’s photo placed behind the glass.

“A reason.”

Setting the frame back down, you ask, “Irene, may I take a look at the bedroom before he gets set up?”

“Certainly,” she says.

“Thank you.”

Once you’ve made your way up the stairs and out of earshot, Irene speaks again.

“I have to ask,” she says, making Steven look up from his notebook. "Has she ever been to-"

“No.” He replies, harsher than he meant. “No…never that house.”

It's not that he's hiding anything from you, on the contrary, you probably knew more about it than anyone who'd read the book.

And while Steven doesn't believe in ghosts, he believes in you.

After growing up with siblings who are...open to certain things, he took you in stride.

You had a particular ability to know when a place has ghosts. Similar to Theo, you could feel it.

Steven wonders if it was one of the reasons you were drawn to each other in the first place. As if you could feel the ghosts from his past haunting him.

That's why he'd never take you to Hill House, even if you asked.

Because if it was as haunted as his family swears it is, he couldn't expose you to that. It would eat you alive.

"How are your brothers and sisters doing? I wondered since the book..." Irene asks.

His phone rings. It's Nell.

"You know who I wish would write a book? Your dad."

Slightly annoyed, he declines the call.

Upstairs, your eyebrows are furrowed.

You can feel a sort of tugging in your lower belly, like it's asking you to leave the house. To follow wherever the string wants to take you.

It's not Irene's house. It's something else.

“Anything?” Steven asks, making you jump. "Sorry."

You wave a hand. "Nothing…well, not nothing. I can feel the grief in the walls, the bones are aching."

“I’m using that,” he teases, and you roll your eyes playfully.

“I have no doubt. You get your best material from me.”

Steve smiles and kisses you, warmly, and for one moment everything slips away.

His family issues, his trauma never put to rest, the haunting in the back of his mind. It all fades into the background as he takes you in.

Then his phone rings.

It's Shirley, this time, apparently Nell had called her, too.

"I know you don't need me to tell you this, but literally everything is an emergency with Nell," Steven says, adjusting his equipment.

You're sitting on Irene's bed and frown at him.

He gives you a look that reads, 'come on, you know I'm right.'

You get up and leave the room, making Steven huff.

"I know," Shirley says on the other end. "But she sounded rough."

"Shirl-"

"Rougher than usual," Shirley protested. "She said it was about Luke."

"Call Luke."

"I did, straight to voicemail."

"All right, then he sold his phone for cash, or he's still in rehab. Which means we stay out of it."

"Okay-" he sighs. "I can't deal with this right now, I'm working."

"Yeah?" Shirley says, bitterly. "You working?"

Steven stands up. "That's right, Shirl. Something else you wanna add?"

"Fine." Shirley bites. "I'll just handle it shall I? That's why everybody dumps their shit on me, isn't it, Steve? Cause I'm the oldest, it's my job."

Steven looks down, getting increasingly annoyed.

"Oh. Wait. That's you."

"Fine," Steven replies. "I'll handle-"

The dial tone rings in his ear.

"Jesus."

"Tea?"

Steven turns to Irene in the doorway, she's holding two mugs full of, obviously, tea. You're just behind her with your own mug.

"Sure," Steven says, thankful to have the distraction.

"So," she starts. "Does this stuff capture the supernatural?"

"Here we go," you say with a smile, passing Irene to take up an arm chair in the corner.

Irene gives a confused and curious look.

"Don't believe in that word," Steven supplies. "Which side of the bed do you sleep on?"

Irene points to the left and he moves his equipment accordingly before continuing.

"Talking about the word itself, supernatural," he begins. "There's natural phenomena that we understand and then there's natural phenomena that we don't."

He pops the lens cap off his camera.

"Primitive humans used to die of fright during an eclipse, they had no idea what it was. The eye of an angry god, an evil spirit."

"A sign the world was ending," you add, smiling at Irene, who seems to be growing more and more weary as Steven's explanation went on.

"Nothing supernatural about it though," he continues. "Once we understood what it was, well, it was just natural."

Steven stands up, grabbing the mug and sitting himself next to his laptop on the bed. "I prefer preternatural. Natural phenomena that we don't quite understand, yet."

"Makes him sound pretentious, doesn't it?" You ask, smirking.

Steven sends you a playful glare and Irene laughs.

"So does it capture that?"

You tend to Irene after that, taking her into her kitchen to talk about Carl as Steve gets more of his equipment from the car.

You can see him just out of the window, talking to who you suspect to be Luke's rehab center.

And then that feeling it back, that tugging. It's so distracting that it's hard for you to focus on your conversation with Irene.

Thankfully, Steve comes back in the house as a momentary distraction, allowing the feeling to dissipate if only for a second.

You throw a quick, "Got everything?" to him and replies with a "yeah!"

"Sorry," you turn back to Irene. "What were you saying?"

She leaves to stay at a friend's not long after that, trusting you and Steve to watch over her house. And, even though she didn't mention anything, you made sure to let her know you'd be sleeping in her guest room.

You did another walk through afterwards, running your hands along her walls, taking in the pictures that were hung around, the magnets on the fridge, getting a feel for who Irene was, what remnants of Carl she kept around besides his picture.

Something that could be calling him back to the house.

You found some things; an old pocket watch on a shelf, a classic car catalog on the counter. Things that someone wouldn't remember to get rid of after their owner was gone.

A picture of Irene and Carl together almost brings tears to your eyes. You can't imagine losing Steven in any way, especially not in such a horrific way as Carl...or Olivia Crain.

Having a suddent need to hug your husband, you ascend the stairs towards Irene's room.

"I told you there's no reason you and I need to talk," Steven said. "You don't just get to call me and tell me what to do."

You frown. You can't hear the response from the other end, but it's not a friendly call.

"Dad," he says and you let out a small 'ah' to yourself. ' "I'm not-"

He stops and removes the phone from his face, scoffing. "Even home right now."

You stand in the doorway as he sets the phone to the side, contemplation on his face.

"Something about Nell again?" You ask, gently.

He turns to you with a small shrug. "You know Nell."

You nod. "I do. But if you're dad's calling too, on top of Shirley-"

"Nellie's just got something in her head is all," Steven assures. "My dad can go running to her side if he wants, but there's no reason for me to upend this trip because Nell is worried about Luke."

The animosity in his voice is clear.

Steven hadn't gotten along with his family in a while, his father even longer.

You'd barely met the man, though he'd been at every wedding, including yours. You supposed Steve liked it better that way.

No need for his crazy and your crazy to mix.

As if taking your silence as permission, Steven knelt down and began setting up his laptop for the night, the infrared camera showing everything as it usually would. Orange bed, blue wall.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," he said, walking over to you, taking one of your hands in his. "We'll check on her in the morning, okay?"

You sighed, brushing his hair out of his face. "Okay."

He kissed your forehead. "Let's both get some sleep. Maybe I'll see my first ghost tonight."

"Wouldn't that be something?"

Steven huffed a laugh. "Yeah, yeah it would."

You squeezed his hand. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He let your hand drag out of his as you left the room, missing you already. And then he went to lay down.

And woke up at 12:03 a.m. with a gasp, a choking feeling in his throat.

Something that woke you, a floor down, as well.

Bleary eyed, you peered into the darkness as it adjusted, not sure why you were suddenly conscious. And gasped.

In front of you was the dark silhouette of a woman...with a crooked neck.

Nellie immediately came to mind.

You'd spoken at length with her about the "bent-neck lady" that often haunted her.

The chill that ran up your spine making you understand the fear she'd carried for the figure all these years.

Then it was gone, as if in the blink of an eye, leaving an empty room before you.

And the honking of a horn to scare you straight out of bed. You put a hand to your chest and closed your eyes.

Okay, you didn't feel anything different. No presence above you (Carl) or in front of you (bent-neck lady), just the same as before, a house working through the grief of its inhabitant.

You opened your eyes to a knock on the door and Steven came in, "Hey. The horns wake you up?"

Knowing he wouldn't want to have the conversation now, you just nodded.

What Steve didn't know couldn't hurt him.

He sat down on the bed next to you. "It wasn't anything. There's a leak in her ceiling that's dripping water. And the cars outside, well, there must've been a stop sign removed. It was all a nightmare."

"Not to her," you whispered, laying back down.

Steven sighed, laying down next to you. "I know. But isn't this explanation more peaceful? Knowing it wasn't real?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes seeing things like that are how people work through their grief. Ask Theo about it."

He laughed at that. "Yeah, I'm sure Dr. Crain would be thrilled to teach me a lesson."

You shook you head at him, tugging on his arm when he tried to move. "Stay."

Obeying his wife, Steven laid back down and wrapped you in his arms.

Already, you felt safer. And so did he. Like when you were together it was a buffer to everything else.

Whether that was a good thing or not, well, you supposed would be answered with time.

As you suspected, Irene wasn't happy with Steve's explanation, but she understood what he was saying.

"Better than never seeing him again" really resonated and she told you as such when he was putting his equipment back in the car.

So, he signed her copy of Hill House and thanked her for her time.

The book haunted him as much as the house, it seemed. When he presented the manuscript to Shirley she'd responded with a less than polite "what the fuck, Steve."

The anger in that room had lasted for a whole week, not to mention Steve stewing on it himself for nearly that long after. He was never not going to publish it, but he'd be damned if he didn't know what it would cost him.

It effectively burned his relationship with Shirley, something that neither side had made an effort to rebuild.

"I'll write your story," Steven said to Irene. "It's a good story. I researched your house; did you know that it was used as a hospice briefly in the 60s?"

"I didn't," Irene replied, watching as Steven stood to put his coat on.

"I'd like to talk to you some more about your marriage, get some background on Carl. Who he was, who you both were. That's what matters really."

Irene looks at him with curious, almost sad eyes.

"I'll need to take some liberites," he continues. "I always do, but I promise to be respectful. He was a fan. I'll do it in a way he would've really liked."

That doesn't seem to be what Irene is concerned about, though. She says, "you really didn't see anything?"

He smiles at her sadly. He wishes he did. God, he wishes he did.

But instead, he says his goodbye, promises to call her about the interview later, and meets you outside in the car.

You'd been awfully quiet since the night before, noticably tired, like something was weighing on your mind.

"The grief in the house get to you?" Steven asks on the drive home.

"Made me think about how awful it must be," you reply. "To lose a loved one like that."

He catches the way you're talking about multiple things. The subtle hint to his mom. He admires the way you can dig into people like that, but that doesn't mean he likes it when you do it to him.

"You wanna try to call Nell?" He says, changing the subject.

You nod, pulling out your phone to press her contact and putting it on speaker.

It rings for a while and then goes to voicemail.

"Strange," you comment.

"No answer?" Steve asks.

"No. And usually she picks right up."

Steve reaches over and takes your hand. "I'm sure she's fine. You know how Nell is, she probably just missed your call and will be hitting you back any minute."

"I don't know," you mutter. "Something feels...off."

Before he got a chance to ask about that, a call from his publisher, Richard, came through.

He answered. "Hey!"

"See any ghosts?"

You almost laugh.

"I've got a title," Steve says instead. "The Leaking of Walker Roof."

"Anything useful?"

You tune the conversation out, staring at Nell's contact in your phone, wishing for it to ring.

And that tugging feeling was back, like someone was tugging on the invisible string again.

"You know what I could really sell, though?"

"Hanging up now."

You tune back in just to catch the last bit of conversation, Steve's nerves immediately on edge again.

"People wanna know where you guys are these days," Richard says.

"No way, Richard" Steve replies.

"None of your other sales ever topped Hill House," Richard says. "There's so much interest. I mean your dad, your siblings, what the hosue looks like today."

You couldn't help but wonder yourself. About the house, of course. You probably kept more up with Steven's siblings than he did.

"Eh, it looks like shit," Steve mumbles.

"It would sell," Richard says.

There's a silence.

It's so prevelant you begin to wonder if he's actually considering it.

"Not interested," he finally says.

"Just think about it? Please?"

Steven reluctantly agrees before hanging up, slotting you two back into silence for a moment.

"It's not that I don't want to," he says, suddenly. "It's just...that house. It tore my family apart. Then I tore it apart more when I published that book, I just- I can't. I can't do it again."

It's your turn to take his hand and squeeze it.

"I know," you say.

Your magic touch seems to help because he takes a deep breath and relaxes.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?"

He shrugs. "Everything, I guess. That I'm so negative all the time. That I'm failing as a writer. That...that we can't have kids."

The last bit hits you.

You'd had the conversation a long time ago, before you got married, but it still was one of those things that you'd never been able to really talk about again without one of you feeling guilty or angry.

"Well, I forgive you for all those things. And I love you anyway."

By the time you guys get back to your house in L.A., it's dark and you are both tired.

You share the weight of the luggage and equipment and then freeze before you could get to the house.

Because there, standing guiltily on your front porch, was Luke.

He was holding an ipad and a camera.

"Hi Luke," Steven says, in an almost dejected, but not surprised, tone.

"Hi Steve," Luke replies. "Y/N."

You smile at him sadly. "Whatcha doing here, Luke?"

You'd only met Luke a handful of times. He was always in and out of trouble or rehab. He was one of the few siblings you hadn't been able to bond with...well, minus Shirley after the book.

"This isn't what it looks like," he says, tripping over his words and shivering.

"Are you cold?" Steve asks.

It's guilty. He knows it. But he's honest. "Yeah."

Steven sighs, setting down his share of the equipment. "I'll tell you what. I got, let's see...200 bucks here. You hand me that iPad and you can keep the cash and sell that old camera."

You don't like it. It feels like Steve's enabling him, but there's no alternative. He'd just run if you tried to take it, leave if you offered for him to stay. You'd been through it all with Luke.

Which is why the dejection and exhaustion is evident in Steve's voice. "I need the iPad. It stays here."

It's a fair bargain. One that Luke takes as he comes down the steps of your porch to stand eye-to-eye with his brother.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I know," Steve replies.

They trade, the cash for the iPad.

"It really isn't what you think," Luke insists, eyes passing between you and Steven.

"Good."

And then he's gone.

He hands you the old camera, pockets the cash, and takes off down the street.

You and Steven watch him go.

"Believe him?" Steven asks.

"You know, somehow, I do," you reply.

"Good," he says again, picking the equipment back up and putting an arm around you. "Let's just get inside."

The door's already unlocked, Luke knew where you kept the spare key even when you moved it for the hundreth time, and Steven walks into the dark house first.

He moves to turn on a light and jumps, startled. "Thanks. I needed a good scare."

You’re frozen at the doorway, paralyzed with that sinking feeling.

“Steve,” you manage to choke out, but he doesn’t hear you; he’s engrossed in conversation with-

"Dad send you here?" You hear the clatter of him setting the bags on the floor. "I tried to tell him we weren't home. Did you bring Luke here?"

Your heart is pounding, the sound filling your ears.

"You just stood there and watched him loot me? Christ, Nell."

No. No, no, no, no, no. Not Nell. Please not Nell. You just tried to talk to her. Just that day.

"So, you hit up everybody, drag Luke out, make dad hop on a plane, make Y/N crazy with worry. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

Steven sighs at the lack of response.

"Fine." he says. "You got us all listening, what do you want? What's so damn important, Nell?"

His phone rings and your shaking, trying to move but it's like your having sleep paralysis standing up. You're frozen.

"Shit, I didn't give him the address," Steven says, answering the phone. "Hey, I tried to tell you we're-"

There's rough static on the other end and Steve's eyebrows furrow. "Dad? I can't hear you."

"Did you hear me? it's about Nell."

"I know, I just walked in and she's, uh-"

"Nell's running."

Steven huffs. "Shocking."

"She wasn't in L.A., she was at the house. She was at...the house."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed.

“She’s dead... She’s dead.”

The tears spill over your eyes before you even realized they'd been welling up.

You try to call Steven’s name again but you can’t even open your mouth before Nellie is screaming and you’re hitting the floor, the world going black.

The only sound that echoes through the house is Steven’s heavy breathing and his dad's voice echoing from his phone.

"Steve?...Steve?...Steve?"