#an open ended tale;OPEN STARTER

[soulsbetrayed]

"Oh Wings help us this is Passenger Number 56890678-120 isn't it?"

Raising her arms to block a strike from the monstrous aberration the Cleanup Crew Captain grits her teeth. "Hey, you under the seats!" she shouts. "I need some support, get everyone to the next car ahead. I'll hold the line." She lets out a loud bellow as she shoved her shoulder forward sending the fleshy creature stumbling back.

[crystal-grotto]

@therxtking liked for a little starter!

Nice days invited relaxation.

Nice days were hard to ignore, even when you were pointedly trying to avoid rest to try and sleep better at night; thus the prone form that was Alex had been peacefully resting with arms behind her head, face turned to the patchy clouded sky as a gentle breeze blew through leaves and grass... until something made itself known.

Eyes cracking in confusion from the presence (a curious animal maybe?), it takes a second for storm blue to adjust, before groggy brain registers a rodentine shape blocking light above her.

Brows shooting up in surprise as sleep fled senses the shapeshifter took in a sharp breath while teeth simultaneously bore themselves in her flare of nerves. Gods she was vulnerable. Very, very vulnerable!

'Wh-'

[bugged-candies]

TAG DUMP - PT 2

[atsevenseas]

tag drop — general

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Good riddance to the Open Gaming License

Last week, Gizmodo’s Linda Codega caught a fantastic scoop — a leaked report of Hasbro’s plan to revoke the decades-old Open Gaming License, which subsidiary Wizards Of the Coast promulgated as an allegedly open sandbox for people seeking to extend, remix or improve Dungeons and Dragons:

https://gizmodo.com/dnd-wizards-of-the-coast-ogl-1-1-open-gaming-license-1849950634

The report set off a shitstorm among D&D fans and the broader TTRPG community — not just because it was evidence of yet more enshittification of D&D by a faceless corporate monopolist, but because Hasbro was seemingly poised to take back the commons that RPG players and designers had built over decades, having taken WOTC and the OGL at their word.

Gamers were right to be worried. Giant companies love to rugpull their fans, tempting them into a commons with lofty promises of a system that we will all have a stake in, using the fans for unpaid creative labor, then enclosing the fans’ work and selling it back to them. It’s a tale as old as CDDB and Disgracenote:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CDDB#History

(Disclosure: I am a long-serving volunteer board-member for MetaBrainz, which maintains MusicBrainz, a free, open, community-managed and transparent alternative to Gracenote, explicitly designed to resist the kind of commons-stealing enclosure that led to the CDDB debacle.)

https://musicbrainz.org/

Free/open licenses were invented specifically to prevent this kind of fuckery. First there was the GPL and its successor software licenses, then Creative Commons and its own successors. One important factor in these licenses: they contain the word “irrevocable.” That means that if you build on licensed content, you don’t have to worry about having the license yanked out from under you later. It’s rugproof.

Now, the OGL does not contain the word “irrevocable.” Rather, the OGL is “perpetual.” To a layperson, these two terms may seem interchangeable, but this is one of those fine lawerly distinctions that trip up normies all the time. In lawyerspeak, a “perpetual” license is one whose revocation doesn’t come automatically after a certain time (unlike, say, a one-year car-lease, which automatically terminates at the end of the year). Unless a license is “irrevocable,” the licensor can terminate it whenever they want to.

This is exactly the kind of thing that trips up people who roll their own licenses, and people who trust those licenses. The OGL predates the Creative Commons licenses, but it neatly illustrates the problem with letting corporate lawyers — rather than public-interest nonprofits — unleash “open” licenses on an unsuspecting, legally unsophisticated audience.

The perpetual/irrevocable switcheroo is the least of the problems with the OGL. As Rob Bodine— an actual lawyer, as well as a dice lawyer — wrote back in 2019, the OGL is a grossly defective instrument that is significantly worse than useless.

https://gsllcblog.com/2019/08/26/part3ogl/

The issue lies with what the OGL actually licenses. Decades of copyright maximalism has convinced millions of people that anything you can imagine is “intellectual property,” and that this is indistinguishable from real property, which means that no one can use it without your permission.

The copyrightpilling of the world sets people up for all kinds of scams, because copyright just doesn’t work like that. This wholly erroneous view of copyright grooms normies to be suckers for every sharp grifter who comes along promising that everything imaginable is property-in-waiting (remember SpiceDAO?):

https://onezero.medium.com/crypto-copyright-bdf24f48bf99

Copyright is a lot more complex than “anything you can imagine is your property and that means no one else can use it.” For starters, copyright draws a fundamental distinction between ideas and expression. Copyright does not apply to ideas — the idea, say, of elves and dwarves and such running around a dungeon, killing monsters. That is emphatically not copyrightable.

Copyright also doesn’t cover abstract systems or methods — like, say, a game whose dice-tables follow well-established mathematical formulae to create a “balanced” system for combat and adventuring. Anyone can make one of these, including by copying, improving or modifying an existing one that someone else made. That’s what “uncopyrightable” means.

Finally, there are the exceptions and limitations to copyright — things that you are allowed to do with copyrighted work, without first seeking permission from the creator or copyright’s proprietor. The best-known exception is US law is fair use, a complex doctrine that is often incorrectly characterized as turning on “four factors” that determine whether a use is fair or not.

In reality, the four factors are a starting point that courts are allowed and encouraged to consider when determining the fairness of a use, but some of the most consequential fair use cases in Supreme Court history flunk one, several, or even all of the four factors (for example, the Betamax decision that legalized VCRs in 1984, which fails all four).

Beyond fair use, there are other exceptions and limitations, like the di minimis exemption that allows for incidental uses of tiny fragments of copyrighted work without permission, even if those uses are not fair use. Copyright, in other words, is “fact-intensive,” and there are many ways you can legally use a copyrighted work without a license.

Which brings me back to the OGL, and what, specifically, it licenses. The OGL is a license that only grants you permission to use the things that WOTC can’t copyright — “the game mechanic [including] the methods, procedures, processes and routines.” In other words, the OGL gives you permission to use things you don’t need permission to use.

But maybe the OGL grants you permission to use more things, beyond those things you’re allowed to use anyway? Nope. The OGL specifically exempts:

Product and product line names, logos and identifying marks including trade dress; artifacts; creatures characters; stories, storylines, plots, thematic elements, dialogue, incidents, language, artwork, symbols, designs, depictions, likenesses, formats, poses, concepts, themes and graphic, photographic and other visual or audio representations; names and descriptions of characters, spells, enchantments, personalities, teams, personas, likenesses and special abilities; places, locations, environments, creatures, equipment, magical or supernatural abilities or effects, logos, symbols, or graphic designs; and any other trademark or registered trademark…

Now, there are places where the uncopyrightable parts of D&D mingle with the copyrightable parts, and there’s a legal term for this: merger. Merger came up for gamers in 2018, when the provocateur Robert Hovden got the US Copyright Office to certify copyright in a Magic: The Gathering deck:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/14/angels-and-demons/#owning-culture

If you want to learn more about merger, you need to study up on Kregos and Eckes, which are beautifully explained in the “Open Intellectual Property Casebook,” a free resource created by Jennifer Jenkins and James Boyle:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/openip/#q01

Jenkins and Boyle explicitly created their open casebook as an answer to another act of enclosure: a greedy textbook publisher cornered the market on IP textbook and charged every law student — and everyone curious about the law — $200 to learn about merger and other doctrines.

As EFF Senior Staff Attorney Kit Walsh writes in her must-read analysis of the OGL, this means “the only benefit that OGL offers, legally, is that you can copy verbatim some descriptions of some elements that otherwise might arguably rise to the level of copyrightability.”

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/01/beware-gifts-dragons-how-dds-open-gaming-license-may-have-become-trap-creators

But like I said, it’s not just that the OGL fails to give you rights — it actually takes away rights you already have to D&D. That’s because — as Walsh points out — fair use and the other copyright limitations and exceptions give you rights to use D&D content, but the OGL is a contract whereby you surrender those rights, promising only to use D&D stuff according to WOTC’s explicit wishes.

“For example, absent this agreement, you have a legal right to create a work using noncopyrightable elements of D&D or making fair use of copyrightable elements and to say that that work is compatible with Dungeons and Dragons. In many contexts you also have the right to use the logo to name the game (something called “nominative fair use” in trademark law). You can certainly use some of the language, concepts, themes, descriptions, and so forth. Accepting this license almost certainly means signing away rights to use these elements. Like Sauron’s rings of power, the gift of the OGL came with strings attached.”

And here’s where it starts to get interesting. Since the OGL launched in 2000, a huge proportion of game designers have agreed to its terms, tricked into signing away their rights. If Hasbro does go through with canceling the OGL, it will release those game designers from the shitty, deceptive OGL.

According to the leaks, the new OGL is even worse than the original versions — but you don’t have to take those terms! Notwithstanding the fact that the OGL says that “using…Open Game Content” means that you accede to the license terms, that is just not how contracts work.

Walsh: “Contracts require an offer, acceptance, and some kind of value in exchange, called ‘consideration.’ If you sell a game, you are inviting the reader to play it, full stop. Any additional obligations require more than a rote assertion.”

“For someone who wants to make a game that is similar mechanically to Dungeons and Dragons, and even announce that the game is compatible with Dungeons and Dragons, it has always been more advantageous as a matter of law to ignore the OGL.”

Walsh finishes her analysis by pointing to some good licenses, like the GPL and Creative Commons, “written to serve the interests of creative communities, rather than a corporation.” Many open communities — like the programmers who created GNU/Linux, or the music fans who created Musicbrainz, were formed after outrageous acts of enclosure by greedy corporations.

If you’re a game designer who was pissed off because the OGL was getting ganked — and if you’re even more pissed off now that you’ve discovered that the OGL was a piece of shit all along — there’s a lesson there. The OGL tricked a generation of designers into thinking they were building on a commons. They weren’t — but they could.

This is a great moment to start — or contribute to — real open gaming content, licensed under standard, universal licenses like Creative Commons. Rolling your own license has always been a bad idea, comparable to rolling your own encryption in the annals of ways-to-fuck-up-your-own-life-and-the-lives-of-many-others. There is an opportunity here — Hasbro unintentionally proved that gamers want to collaborate on shared gaming systems.

That’s the true lesson here: if you want a commons, you’re not alone. You’ve got company, like Kit Walsh herself, who happens to be a brilliant game-designer who won a Nebula Award for her game “Thirsty Sword Lesbians”:

https://evilhat.com/product/thirsty-sword-lesbians/

[Image ID: A remixed version of David Trampier's 'Eye of Moloch,' the cover of the first edition of the AD&D Player's Handbook. It has been altered so the title reads 'Advanced Copyright Fuckery. Unclear on the Concept. That's Just Not How Licenses Work. No, Seriously.' The eyes of the idol have been replaced by D20s displaying a critical fail '1.' Its chest bears another D20 whose showing face is a copyright symbol.]

[tropes-and-tales]

You Talk Too Much

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW:  Richie being Richie, swearing.

Word Count:  1740

AN:  Requested by @winchestershiresauce

You don’t smoke, but it doesn’t stop you from escaping out the back door of The Beef near the end of shift to catch your breath and relax.  There’s only a few lingering customers out front, and  you are exhausted and frazzled.

It’s quiet out back.  You love your job—really, you do—but it can be a lot.  A lot.  It’s loud and hectic and a million things happen at once.  Sometimes the chaos of the day is just limited to the customers flowing through for classic Chicago fare.  Sometimes the chaos is more, well, chaotic:  a burst pipe, a failed health inspection, an impromptu Ball-Breaker tournament to help breakeven for the week.

You love your job.  You love The Beef, and you love your coworkers, but sometimes you need quiet.

The neighborhood mellows out at night, at least in the little nook behind the restaurant.  The noise of the city—the traffic, the sirens, the wind off the river and lake—falls away to a murmur, background noise that builds and then breaks over you in gentle waves.  You sit on an overturned milk crate and pull your knees up, wrap your arms around your knees.  You lean back against the brick wall and shut your eyes.  You breathe deep, steadying breaths and feel your heartbeat calm.  Hours and hours of chaos, and now you can throttle down a bit.

It lasts all of a minute.

You hear the door squeal open on its hinges, then hear it slam shut a moment later.  You don’t bother to open your eyes; you can guess who it is.

A beat later, someone settles onto another milk crate beside you with a grunt.  You hear the ritual sounds of a veteran smoker:  the shaking of a soft pack, the quiet snick of the lighter, the first harsh inhale, the pleased sigh as the nicotine hits the bloodstream.

Richie.  The Beef’s resident asshole.  The utter bane of your existence when you started months ago.  He had bullied you relentlessly, a hazing that extended beyond gentle workplace pranking.  Richie, you came to find out, hates change, and you came into his life in the midst of immense change.

The loss of his best friend who was more like a brother.

The loss of his family when his wife divorced him.

The loss of his restaurant, his beloved dysfunctional sandwich shop as Carmy slowly started to change the system.

But as the months passed, Richie softened towards you.  You proved too stubborn to give in to his bullying, and at some point, you became part of the landscape of The Beef.  You became part of the family, and Richie eased off the bullying. 

His teasing turned sweeter, almost:  he calls you sweetheart now, sometimes babe, and when he needs to get past you in the tight quarters of the restaurant, he lays a light hand on your shoulder or your back as he squeezes past you.

Then came the stories.  When it’s quiet, when the doors aren’t open yet and you’re just prepping for the day, Richie regales you with stories.  So many stories.  Stories about his time at West Lawrence Avenue.  Stories about tearing up the town with Mikey.  Stories about the Goddess of Agriculture and Bill Murray.  Richie always leans in close and tells you these stories, often repeating tales you’ve already heard, but just as you never confronted him about the bullying, you never confront him about his repetitious storytelling.

Richie, you guess, is a complicated man.  A man with a lot of feelings who perhaps doesn’t know how to express them.  From the caustic bully sneering at you about disrupting the “delicate ecosystem” of The Beef… to the smiling charmer as he regales you with his Bill Murray story.

You open your eyes enough to squint and confirm that it’s Richie sitting beside you, as if the scent of his cologne isn’t confirmation enough.  But it’s him.  Visual confirmation obtained.  You take in his lanky form neatly folded to fit on the milk crate, one leg kicked out straight and the other folded up near his chest.  His profile illuminated by the flickering light near the dumpsters. 

The man isn’t entirely unappealing.  Once you get past the crusty layers of asshole behavior, the sarcasm and inferiority complex and refusal to feel his feelings, he’s actually a good man.  Loyal to a fault.  Loving father.  The sort of man to assemble his own family of friends and misfits, who then defends that family to the death.

But too chatty sometimes.  Like now.

Because after the first deep drag of his cigarette, he starts talking.  “I ever tell you about the time me and Mikey were at Ceres?”

You bite the inside of your mouth to stop from smiling.  “Yeah, you did.”

“Place was packed with Blackhawk fans—”

“Because Denis Savard just got inducted into the hockey hall of fame,” you fill in for him.

“Chelios was there,” he continues, like he hasn’t even heard you.  “I mean, the place was fucking packed—”

On he goes.  On and on and on.  The quiet lull of the city noise falls away and all you can focus on is Richie’s voice, the cigarette husky quality of it, and you like his voice, you love his stories because he loves telling them, but you just want quiet right now.

“Richie—”

“And I feel this tap on my shoulder—”

“Rich—”

“And it’s Bill fucking Murray!  And he’s like—”

“Richie, c’mon—”

“He’s like, ‘what are you doing?’  And I tell him, I say—”

You don’t know why you snap.  The man literally made your life a living hell when you started at the restaurant, but you never once snapped.  Never fought back, only shrugged and let the insults roll of your back.  You don’t know why you snap now, and you don’t know quite why you snap the way you do.

Because you don’t yell at him or smack him.  Richie goes on and on with his story, his face lit up at the happy memory he shared with Mikey, and he’s gesturing with his hands, his half-burnt cigarette forgotten as he talks and glances at you to see if you’re listening, if you’re impressed with his story, and maybe that’s what makes you snap.  Maybe you have a sudden revelation, like a lightning bolt out of the sky.

Maybe Richie keeps telling you these stories because he wants to impress you.  Maybe his close-talking, his mild pet names for you, his light touches as he walks past you…maybe you understand it all in a split second.  Maybe it took a mild Chicago night, a quiet moment out back broken by this man who glances at you shyly to see how his story is landing.

So you snap.  You reach out one hand and gather a fistful of his navy blue t-shirt, and you haul him halfway to you.  You meet him the rest of the way, and the man is still talking when you kiss him.  It happens that fast.

Which makes the kiss awkward for a split second.  You’ve caught him unawares, mid-sentence, and your mouth stills his words.  He freezes for the split second it takes him to catch up to what’s happening, but then he kisses you back.  He tastes like cigarettes, and beneath that you can taste vanilla, and you smile because you can guess that he’d been sneaking into Marcus’s area and helping himself to the cakes Marcus had been working on all day.

But it’s quiet again.  You’ve stoppered Richie’s words, and the earlier calm would fall over you if your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest at what you’ve done.

It’s Richie who breaks the kiss.  After a long beat of silence, a long moment of your mouth on his, the shyest bit of deepening the kiss—opening your mouth against his, breathing him in, but not any further than that.  He breaks the kiss but doesn’t move very far from you, and when you look at him, you can see his bright blue eyes staring at you.

“What, uh…”  He clears his throat in that embarrassed way he has.  “What was that for?”

“You talk too much,” you tell him.

“Thought you liked my stories.”

“I do.  Ninety percent of the time, I love your stories.”

“And the other ten percent?”

“I just wanted a bit of quiet.  It was a long day.”

You release your grip on his shirt, and you see where you’ve stretched the fabric.  You try to smooth it out, run your hand over his upper chest where you grabbed him, and the gesture makes him huff out a heavy breath.  The realization of what you’ve done washes over you, and suddenly you feel horrified.  It would have been less embarrassing to have snapped at him all those months ago, slapped him or yelled in his face.  Instead, you kissed him, and now he’s staring at you with those blue eyes…

“Sorry,” you mutter.  “I shouldn’t have—”

He’s gentler when he stills your words with his mouth.  He doesn’t haul you to him by your shirt; instead, he wraps a gentle hand around the back of your neck and steadies you as he leans in.  As he kisses you.  His lips are soft against yours—it’s the softest kiss you’ve ever received in your life, and from someone like Richie Jerimovich who stumbles through his own life like a bull in a china shop.  Who knew he could be so careful? 

You break the second kiss, and you try to find some words—to finish your apology to him, to say something cool or funny to break the spell of the moment—but Richie hushes you.  He doesn’t let you get any more words out, and he pulls you closer to him.  He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him, and then you feel him press a kiss against the top of your head as he tucks you against him.

“Don’t say anything,” he tells you in his low voice.  “Let’s just have a bit of quiet, then.”

The two of you sit in silence, letting the sounds of the city fill in the quiet between you.  Except for your own heart, hammering in your ears.  And except for Richie’s heart, beating right under your ear in the same, excited cadence.

[lapis-memes]

Aggressive Sentence Starters

"Back off!"

"I should kill you for that."

"Don't make me come over there."

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"I'm going to rip your throat out."

"Come over here and say that to my face!"

"What did you just say?"

"How dare you."

"I will hurt you."

"Do that again, and I will end your life."

"You and I have some unfinished business."

"That's enough!"

"Think very carefully about what you say next."

"I'd like to see you try."

"I'm going to kick your ass!"

"Get away from me!"

"Sleep with one eye open tonight."

"You're pathetic."

"Go ahead! Just try and touch me!"

"Not so brave now, are you?"

"Remember where you belong: on the ground, at my feet."

"You're going to regret that."

"Tired already? How pathetic."

"You won't live long enough to tell the tale."

"What do you think you're doing?"

"You got a problem?"

"What are you looking at?"

"On your knees."

"I have a score to settle."

"I won't take this kind of shit from you."

"Touch me again, and you'll lose that arm."

"You need to leave. Now."

"So, you think you're tough?"

"I don't fear you."

"Come over here and find out!"

"This is the part where you apologize."

[sadistic-kiss]

🐺House of Alphas Chapter 54: Blank🐺

(Jujutsu Kaisen Omegaverse )

Summary: Waking up in a world that was not your own was problematic enough. Being the villainess was another. However, the possessive alphas might take the cake.

Disclaimer: Angsty but I ain’t Gege

Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sukuna x Alpha!Gojo x Alpha!Toji x Alpha!Nanami x Alpha!Getou

~

…

"Are you insane!?" Nanami threw up his hands as he paced back and forth.

You had a quiet walk to the inn. You felt like a child who knew wrath was coming for you once you were behind closed doors. When you got into Nanami's room boy did he go off. So much so your other alphas sat around quietly as the blonde paced a furious path.

You sat on the edge of the bed, Toji comfortable in one of the armchairs, Sukuna leaned against the wall. Getou was in the desk chair with Gojo on top of the table.

You were in the center. It felt like you were in the hot seat... well you were...You had disobeyed your alphas.

"What were you thinking?" Nanami paused, looking toward you with his fists planted on his hips, angry eyes glaring from over his glasses.

You took time to gulp, readjusting yourself on the bed, "I...was thinking-"

"Speak up."

You jolted at his harsh tone. You didn't enjoy being yelled at. Or disciplined, especially by Nanami. So already your voice was cracking and your eyes were starting to sting. You fluttered your wet lashes as you wiped under your eye, "I-I was thinking...th-that Yuta could help me... regain my memories...and save Junpei-nh!” at the end of your sentence you did let out a sob. Yet your tears seemed to be ineffective this time.

Your blonde flicked his fingers at Gojo who hopped up to give you a handkerchief but then he returned to his spot. You thanked him quietly while dabbing at your face.

Your throat tensed, you just wanted to say how sorry you were. But unfortunately, you can't go back on this. You can apologize all you want but you had to go down there. You had to save this Yuta character just like you saved Maki. These were canon events that were linked together. You didn't want to go down there either- truly you didn't…but with how the plot is plotting... this was a must. This wasn't just a simple side quest of give me ten wolf skins or a silly escort quest- these quests felt extremely important. Like you just opened up a whole world of important missions that will affect everyone's lives greatly.

For starters the witches are holding the shadow creatures in their home, protecting the gates. That means that they cannot be summoned out in the world. They can be trapped there until you are ready to go in blasting the holy light up their asses.

Already you have saved countless people's lives just by saving them.

This just felt like a start to a bigger picture. Your alphas just didn't understand how dire this was.

"Listen..." Nanami pushed up his glasses with a tense shove, "I know you've been in the omega home for some time and read books or what have you about things, but the Land of Ruins is no place for any creature let alone a pretty little bird like yourself."

"I know-"

"You don't."

"Or..." Sukuna drawled shifting to his other foot. "...She does know about what she's getting into. Just like she knew about the shadow spirits. How do you know so much? And don't tell me it's in the books because I know damn well there’s not a word about shadow curses anywhere.”

You opened your mouth and blinked left then right while shaking your head, "Well I-"

"I saw it." Toji pointed.

"That was an easy one." Sukuna smirked.

Oh what the fuck-

"More lies and tales?" Nanami crossed his arms tight, muscles bulging with tension.

You were in shock, now you didn't know what to do. Quickly you looked toward your silly alphas for some aid.

Getou shook his head, "Don't look over here, darling."

"Yeah, this is like the first time we aren't in trouble."

“Feels almost strange doesn't it Gojo?”

“You said it.”

Well, they were no help!

...

~

Read More

[tigerincahoots]

closed starter for: @dethenryquinn

IT WAS HALLOWEEN NIGHT. That one time of the year when all the fucking psychos would go even more psycho than usual and end up making a mess of things. Just ask Michael Meyers and Art, the Clown in that department. And Kevin HATED Halloween with a burning passion. He respected the whole spun tales on how the veil between the dead and the living became thinner that day – he had seen some shit – but he absolutely despised the insurmountable number of brats running around and ringing bells asking for a trick or treat. The only good thing about that was that he was working that night. Not that detective work was for him but new assignments required new rules and he had to pose as a damn homicide detective to track down the monster he was supposed to neutralize. His background had been flawlessly constructed to fit the bill and now...? Now he was just playing the waiting game in his office alongside his new-but-maybe-not-that-much partner.

HE FUCKING HATED BEING SOCIAL.

”HOW TYPICAL IS IT FOR A MURDER TO HAPPEN TONIGHT?” His question is carefree. His glance turns to the other detective – Henry Quinn - as Kevin tosses random coloured gummy bears into the air to catch them with an open mouth. He would much rather be out there. Hunting. That’s what he was good at. Tracking people down and bringing them back dead or alive. The waiting game was not for him. Being idle drove him insane, which could be reflected in the occasional grumpy comment addressed to no one. “Like, are we just supposed to stay here? Sitting down, scratching our balls and comparing dick sizes while waiting for someone to just call us?” Gods, that shit was tedious. “We hit the road back on my old precinct.” A lie but he needed to play his role as a detective. “Fuck knows how many psychos are going out tonight. And I am not talking about the brats…”

[mayhemhq]

Our event, Grim's Hollow Haunt, is just 11 days away, and we're excited to share all the details of what's happening that weekend! The 19th & 20th is the is the weekend that it will take place. All shows and ppvs on this day are prerecorded, regardless of if your character participates or not.

The setting takes place in a secluded cabin on the outskirts of Salem, MA. We’re bending reality a bit for this experience. The sprawling three-story cabin is isolated, surrounded by vast open land and eerie trees. Despite its remote feel, it’s just a short drive from Salem, where your characters can explore the city if they choose.

We invite you to click THIS link to read the fictional tale of Barnabas Grim and the legendary events that inspired this experience. It’s designed to feel like a local legend—stories pieced together over time through rumors and hearsay, blending elements of the supernatural with Salem’s own rich history.

With that in mind, we’ll be sharing starters the 19th and at least posting one dash game on the 20th to spark interactivity and creativity. Starters / prompts will mostly be one-liners inspired by the story and the cabin. During this trip, feel free to let creepy, unexplained things unfold—have fun with it!

Again, both important links worth checking out: here and here!

Now, to explain how the weekend will go:

We're all staying in the cabin—or at least, that’s the idea! There are plenty of rooms, and even multiple couples can share if they’d like. Remember, this isn’t just about romance; it’s about enjoying the experience together. When else will you get to do something like this? Of course, it’s perfectly fine if your character isn’t affected by the supernatural—after all, not everyone has those experiences in real life. But, at the end of the day, it’s all for fun!

Saturday during the day, feel free to explore Salem and whatnot. Do whatever you wish until nightfall.

The carnival kicks off Saturday night around 6pm CST. In canon, it will be set later to capture the feel of darkness and mystery. We encourage everyone to dress up in Halloween costumes for the event! Feel free to share your character’s look, but it’s not mandatory. For those managing multiple muses, use this time to draft posts or brainstorm outfit ideas. You can find all the carnival highlights on this page—just imagine a spooky yet thrilling carnival atmosphere. Keep in mind, this is the only October event featuring Halloween costumes, so take advantage and get inspired by the attractions listed!

Sunday night around 6pm CST, we’ll be hosting the final dinner: Grim’s Last Supper. You can find more details about it here. We encourage everyone to wear Victorian Gothic-inspired attire—think dark, rich colors, suits, dresses, and the like. Feel free to get creative, but keep in mind it’s a dressy, elegant, and formal dinner party. To keep things lively, we’ll also share a drunken Truth or Dare / AMA dash game that night for a bit of fun. One of us will link a drunken text generator if you really want to embrace the vibe!

Please, please make sure to reach out to inboxes that night and get as wild and weird as you want! Just keep in mind that it’s all for fun, and we want everyone to have a great time. Also, be considerate and avoid reblogging the game IF you will not be around to participate. Reblog to only the number of muses you can handle, too. Don’t get overwhelmed. Let’s make the most of the night!

We know there’s an NJPW PPV that weekend, but we decided to host this event a weekend earlier since the actual holiday weekends tends to be packed. Many of us have other OOC gatherings then, and some will be busy on Halloween night itself, so this felt like the best choice for an engaging and interactive event!

Quick question for everyone: would you like to have a plot twist during the final supper? Maybe something fun and unexpected, like a dare gone wrong or a creepy scenario that could (somewhat) realistically unfold? There’s always the classic power outage, but we know you all are super creative and might have other ideas! It’s not a must, but feel free to share your thoughts below so we can brainstorm together if something comes to mind.

[soulsbetrayed]

"No, no no! Someone check on him. Someone check on Amaryllis please!"

She slams her hands against the wall in front of her in desperation as she was separated from the Captain of the Training Team via a bulkhead blocking off the corridor where he confronted an Abnormality and a trio of maddened employees.

"I-I'm begging here! PLEASE HELP HIM!"

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Love & War Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: M Status: Complete (19/19) Main Characters: Knight-Commander Cleo Ironbark, Queen Galfrey Supporting Characters: Yozz, Arueshalae, Woljif, Wenduag, Ember, Irahai, Nocticula, Hand of the Inheritor Ships: Knight-Commander/Queen Galfrey Additional Notes: Complicated Relationships, Angst, Rivals to Enemies to Lovers, Demon to Legend Mythic Path, Canon-Typical Themes, Minor Character Death Word Count: 72.8k Summary:

Galfrey was a queen, a paladin, an icon for all that was righteous and just in the Crusades. Cleo was a barbarian, a tiefling, a personification of demonic chaos. By all rights and logic, the two should have been at each other's throats- and often, they were. But somehow, through war and struggle and sacrifice, they ended up finding more in each other than either ever expected.

read here on ao3

Chaper 1 Below:

The first impression Queen Galfrey of Mendev formed of Cleo, warrior of the Ironbark tribe, was not a kind one.

To be completely fair, the Queen’s opinion was not wholly condemning, either. It was quite impossible for Galfrey to condemn the woman who had pulled Kenabres from the burning jaws of the demons. Every report given to the Queen repeated the same story: Cleo of Ironbark had bravely led the charge against the evil cultists and demons who threatened the city. Cleo of Ironbark had stormed the Grey Garrison and saved them all from the poison of the corrupted Wardstone. Cleo of Ironbark was a hero.

But Cleo of Ironbark was also…raucous.

“Another round!” the warrior cried, holding her tankard aloft, and the celebrating soldiers cheered along with her. The tankard was refilled without a moment’s hesitation, and after taking a long drink, Kenabres’s champion resumed her dramatic recounting of the day’s battle. Her voice carried across the tavern, rising above the din of the crowd and filling the large room with echoes of her bravado. Irabeth and Anevia sat at her side, listening to the tale with fond weariness and open amusement, respectively.

Galfrey kept to the corner of the tavern, holding her tongue and a humble mug of ale as she watched the theatrics unfold. Her retinue was waiting outside; she’d ordered them to give her fifteen minutes of peace before following her in. The guards were always so touchy about letting her out of their sight, as if she couldn’t handle herself perfectly well.

The Queen sighed at herself. That was unfair; they were merely doing their job. Under normal circumstances, she would have been content to let them do so. But a procession of guards was something that tended to be noticed, and in this instance, she’d wished to make her observations from a place of relative anonymity. She’d feared she might be noticed anyhow, but no; the people’s attention was centered solely on the sword-bearing storyteller who had already nearly drained her third serving of ale. This could only be the famous Cleo- who else would be drawing such adulation from the victorious crusaders?

Yet, she was not quite what Galfrey had expected.

For starters, Cleo was clearly not of Kenabres. Not a fact all that odd on its own, perhaps, but she was no ordinary traveler, either. She wore the furs and leather armor of the northern barbarians, and when she called out to the crowds, a Kellid accent made itself clear in her words. As if a lone tribeswoman in the middle of a Mendevian city wasn’t odd enough, the people’s new hero was also a tiefling. With skin of deep green and small horns that poked through her dark, close-shorn hair, her abyssal heritage was impossible to miss.

Even so, the notoriously suspicious Mendevians around her watched with high-spirited adulation as she spoke, her tail lashing enthusiastically behind her all the while.

“-and then,” she was saying, “just when we all thought we were well and truly fucked, I charged for the Wardstone. Minagho tried to stop me, but it was too late for her- I had my blade in my hands, and I took the biggest swing of my life, and with just one strike I shattered that corrupted chunk of stone!”

She mimed the motion of her attack, and the crowds shouted their appreciation. Their cheers brought a cocky grin to Cleo’s lips, revealing sharp-tipped teeth.

“And of course once that was taken care of, Minagho didn’t stand a chance. Shame she’s so good at running away, but there’s plenty other demons out there to slay!”

This declaration brought another round of victorious shouts, but Galfrey remained reticent. The scene so far had only served to cement her final impression of Cleo of Ironbark: that she was in possession of a concerning degree of reckless arrogance. Cleo spoke loudly and cursed often; she lauded her own daring exploits; she relished in stretching out her arms to display the scars lining her well-toned muscles to her crowd of admirers.

Galfrey was hardly unaccustomed to such personality. The thrill of victory could go to any soldier’s head, especially when aided by ale and applause. But she had been hoping for something more substantial from the savior of the city, and to find behavior which bordered upon unseemly was…disappointing.

Across the room, Cleo let out a loud laugh and leapt to her feet, very nearly tripping over her chair in the process. She teetered over Anevia, leaned down, and- inexplicably- blew a kiss onto the small charm in Anevia’s hands. They both laughed again at the action, even as Irabeth swatted at her wife’s shoulder in half-hearted chastisement.

In spite of herself, Galfrey felt her lips pull reluctantly into a smile. Her judgments were harsh; revelry could certainly be permitted in times like this. This was a celebration, after all, and here she was sulking in the corner and thinking dour thoughts. It must be the endless war meetings taking their toll, fixing her into this permanently somber state. After so many decades, it was growing increasingly difficult to escape such a mindset, especially when she’d spent the majority of the march to Kenabres half-expecting to find nothing but a funeral pyre.

Instead, she’d found a city in the throes of exhilarating victory. Such a state was infinitely preferable, and the leader who’d made it possible had more than earned herself a carefree night.

With that thought in mind, Galfrey threw back a swig of ale and strode forward to join her subjects at their table. Her fifteen minutes of peace were almost up, and it was time to make her presence known. Better to make a jovial introduction, she decided, rather than be a weight upon the soldiers’ high spirits.

The reactions her reveal garnered were much what Galfrey expected: Irabeth snapped to immediate attention, the nearby soldiers backed away to a respectful distance, and even Anevia straightened her posture and pushed her drink away.

But not Cleo. Cleo just watched, dark eyes giving away nothing as she granted the Queen a lazy smile. “Have I had too much to drink, or are you really who I think you are?”

“That depends a good deal on who you think I am, doesn’t it?” Galfrey countered evenly. She kept her voice lighthearted, welcoming, and held out her hand in a simple greeting. “Galfrey, of Mendev.”

Cleo regarded the offered gesture for a moment, her gaze sliding from Galfrey’s hand to meet her eyes. The edges of her smile grew more pronounced. “I see the rumors were not exaggerated. Pleasure to make your royal acquaintance.” Without breaking her stare, Cleo wrapped her calloused fingers around Galfrey’s, and she brought Galfrey’s hand to her lips.

The kiss she laid on Galfrey’s skin was short, but her eyes stayed fixed on the Queen- testing her, Galfrey realized. Pressing to see how quickly Galfrey would pull away.

Indignation surged through Galfrey’s veins, but she had decades of practice in disguising her annoyances.  She did not pull away, nor did she flinch under that taunting gaze; she waited until Cleo’s touch retreated, and only then did she withdraw her hand.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said stiffly, and Cleo chuckled.

“Didn’t say what the rumors were, did I? But you are quite welcome, your royal highness. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

The words were simply dripping with mockery, and Galfrey almost changed her mind right then and there. The mission she’d meant to bequeath upon the hero of Kenabres required some modicum of respect and discipline, and she could just as easily enlist any of her current generals who actually displayed those qualities.

Except…none of those generals, in all their years of service, had accomplished anything like the feat this woman already performed. If even half of what Cleo claimed was true, she should be dead ten times over. That meant that this woman was either a braggart lying through her teeth…or she truly possessed the type of power the Crusades so desperately needed.

It was a risk, to gamble on the latter option in such a way. But the war had been locked in a stalemate for far too long. Perhaps a certain amount of risk was warranted.

And besides, Galfrey reminded herself, Cleo was currently deep in her cups. In all likelihood, she would wake in the morning somewhat sheepish and ready to approach their arrangement with a bit more propriety.

“The Queen graces me with her presence, I see.”

Galfrey stifled a sigh as she entered the Cleo’s tent. Outside, troops bustled in preparation for the march to Drezen, their shouts and orders mingling with the familiar clang of plated armor. The soldiers had been all too eager to accept the hero of Kenabres as their new Knight-Commander- much more eager than Cleo was to actually act the part. The obstinate woman lounged at her table of maps, not even rising to her feet as she greeted Galfrey with her usual taunt.

This was a worthy gamble, the Queen reminded herself. This inexplicable hostility was a small price to pay, if her newly-appointed Knight-Commander truly had a chance at cracking Drezen.

“Indeed. This mission is a matter of great importance, Commander,” Galfrey said, happy to hear that her voice came out smooth, betraying none of her frustrations. She allowed the weight of her authority to creep in on that last word, hoping to emphasize the importance of the title. “Reclaiming Drezen would be an unimaginable boon to the Crusades…as I have told you. The people believe in you. You have ignited their courage, and their hope. It is these virtues which will bring us to victory.”

“You can ease off the speeches in here, you know. Save us both the time,” Cleo drawled, not bothering to lift her attention away from the maps spread out before her.

Galfrey scowled and moved closer, setting her hands firmly over the maps and papers covering the table. “We are all putting our trust in you. This is not something I say lightly, and I cannot leave without knowing that we have an understanding.”

For the first time, Galfrey’s words actually seemed to have an effect on Cleo; her lazy smile disappeared, and her dark eyes narrowed as she studied the Queen standing before her. She even rose from her seat so as to meet Galfrey eye-to-eye across the narrow table. She shucked off her fur cloak as she stood, revealing broad shoulders laced with scars and decorated with geometric tattoos which wound around the back of her neck.

“And where will you be,” Cleo asked, steady and sharp, “while we charge off fearlessly to victory?”

Galfrey arched an eyebrow, surprised, but it seemed an honest question. “I shall be preparing the defenses at Nerosyan and its sister cities, and planning the future of the Fifth Crusade. Does this satisfy your curiosity, Commander?”

Cleo gave an undignified snort, a look of self-satisfaction flashing across her face. “Should’ve known.”

“Do you have something to say?” Galfrey demanded harshly. Such a rebuke would have shaken any of her courtiers or generals. Even now, knowing Cleo as she did, she half-expected the other woman to step back at the sound of her cutting displeasure.

But of course the Commander did not such thing. She actually leaned closer, eyes flashing, as she hissed, “Just that what you mean to say is that you’ll be watching the battle from the rear, safe and hidden away in some cushy palace while your soldiers bloody the battlefield. Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m sure a throne room is much more amenable to your sensibilities than a war camp.”

Her sensibilities? Galfrey’s jaw clenched. This feckless stranger hadn’t the faintest idea what she was speaking of- what did she know of the battles Galfrey had seen, the blood she herself had spilled in the name of Iomedae? She knew nothing, and Galfrey owed her no explanation for any of it.

“I have already overlooked many instances of insubordination, Commander,” Galfrey said, her voice low. “Do not test me further.”

The warning was a serious one, and perhaps Cleo sensed it. She paused, her face still close, searching the Queen’s expression for- well, Galfrey still wasn’t quite sure. But at last, she let out a quiet breath and turned away.

“It’s only insubordination if you’re the one in charge,” she said, almost conversationally. “From where I sit, you’re not the one doing the leading on this particular mission. If you’ve really got the mettle, march on Drezen with us. You’ve been making all your speeches about how pivotal this mission is for your Crusade. So prove it.”

A few seconds passed in which Galfrey could not form a response. Cleo made no secret of her disdain for the Queen’s presence- why would she make this offer now? Cleo tilted her chin, boldly staring down Galfrey as she waited for an answer.

“It has been a very long time,” Galfrey said slowly, archly, with as much authority as she could muster, “since anyone has dared to speak to me in such a manner. I must ask, what is it you are hoping to accomplish?”

Cleo shrugged. “Believe it or not, I’m not actually trying to offend. I don’t know you well enough to know whether I want to offend you or not. And that’s the point. Where I’m from, we don’t give respect based on fancy titles. We respect the people who’ve earned it.” She paused, her eyes roving over Galfrey’s polished armor. “Whatever you believe about me, I do want to win this war. But I also like to know the people I’m fighting with.”

“On that, at least, we can agree.” Galfrey frowned as she found herself seriously considering the offer- no, the challenge. That was what this brash, impetuous tiefling had thrown at her feet. A challenge.

“Very well,” Galfrey said. “We march together.”

A grin crossed Cleo’s face, catching Galfrey by surprise yet again. “Looking forward to it.” She laughed, and the grin widened to show off her pointed teeth. “We’re gonna make those demons wish they never crawled out of their mothers’ hellholes.”

When Galfrey left the tent, she told herself this was a sound decision, made for sound reasons. The advance would benefit from her presence, and this way she could keep an eye on her new unpredictable Commander. All her reasons were all true, which made them all that much easier to believe.

But a small part of her whispered that the truth of it was…it had been so long since someone had truly challenged her. Maybe she just wanted to see what would come of it, and of this unprecedented Knight-Commander.

Gods above, Galfrey thought, shaking her head at herself as the thoughts rattled through her mind. What have I just unleashed upon the world?

[tabletopgayventures]

My current list of Tabletop Roleplaying Games.

13th Age

1879

A Grim Hack

Aberrant 

Absolute Power

Abyss

Accursed 

After The War

Anima Beyond Fantasy

Animal Adventures:  The Faraway Sea

Apocalypse World

Arkham Horror The Roleplaying Game Starter Set

Ars Magica 4th Edition

Arzium

Avatar Legends Starter Set

Babes in the Wood

Badger + Coyote and their Daring Adventures 2E

BattleTech:  A Time of War

Beacon Tabletop RPG

Beam Saber

Blades in the Dark

Bulldogs

Bunkers & Badasses

Cairn

Call of Cthulhu

Candela Obscura

Cantrip

Cats of Cathulhu

Chaos 6010

Champions Now

Collateral Damage

Contagion 2e

Cortex Prime Game Handbook

Cosmic Patrol

Cowboy Bebop Roleplaying Game

Coyote and Crow

Cthulhu Awakens

Cthulhutech

Cypher System 

Daisy Chainsaw

Deathmatch Island

Defiant Role Playing Game

Denial & Yearning

Dialect

Dinocar

Dinosaur Princesses

Discworld RPG

Dragon Age Roleplaying Game

Dragonbane

Dread

Dream Machines

Dresden Files Accelerated RPG

Dungeon Crawl Classics

Dungeons and Dragons 3.5

Dungeons and Dragons 5e

Durance

Dwelling

Epitaph

Epoch

Essence 20

Fabula Ultima

Fantasy Age

Fate Core System

Fever Nights Role-Playing Game

Flabbergasted

Fragged Empire

Fratboys Vs

Girl By Moonlight

Glitter Hearts

Goblin Quest

Goblin Slayer TRPG

Gods of Metal:  Ragnarock

Hannukkah Goblins

Have Axe, Will Travel

Hellfrost

Here, There, Be Monsters!

Hero Kids Fantasy RPG

Heroes Against the Darkness

Hopes and Dreams

Hounds 

I’m the Badguy?!?

In Nomine

In the Ashes

Inevitable A Doomed Arthurian Western

Ink

Interns In The Dark

Into the Dungeon

Jiangshi:  Blood in the Banquet Hall

Jordenheim

Katana-Ra

Kids on Bikes 2nd Edition

Killshot an Assassin’s Journal

Konosuba TRPG

Leverage The Quickstart Job

Lilliputian Adventure on the Open Seas

Little Fears Nightmare Edition

Lost Roads

Marvel Multiverse RPG

Mermaid Adventures

Micro rpg book

Modern Age

Monster of the Week

Moonlight On Roseville Beach

Mork Borg

Motel Spooky Nine

Musketeers vs. Cthulhu

Mutant Year Zero

My Mother’s Kitchen

Necrobiotic

Never Going Home

Night Shift:  Veterans of the Supernatural Wars

Night Wolves

Numenera

Odyssey Black Tales

OneDice Pirates & Dragons

One More Quest

Ork! The RPG

Our Woodland Gods

Outcast Silver Raiders 

Outgunned

Over the Edge

Overlight

Pasion De Las Pasiones

Pathfinder 1st Edition

Pathfinder 2nd Edition

Pathfinder Savage Worlds

Perils & Princesses

Pirate Borg

Power Rangers RPG

Prism

Psychic Trash Detectives

Punk’s Been Dead Since ‘79

Queerz!

Raccoon Sky Pirates

Raven

Rebels of the Outlaw Wastes

Reign

Rhapsody of Blood

Rivers of London

Ryuu Tama natural fantasy role play

Samurai Goths of the Apocalypse

Scum and Villainy

Shadowrun 5e

Shadows Of The Past

Shield Maidens

Shiver

Someone in this Tavern is a fucking mimic!

Spell The RPG

Squeeze

Star Trek Adventures Captain’s Log 

Star Trek Adventures The Roleplaying Game

Star Trek Adventures Second Edition

Star Wars 

Starfinder 1st Edition

Starfinder 2nd Edition

Stoneburner

Syma

Tangled

Temples and Tombs

The Bleackness

The Dark West

The Dread of Night

The Play’s the Thing

The Quiet Year

The Revenant Society

The Void

The Watch

Thirsty Sword Lesbians

This Discord has Ghosts in It

This house is Fucking Haunted

Thousand Year Old Vampire

Tomorrow City

Troika!

Unisystem

Urban Decay

Utopia

Vaesen

Vagabond

Valiant Universe

Variations On Your Body

Venture and Dungeon

Waffles For Esther

Wanderhome

Warcraft The Roleplaying Game

Werewolf the Apocalypse

What Lurks Above

What Lurks Beneath

What Lurks Beyond

World Ending Game

Yazeba’s Bed & Breakfast

Xianta Cyber Wuxia

Xoe Microplayer

Zweihander

I'll update this list as I get more. Feel free to send me ideas and also reblog this!

[boyfiejay]

Never too late.

PAIRING : Jake Sim x gn Reader

GENRE : friends to ???, open ending

Warning : jake is dumb and kinda a loser, reader gets cheated on, curse words, reader is adored by everyone

Word Count : 0.4k

Author's note : wrote this 4 days ago in physics and fell sick 😝

Jake is a normal guy, who can solve and explain physics better than his teacher. And despite his good grades, isnt considered a nerd due to his extremely active social life.

So you would think that for such a smart person, Jake should realize the difference between attraction and crush right? Yeah well so did everyone else but seems like thats not the case.

So you two weren't exactly close, but used to hangout due to mutual friends. And jake has always found you pretty, maybe never say it out loud to you but he wouldnt deny it either.

Jake was clueless as to why his friends sent him a teasing look whenever you talked to him. And why his blood boiled when you talked about a guy in your class, your friend group teasing you. Why he felt like shit when you scored a date with said guy. And when you got into a relationship with him.

The guy you were dating was good looking, tall and an athlete, all tell-tale signs of why you liked him. Jake personally never talked to him, avoiding him like a plague, he himself was confused as to why he was so hell-bent on avoiding him.

Maybe it was because he was getting some bad vibes from this guy, because lets be honest which athletic guy was actually good? (bro just ignored the fact that he also plays sports). But he pushed that thought away to not upset you, especially when you look so happy around him.

And soon enough you were crying to your friend group about how that guy had cheated on you. Sunoo is side eyeing him so hard for standing there while you cried.

Jake couldnt understand how someone could cheat on you. Well for starters, Jay was going to murder that guy and secondly you were simply too good for people around you. You were adored by everyone around you, and everyone had good things to say about you. And he's pretty sure Sunghoon had a crush on you sometime, and meeting that guys standards is no joke. ( you're perfect bby i love you >3<)

Jake never considered himself as dumb but in this moment where everyone around him was trying to make him realize his feelings, he truly looked like an idiot.

Maybe he didn't realize his feelings because he thought you were simply too good for him, and that you were out of his league. But he still was an idiot for not realizing this sooner.

But maybe, just maybe, it wasn't too late.

Maybe he still had a chance.

[typical-simplelove]

Hidden Words (R. Spiers)

Summary: Ron comes home from the war, wanting quiet and solitude, but when a friend from his childhood saves him when he needs it, a new friendship is formed. What happens when the lines are blurred and demands are made? Can Ron recognize he can have peace and quiet amidst the noise?

Author's Note: This is my Secret Santa fic for @latibvles. Thank you for bearing with me, and I'm sorry this took a moment. Between the end of the semester and the jump right into the family and holiday stuff, I've barely had time to breathe. Nonetheless, here it is, and I hope you like it!

Warnings: implied!female reader; mentions of the war (canon typical); mentions of having/wanting children in the future;

Word Count: 6.9k

Ever since he returned home, his mother continuously tried to step him up on a date. She didn’t understand that he didn’t want that; no part of him was ready to date. For starters, how could he explain the things he’d seen—done—in the war to anyone, especially someone he should be spending the rest of his life with? 

Besides, he doesn’t think it’s worth it to spend all this time working on opening himself up and getting to know someone only for the relationship not to work out. There’s no point in trying to make something work when he knows it won’t.

But his mother wants grandkids, so he can’t say that to her. 

Since he came home from the war, it’s as if the entire world is dead-set on producing the next generation. While Ron sees no flaws in that, he doesn’t want to partake. It’s not that he doesn’t want kids; it’s the process of finding someone to have children with. The time and effort weren’t worth it to him if it could fall apart—either by war or personal faults. 

But his mother wants this for him, and he can never say no to his mother. 

Presently, Ron and his family are on their way to a block party, hosted by a couple of families down the road. He remembers the names—some of the people he grew up with. 

As they get closer, he starts to feel the anxiety building up. Everywhere he goes where people remember him from his childhood, they immediately begin to thank him for his service and want him to tell his stories. While he knows they have good intentions, he’s not always in the mood to talk about his experiences overseas, and sometimes, he would prefer to pretend they never happened. 

As expected, once they arrive at the small corner of the neighborhood where the party is being hosted, he’s surrounded by people who want to hear his stories and tales. There are so many voices, making different requests, that he isn’t able to pipe in and ask to have this conversation another time. 

He looks around for his mother, but she’s nowhere to be found. First, she drags him to this gathering; then, she leaves him alone. He shakes his head, frustrated. 

“Excuse me,” a voice pipes in from being Ron. “I need to borrow him for a moment.” 

Their hand intertwines with Ron and begins to pull him towards one of the houses. The moment is so hurried that he doesn’t have a chance to look at the person who’s dragging him away—his savior. 

He’s so shocked and confused that he doesn’t register to which house they’re heading towards. He doesn’t register the familiar steps of stairs or the familiar room he’s in or the recognizable bed he’s sat on. 

“Hi,” Ron says when he finally recognizes that you’re his savior, and you brought him up to your childhood room. “Long time no see.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, there was this war in Europe; did you know about that?” 

“Vaguely,” he replies, a small smile begging to be released. He can’t remember the last time he smiled. “Thanks for saving me.” 

You nod. “You look horrified, and as much as that amuses me, I figured today wasn’t the day to be bombarded.” 

Living just down the street from each other, your family and his family often interacted. For a while, your lives orbited around each other. There was nowhere you went where Ron didn’t follow closely behind. He was your shadow, just being happy to be around you, soaking in your aura and liveliness. 

He would spend hours of his days with you, and if he wasn’t with you, he was thinking about you or talking about you to anyone who would listen. 

By the time you both reached high school, your friendship wasn’t socially acceptable anymore, so you and Ron drifted. Anyone who knew Ron before high school would say that a part of him died or drifted away when you both stopped being friends. A chunk of his soul, personality, and heart was chiseled out, waiting to be put back when you returned. 

By the time Ron went off to war, you were pretty much strangers to each other. But, even if he didn’t know it, there were still parts of him that longed for you. 

Sitting on your childhood bed, looking at you as you organize all the guests’ belongings that were scattered around your room, small parts of the missing pieces of himself started to be pieced back together. 

“Are you okay?” you ask him, a curious and amused look in your eyes.

He nods. 

Deep down, he knew he wasn’t letting the friendship go again. 

. . .

“I didn’t have the chance to make anything, so I just went to the store,” Ron apologizes as he begins to take out food containers and lays them out on the picnic blanket. 

“You were going to cook? Wait, actually, you know how to cook?” 

He gives you a faint eye roll. “Yes, I’m not entirely helpless, by the way. But also, my mom has been trying to domesticate me in the event I decide to settle down. That’s been her post-war plan for me.” 

You nod, ignoring the small pitter-patter of your heart. What would it be like to live with a domesticated Ron?

Whoa, you’re not sure where those thoughts stem from, but as he opens up the containers and begins to make you a plate of your favorites, you couldn’t help but wonder. He took the initiative in planning this. He was never late, and if he was going to be late, he made sure to communicate it. He was always conscientious about your feelings and what you wanted to do. He was just—

Were your standards that low, or was Ron just genuinely that great? 

“What was it like?”

“What was what like?” Ron inquires in between bites. 

“The war, being overseas.” 

In a matter of seconds, Ron’s entire body tenses up, and you see the muscles in his neck tighten. “I would rather not talk about that.” 

You nod. “What about the people you served with?”

“Don’t,” Ron replies, sharp and pointed. 

“I shouldn’t have asked, sorry.” You wanted to know, but you understood why he wouldn’t want to share this information with you. It wasn’t an easy experience or an easy topic to discuss. But did that give him the right to be that rude and abrasive with you?

“I shouldn’t have responded the way I did, though, and I apologize for that.” 

“It’s okay,” you reply. 

A few minutes of awkward and heavy silence follows. The only sounds are the other families laughing and talking as they take in the nice weather. Now, you feel incredibly bad for bringing it up, but a part of you feels almost rejected. He doesn’t feel comfortable enough around you to open up. 

The only way you know to end this weirdness is to talk about stories from the people around you, so you dive into the stories of people in the neighborhood and work, throwing in little quips and jokes. It takes a minute for Ron’s icy exterior to melt, but soon, he’s laughing along with your jokes and making small comments here and there. 

Despite the way he’s interacting in the conversation, you can’t help but feel that he’s holding back from you, still. It’s almost as if he doesn’t feel at ease with you right now. 

But then he flashes you one of his brightest and rarest smiles and the way his eyes sparkle as he looks at you and the sunlight shrouding him in a glow sets your entire body on fire. He was always known for being guarded, so you shouldn’t be surprised he’s holding back from the difficult conversations with you. But he doesn’t smile like that for anyone, right? So that has to mean something. 

He means something to you. 

Yeah, you’re screwed. 

. . .

All he said was to come to dinner. You didn’t know what to expect, but all he said was to come to dinner, and no, you shouldn’t bring anything, despite your insistence. Just yourself, he said. 

Just yourself. 

Those words echoed in your mind for the days and the hours that passed between him asking you to come and you arriving at his doorstep. 

Just yourself.

Just yourself. 

Just yourself. 

You’re not someone who often reads into things, especially when it comes to things with romantic feelings involved. For the sake of self-preservation, you didn’t let yourself read into things, but with Ron, you couldn’t help yourself. With every interaction you have with him, you so badly want it to be more. 

Does Ron asking you to go to his mom’s house for family dinner mean something, or are you supposed to go only as friends? 

The spiraling and spinning thoughts don’t stop as Ron welcomes you into the house, takes your jacket, and you shrug off your shoes. Did his fingers linger on your shoulders for a brief moment? Did he hug you a little longer than necessary, than normal? Did he give you a small smile, his eyes twinkling with a purpose? Did he treat everyone else this way, or were you special? 

You so badly wanted to be special. 

As the night went on and you were reintroduced to Ron’s family that you remember from when you were growing up, you pretended not to recognize the curious and interesting looks they gave you and Ron. You ignored the way their eyes drifted to where his hand was guiding you on your back or the way his hands rested on your shoulders when he was introducing you to someone. You ignored their pointed looks as he whispered in your ears every now and then or the looks he gave you. 

No one wanted to say it or ask it, fearing the glare Ron would send them. 

As much as you wanted them to ask or say something, you didn’t want to know what he would say. You didn’t want your worst fears to be confirmed. 

“No,” Ron says, interrupting your thoughts as you make your way to the dinner table, finding a seat on one end of the table, not near where Ron was sitting. He rests his hands on your waist and guides you toward the other end of the table where he’s sitting next to his mom. 

“I can sit there.” 

“No.” 

“Ron—” 

“Don’t make me carry you over there. I want to sit next to you.” 

“Okay,” you reply softly, ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart with the meaning of his words. 

As the meal progresses, you’re sitting, chatting with the people around you, and you nearly jump out of your chair when Ron’s arm goes to rest along your shoulders. No way you can’t read into that, right? Ron’s not known for being a touchy person. That’s how it was growing up, but recently, with you, you can’t help but wonder if that reputation no longer exists for him—at least not with you. He was constantly trying to have some part of his body against yours, but was that something you could read into? 

Your thoughts are interrupted when one of Ron’s aunts calls your name from somewhere across from you. “Are you single?”

You nod, taken aback. “Waiting for the right person to come along.” 

“Well, if Ron isn’t going to do anything and give you an honest life, I have a few children and nieces and nephews who can and will.” 

“Um, thank you.” You’re not sure how to respond to Ron’s aunt, but you look toward the man in question, trying to see what his reaction will be. 

He gives you a small, courteous smile, a smile he never uses with you, a smile he only reserves for those he doesn’t want to talk to. He never uses that smile on you, but tonight, he did. “You can do whatever you want with your romantic life. We’re friends, right?”

Oh. 

“Right,” you reply, turning your head away from him and back to your plate. 

There goes that. 

The way you turned away from him made Ron’s heart drop. You’ve never turned away from him like that, so dejected. The normal fire and spirit you have with Ron disappeared. He watched the sparkle in your eyes die right there in from of him. But he doesn’t know where he went wrong. You’re allowed to do whatever you want; he will never try to control you. He was just telling his nosey aunt the truth. You’re friends, and you can date whomever you want—not that any of his cousins were good enough for you. 

The rest of the night continued, but a nagging feeling pulled at his heart as a deep pit opened in his stomach, and he had no idea where it came from. All he knows is that as he watched you help his mother with the dishes, the string on his heart pulled against him, warming his body in places he never knew possible. As he watched you do puzzles with his younger cousins, he couldn’t help the warm fuzzy feeling that he felt to the tips of his fingers. 

When you hugged him goodbye, he knew he never wanted to let you go. He wanted to hold you against his body forever—keeping you safe from the world. 

Ron couldn’t explain the agony in his body as he watched you walk to your car and drive away. 

Maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with you. He wouldn’t mind making his life for you. 

Well, what does that mean? 

. . . 

Ron’s mother was at her reading club for the night, so Ron invited you over for dinner. He promised a “home-cooked meal, don’t give me that face,” and it excited you. Despite your realized feelings for the man, you can’t help but want to spend your time with him. You know that nothing will ever come of your feelings for Ron, but you can’t stay away from your friend. The happiness it brings you is indescribable. 

But you have an exit plan when you feel yourself getting too much in your head (and delusional) around Ron. 

Setting boundaries, you promised yourself. That was the only way you’d be able to spend time around him and not go crazy, breaking your heart. 

As Ron welcomes you into his mother’s home, the smells from the kitchen hit your nose, and you’re instantly warm and fuzzy as if you’ve been wrapped in a warm blanket. Once your coat and shoes are off, Ron takes your hand and guides you toward the kitchen, giving you a soft smile as he watches you walk through his childhood home. 

You’ve been down this hallway, seeing all the pictures of little Ron, many, many times, but there’s something different about it now for Ron. There’s a new meaning and feeling to it for him. 

But he just chalks it up to being happy that it’s finally peacetime. That he can enjoy moments like these without the fear of being bombed or killed. The people and things most important to him are safe. 

“Penne-vodka,” Ron answers when you inquire about what you’re making. 

Your favorite, you think to yourself, trying to hide the toothy smile begging to be released. 

“Your favorite, right?” he asks, a small twinkle in the corner of his eyes. You give him a small nod, and Ron can’t help the triumphant, happy feeling deep in his chest. 

Ron turns back to the stove, stirring the pot, and you take the time to watch him cook. He’s different than high school, and as your eyes roam over his body, you’re appreciative of the changes his body has undertaken since graduating. The very good changes. 

“Have you talked to anyone from our graduating class since being back?” you ask after a few minutes of silence. 

“Not really,” he replies, short and to the point. “It’s not something I’m too keen on.” 

“Why’s that?” you question in between bites of bread.

He shrugs, ending the conversation there. 

Right, that’s Ron’s new thing. If he doesn’t want to talk about something, he’ll shut down. These conversations only happen on his time—which means never. While you understand that some topics may be too difficult for him to talk about, you wish it wasn’t so hard to talk with him. Often, you were the one who was starting the conversation, pretty much begging for Ron to say something. You knew he was engaged in the conversation because he maintained constant eye contact, laughed at your jokes, smiled at the appropriate times, and nodded when needed. But it felt like you were the only one who made an effort to talk. Sure, Ron was a quiet person, but there’s a difference between being a quiet person and letting the conversation be one-sided. 

Besides, it was you. If Ron couldn’t talk to you, then he couldn’t talk to anyone. Or was it that he wouldn’t talk? 

Why did it hurt you that Ron kept his words hidden and tucked away from you? You were supposed to be one of the people he trusted the most, so why couldn’t he untuck those words with you? 

As you help Ron set the table to eat, you recall the time a few weeks back when you went to Ron’s for a family dinner. You remember that he didn’t say anything really to his relatives. While that made you feel slightly better, it didn’t fully appease your feelings. At least you knew that it wasn’t just you that he held back with, but then again, it was you, and there was no change.  

As the meal continues, you put your confusion and doubts to the side. It didn’t matter his lack of talking or conversation because the safety, comfort, and warmth you felt around Ron significantly outweighed the talking issue. Even if you only got friendship out of him, you knew that you couldn’t go the rest of your life without the way he made you feel. 

He made you feel safe and loved (even if platonically), and that by far was one of the most important things to you about finding a partner—romantically or platonically. 

The rest of the night passed in quiet moments and short conversations, but it was never awkward. That’s how Ron was. There was no need to compensate for the lack of conversation because the quiet wasn’t awkward. It was secure and calm. It was the kind of quiet that came from years and years of learning and growing around the person you loved. 

Well, shit, you chose to ignore that. 

When it was about time for you to head home, you began to voice a goodbye, and Ron led you towards the front door where he helped you put on your coat. 

“Wait, hold on,” Ron says as you’re putting on your shoes. “I have something for you.” 

He quickly makes his back to the kitchen and comes back with a tray of food. You already had a large container filled with leftover Penne vodka, so you’re confused about what he was now handing you. 

“I made you mac and cheese,” he tells you softly, the cheeks and the tips of his ears tinged red. “You can either put it all in the oven at once, or heat up chunks separately. I don’t know why I told you that because I’m sure you know how to cook for yourself. Anyway, I’ll help you take it out to your car.” 

You can’t help the silly smile that takes over your face. You try to fight it, but the smile is there if Ron’s reddening face is any indication. You’ve wanted this boy to talk to you, and by the time you finally get him to say more than two sentences to you, he’s a stern, babbling, blushing mess. It was cute.

“Thank you, Ron,” you tell him, the smile heard in your voice. He nods and makes his way to put on his shoes and walk you to your car. 

With the food and leftovers securely placed in your backseat, you and Ron linger at the driver’s side door. You’re leaning against the car as Ron stands close to you, towering over both you and the car. His eyes are searching your face for any indication of what to do next. 

“Thank you for having me and cooking for me,” you finally say. You didn’t want to leave, but it was getting late, and his mother will be home soon. 

“You’re always welcome here,” he tells you, his eyes sincere and honest. You nod. Without thinking, you lean forward and briefly kiss Ron on his cheek, your lips burning when you pull away, but it’s not any comparison to the way his cheek burns around where you kissed him. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way Ron’s hand stiffens into a fist as he processes what just happened. His breath is shaky and fast as you pull back, and his eyes are in a daze. 

This time, you’re able to hide your smile as Ron’s face turns crimson red. 

“I’ll see you soon,” you tell him, unlocking your car and getting ready to leave. “Good night.” 

Ron stands there in a daze as you drive away, too confused to move. He’s standing there, unsure of what just happened and why his body reacts the way it did. 

When his mother returns home almost twenty minutes later, Ron is still standing there. 

“Is everything okay?” she asks as she walks over to Ron. That seems to mostly pull him out of his daze. 

“She kissed me,” is all he says, and his mother smiles. 

“You’re a lucky guy.”

He nods. “Very lucky.” 

If only he could control his body temperature and heartbeat then maybe he’d be able to figure out what just happened. 

. . . 

“Do you remember Arden from middle school?” you prompt, your heart tugging at the meaning of your words. 

Ron thinks for a moment, his thumb drawing circles around your ankle. You’re sitting on the couch in the living room of his mother’s home. She’s out, so you feel comfortable resting against one of the armrests, your feet in Ron’s lap. You’re reading a book. The minute your legs rested in Ron’s lap, he placed his arms on your ankles, tracing small patterns, leaving trails of fire in his fingertips’ wake. 

“Yes,” Ron voices, his tone neutral. He doesn’t know where this is going, but if it’s going where he thinks it’s going, he’s not going to appreciate it. 

“They asked me out,” you say after a few moments. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Ron asks, terser than you expected. You’re taken aback by his response. 

“Because you’re my friend—one of my best friends—and we tell each other things,” you reply. “Well, at least I tell you things.” 

“What does that mean?” Ron asks, him now taken aback. 

“It means you don’t tell me anything. I know nothing about your life since we finished high school, and what I do know, your parents have told me. It’s not fair for me to be the only one to share things! I don’t exist as a form of entertainment for you.” 

“That’s not fair.” 

You know it’s not entirely fair. 

“I don’t have to share what the war was like for me,” Ron spits back. But that’s not what you’re referencing, and deep down, you know that he knows that, too. 

“It’s not just that,” you reply. “I’m not talking about that. You’re not required to tell me anything about your time in the war, and that’s not what I’m asking for. There’s so much more to your life that you choose not to tell me about. It’s not fair or right that I’m an open book, and you take it all in, not giving anything back in return.” 

“Don’t do that.” 

“You know everything about me, and I know pretty much nothing about you, and I’m tired of that.” A deep sigh leaves your mouth. “You don’t need to tell me everything, but I shouldn’t be disappointed in the lack of open communication between us. It’s as if you don’t trust me.”

“How can you say that? I trust you more than anyone else in this world!” Ron hears the rise in the volume of his voice. He leans back on the couch, trying to stop himself from yelling because you’re right. He doesn’t share much with you. As much as he wants to share with you, he can never get himself to say anything, and it’s not just about the war. He’s holding back; he knows he is. 

“I’m going to leave.” 

“No, please, don’t,” Ron pleads. Despite this, he releases his hold on your ankles. He won’t hold you back despite how badly he wants to. 

“You have no idea how much you mean to me, Ron.” It’s a thinly veiled confession of love, and you know Ron picks up on it, but you know he won’t say anything or give you a response.

“What makes you think I want that?” So, he was going to address it, but it still got you fuming. 

“I don’t! That’s the whole point! You don’t talk to me, so I have no idea what’s going on in your mind! I don’t want to waste my time, but I don’t want to spend my time with anyone else but you!”

You’re staring at him, begging for him to say something, anything. If he told you it was all in your head, you’d believe him. All he needed to say was anything, but you know he won’t. That’s not the kind of person Ron is. He has his walls up; he always has. The war only reinforced them, and while you can’t blame him for keeping things to himself, you can’t help but feel that your worth in his eyes diminished because of his lack of want to share. It’s almost as if you don’t mean as much to him as he means to you. It’s as if you’re more invested than he is in this relationship—platonic or romantic. 

It’s not fair to think those thoughts, but he’s not saying anything to you. He’s not making you feel any better. If he really cared for you in any way, he would say something, right? Ron’s perceptive. He very likely has a clue to what you’re feeling, but you also know he won’t say anything. He stays away from uncomfortable conversations because he isn’t comfortable having them. 

“I’m going to leave, now,” you finally decide. “It’s not fair for me to keep hanging around when I clearly don’t mean that much to you.” 

“You’re wrong,” Ron spills, reaching out to gently grab your hand. You know that he could have held you tighter, but he didn’t. That makes your heart melt, despite the conclusions you’re gathering tonight. He’s giving you the ability to walk away. 

“Tell me why.” You’re looking deep into his eyes, and you want to read into all the looks he’s giving you, but you won’t. Not anymore. 

A few minutes pass where you’re looking at him, silently begging him to say something. 

“I’m leaving now. Please don’t contact me unless you genuinely understand where I’m coming from or why I’m doing this.” With that, you shake your hand out of Ron’s hold, walking away from him, your heart breaking with every step you take. 

As he watches you walk out the door, fuming in anger, confusion, and frustration, Ron can’t help but wonder if he let the best love of his life walk away forever. 

. . . 

A few days pass, and Ron feels a deep aching in his soul. He watches the phone for hours, begging and hoping you’ll call. He knows you won’t call. He knows the cards are in his hands. That doesn’t mean he knows what to do. 

Well, he knows what to do, but he doesn’t know if he’s capable of carrying it out. 

Ron doesn’t know where to start. 

There’s so much of what you said that’s bothering him, but he can’t tell why it’s bothering him. Maybe it’s because of the way your words pierced a hole through his heart, but then again, there are so many other feelings and things that only came out in his heart, mind, stomach, and body whenever you were around. Are those things connected? 

The first thing that made his blood boil and had Ron seeing red was the idea of you going on a date with someone. In theory, the person who asked you out (they who shall not be named) isn’t objectively a bad person, but Ron just doesn’t want you with them. Why would you spend your time with they who shall not be named when you can spend your time with Ron? He doesn’t understand why he’s feeling this angry about you spending your time with someone else. 

It’s a date, Ron tries to reason with himself. I can’t give that to her.

But could he? 

Those thoughts ran through his mind one night at 2 am when Ron couldn’t fall asleep. Could he give you all of your wants and desires romantically? Could he find it in himself to give you a life with more than just friendship? Objectively, Ron knows that out of all the people in the world, you’re the best option to build a life with, and you’re the only person Ron knows he can handle. But that’s not fair to you, to be the last resort (or is it the best resort? Ron hasn’t gotten there, yet.) or someone to “handle.”

The thought of spending the rest of his life with you freaks him, but it also comforts him. Who knew someone could feel both at the same time? Is this what it means to love someone? 

Once he has that singular thought, your other comments spring up in his mind, pushing away any thoughts of love. 

It’s not fair or right that I’m an open book, and you take it all in, not giving anything back in return. 

The war broke Ron. He was already broken, but the war broke him in ways that he never knew he could break. He’s so broken that he couldn’t imagine subjecting you to that. But that’s my decision to make, Ron, he could hear you saying if he voiced those words to you. And imaginary-you is right. It’s intimately clear that you know what you’d be getting when it comes to Ron, and it would be your choice to choose to make a life with him, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. He knows he can prevent that pain if he keeps you at arm’s length. 

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Ron doesn’t want that. He wants you as close to him as molecularly possible. He wants to stay away, but he can’t. That’s the effect you have on him. 

He thinks he has it all figured out, and then he remembers the pain in your eyes as you walked away, and when you said,

It’s not fair for me to keep hanging around when I clearly don’t mean that much to you.

He’s already hurt you. By not having the capacity or the ability to tell you just how much you mean to him, he hurt you. You think you mean nothing to him when the truth is the exact opposite. You are his entire world, the reason his heart keeps beating, and the reason he takes a breath. But it’s gone. 

He’s never going to be able to tell you how much you mean to him. He’s never going to tell you how much he loves you.

That thought scares him but also excites him. He’s always been so afraid to think that of himself, but when it’s connected to you, it’s okay. He loves you and knows he’s not good at loving, but somehow, loving you is much better than anything else. He knows that because it’s you, he’ll find a way to fix his shit and be the best possible person for you. But he knows that you won’t let him go and you won’t let him fall. Loving you is the best thing he can do because he found someone who will hold on with their entire being, and Ron knows that he’ll hold onto you with his entire being. 

Loving you means that he takes those scary steps in opening up and being vulnerable. For so long, it was ingrained in Ron’s mind and survival that he couldn’t be vulnerable. Now, he’s learned that in some instances, it’s important not to be vulnerable, and in other circumstances, it’s okay to be vulnerable and open. Being vulnerable is okay because there’s someone there who will take your vulnerability and build a wall around you to the point that you’re safe and comfortable. 

And Ron knows that person is you. 

You’ll take his fragility, emotions, and vulnerability and make it your own. You’ll protect him and love him, and you won’t hurt him because he chose to be fully himself around you. 

Because that’s what love does. 

Love cures. Love protects. Love endures. But most importantly, love loves. 

Ron loves you. 

He loves you. 

He loves you so wholly that he wants to spill his entire world right at your feet. He wants to lay everything at your feet, but he knows it will take time and patience. He knows that you’re that person who will let him get there, and he knows that he’ll love you for it and make it worth your while to give him the time and the way to be vulnerable. 

For a moment, Ron’s scared that maybe he lost his chance with you, but then he remembers something you said that struck him deep in his heart, not knowing the effect it had: 

I don’t want to waste my time, but I don’t want to spend my time with anyone else but you!

He knows it’s not guaranteed that you’ll let him back in your life, but he knows he has a small chance. He knows he has a small chance to tell you how much he loves you and to show you that he’s worth it. He’s worth taking a risk for because you’re worth taking a risk for. 

You’re worth everything to Ron, and it’s about time he finds the words to tell you. 

Maybe all he needs to start with is three little words.

. . . 

“You’re right,” Ron blurts out, barely letting you open your door. 

“I mean, yeah, but why do you say that?” you say, a small smile on your face despite the conversation you both had a few nights ago.

“That it’s not fair of you to be the only one to share things. I’m not ready to tell you everything, and I don’t know if I ever will be able to tell you some parts of what happened to me, but I want to try. But you’re right, there’s so much more to that than just the war, and it’s not fair of me to have made you feel lesser because I’m not emotionally capable of telling you things or being the person you needed me to be. ”

“Ron—” 

This was everything you wanted him to say to you, but does it change anything?  

He shakes his head. “If I want to be with you and make a life with you, I shouldn’t be a ghost to you. I shouldn’t be someone you know nothing about.” 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable with,” you attempt to reassure. “That wasn’t the point.” And that was the truth. 

Ron nods, and a small smile tugs at his lips. If only he knew the things he could make you do with just that small smile. “I’ve always been afraid of people knowing too much about me, but I guess the part of falling in love is learning to trust the most important person in your life, and I trust you. I trust you. I want to tell you all the words that are building up in my mind because you’re the only person I want to share them with. I have so many words built up in my mind that it feels like my body will explode. I never wanted to try with anyone else, but you make me want to do better and be better. Even if this goodbye, I’m still going to make an effort for all the people that matter in my life.” 

“If it feels like your body is going to explode, maybe you should go to the doctor. That can’t be a good sign.” 

A chuckle of disbelief leaves Ron’s mouth as he shakes his head. 

“What?” you question. No response follows. Ron gently grabs your upper arm and pushes you into your home as he lets himself inside. Gently and with reluctance, he lets go of your arms and shoves off his shoes. 

“I tell you I’m in love with you and I trust you, and the only thing you got from that was maybe I should go to the doctor?” 

“Oh, oops.” 

“Yeah, oops,” Ron mocks, one of the widest smiles you’ve ever seen stripes his face. “I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, and you never were going to lose me.” 

He shakes his head. “You really know how to make a man’s heart weaken and emasculate him. But I guess I deserve this bit of agony and anguish.”

“I’m not doing anything!” 

“I’m telling you I love you, and you keeping skipping over that part.” 

“Because you keep saying things that warrant my more imminent response!” you defend.

“You’re doing it again,” Ron points, stepping towards you. 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“I’m going to try something,” Ron teases. He’s never teased you before. That was new; it was a new tone to his voice that you wouldn’t mind hearing for the rest of your life. 

“What’s that?” your voice shaky. You can’t tell if he can hear you over the rattling of your heart, but by the twinkling in his eyes, you know that he’s in complete control, hoping to elicit a response from you. 

“I love you.” 

It takes a few seconds for you to register what he’s saying. A few blinks help your visual field clear up. Those three little words wipe the air out of your lungs. The ringing in your ears matches the beat of your heart as you process those three little words. For so long, you’ve been waiting for Ron to utter those three words. You didn’t want to be the first one to say those words. He’s so incredibly guarded that you weren’t sure if you were making up how you felt or how he felt, but now you know. You’ve been waiting so long to hear him finally tell you those three little words, and you have no idea what to do next. 

“Hey,” Ron whispers, gently lifting your chin to match his eyeline, taking you out of your thoughts. “What’s going on in your mind? Did I say the wrong thing?”

“What—what did you say?” Your breath is shaky, words finally leaving your lips. 

“Do you promise that if I say it again, you promise not to silently spiral?”

“No.” 

Ron chuckles. “Fair enough.”

A few seconds pass. You’re looking deep into his eyes. You want to say it to him, but you’re unsure if you dreamed it. But also, the way he said those words, his voice deep and husky did so many things to your body that you needed to hear it again. 

“I love you.” A small, nervous smile tugs at his lips as he looks at you expectantly. It takes you a few seconds to get your bearings straight, but when you do, a wide smile overcomes your face, and instantly, Ron knows you’re on the same page as him. In a matter of milliseconds, Ron pulls you against his chest, nuzzling his face against your neck, taking in deep breaths, laced with your calming scent. He’s whispering small “I love you”s into your neck as your arms find their way around his shoulders, your fingers creeping into his hair. 

Despite wanting to be in his embrace for the rest of your life, you pull back slightly, your nose resting against his. “I love you,’ you whisper, wanting so badly to close the gap between your lips and kiss him. 

“You have no idea how much I love you,” Ron replies, his lips brushing against yours. It doesn’t take much for you both to lean in, closing the gap, resting your lips on each other’s. It’s a soft kiss, hesitant and scary. There are still things that need to be sorted out, but right now, things are alright. Things are okay. The basis and the foundation are there. 

You love each other. Without that, nothing else matters. With that, you and Ron can build and develop things from there. With love, all the hidden words will no longer be tucked away, slowly finding their way to the surface. 

The future is uncertain, and there’s no telling if this will work out. But because you and Ron love each other, everything and anything is possible. With love, the future is endless. 

Fin.

Likes are appreciated; reblogs are better

[stilesgrace159]

Steddie Fairy Tale AU Open Starter - Looking for a Steve - Discord: Olliegee21

Once upon a time...

There was a beautiful fairy tale land where all the creatures lived together in peace and harmony. Well, most of them. All the ones born heroes anyways. Born into wealth and royalty, trained to be strong and proper, given everything on a silver platter. It was the perfect life. They were born to serve their duty and live happily ever after.

That was the case for some, but for others, they were not so lucky. Born in slums or swamps or bogs, living in cellars and the rubble of old castles, forced to fight their way to the top, outcasts from society, unloved. That was the case for Eddie Munson. He was abandoned as a child and grew up alone in the haunted forest. Well, not entirely alone. The creatures of the forest raised the poor boy as their own and one day became their sell proclaimed king. The haunted forest was his kingdom now. He had priced magic and potions while living there as a child and his powers only grew as he did. Vengeance can do that to a person. Soon, word spread about his evilness and he gained loyalties with others like himself. The enemy of my enemy is a friend after all.

The king was dressed in darkened clothes to match his darkened soul along with a crown grown from thorny vines from the sentient trees of the forest.

Now that Eddie had grown up, he was finally ready to seek revenge and claim all the kingdoms for himself. He wanted to bring everyone to their knees and rule evil all across the land. And the next closest good kingdom to him was Hawks End.