#but it's *really* hard when *so* many people really don't act thoughtfully

[ix-c-999]

I wish media were for everybody. It would be nice if stories were capable of being understood by and shared with everybody. Unfortunately, some people have utterly terrible reading/viewing/listening comprehension, and I have absolutely no idea how they can fix that, but until they can fix it, they probably shouldn't be engaging with fiction.

[ckret2]

Chapter 54 of everybody being really eager to kill their prisoner human Bill Cipher for good: the gang's trying a new way to create fuel for the one weapon guaranteed to destroy Bill.

It goes so great.

As Ford drove to Northwest Manor, Dipper skimmed through the introduction to Flatworld, where Edward Bishop Bishop was pretending that his book had been dictated to him by a sentient square; but he couldn't focus on it. He sighed, shut the book, and stared out the passenger window at the passing trees.

"Something on your mind?" Ford asked.

"I'm thinking about the Axolotl's poem again. The one about Bill."

"Ah. Still trying to remember the rest?"

"Kinda. Mabel and I are working on it together," Dipper said. "But it's not that. I've just been wondering... what if the poem is... you know, part of a prophecy about Bill or something? Mabel remembered another line of the poem—'A different form, a different time.' What if the Axolotl was telling us why Bill's back as a human? Maybe we need him here—to, to use his powers to fight off a bigger threat or something. Do you think that's possible?" He held back another question: what happens if we kill him before then?

Ford frowned thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about the Axolotl as well," he said. "About the worlds I visited that called it a god of criminals, tyrants, and luck. That sounds to me like the exact kind of being that would be Bill's ally. And it's odd how resistant Bill was to telling us anything about the Axolotl, when it simply passed over town for a few seconds and then moved on. Why the secrecy? How does Bill think it benefits him for us not to know about it?" Ford shook his head. "I think you're on to something, Dipper—I think whatever the Axolotl told you is important. The question is: important for whom?"

Dipper's stomach turned. The Axolotl had radiated such kindness; it was hard for Dipper to believe it could be up to anything evil with Bill. But then—Dipper clutched at Flatworld with the damning biography on the back—but then, how many people had Bill himself fooled with the benevolent teacher act?

Dipper understood now why "Don't Trust Bill" had so quickly turned into "Trust No One." Even when you knew that there was only one real enemy—even when you knew that most people out there were still reasonably honest and friendly—you could never tell just how far Bill's shadow stretched. "I guess that's true. We can't really know."

"We can't know yet. But it is worth trying to figure out," Ford said. "I wish I could tell you where to start looking for answers. For now... we'll just have to consider anything possible."

Ford was right. But all the same, every time Dipper paranoidly asked himself What if Grunkle Ford is right, what if the Axolotl really is on Bill's side, a second, even more paranoid, even more worried voice asked, But what if he isn't?

####

When they arrived, Fiddleford was already in his lab, hard at work on the miniature particle accelerator they'd come to see him about.

"The paradox what was powering it started yowling" Fiddleford said. "So obviously it ain't a paradox no more."

Ford grimaced. "That does lay to rest whether the cat is alive or dead."

"Sure does," Fiddleford said, sighing. "So I let the cat outside and I'm rebuilding the whole contraption to run on a more robust paradox. I hope you've got better news for me, Stanford."

"We hope so too. I think Dipper might have the solution to our fuel generation problem."

They briefly explained Dipper's unfortunate puppet incident last summer—Fiddleford had to take a break in the middle to grab a cup of coffee, "To steady my nerves,"—its ongoing effects on his sleep, and the new developments of the last few days, culminating in Dipper learning how to project his soul out of his body—

—which, Ford now realized, he probably should have expected Fiddleford to take poorly.

"Sweet sasparilla!" Fiddleford kicked over his chair while jumping onto the nearest table. "You're dead?!"

"What?" Dipper said. "No, I—"

"You're like a ghost possessing a zombie!"

Dipper thought that over. "Whoa..."

But, even though Fiddleford thought the whole affair went against the rightful order of the world, he agreed that it was a sound idea and worth trying. "It's lucky that my tater tot and I hunted out all the ghosts in this place during our spring cleaning," he said, opening a cabinet. He retrieved what looked like a pair of vacuums redesigned to be worn like backpacks with an assortment of random electronics dangling from wires. He held up a set of goggles and headphones hanging off one of the vacuums. "I invented these doohickeys that'll let you see and hear ghosts! They'll let us keep in contact with Dipper while he's out of his body." He set the vacuums on a table near the miniature particle accelerator and said, "First, though—Stanford, I need you to help me rebuild this machine."

"Of course." Ford turned away from the vacuum he'd been inspecting to look at the miniature particle accelerator.

Dipper said, "Wait, there are other ghosts in this mansion?"

"Yep!"

"I hunted one at the Northwests' big party last year," Dipper said. "How many more ghosts are in here?"

"We've caught, oh... thirty or forty so far."

"Seriously? That's amazing." Dipper was already thinking about the amazing Ghost Harassers episode this place could have been. Maybe even a miniseries.

"Aw, it weren't that hard. If you leave the TV on, they like to flock around it to watch. All you've gotta do is hide in the corner until a whole big bunch of 'em are gathered 'round—and then ya get them!"

"Oh," Dipper said. "Huh. I just tricked one into getting trapped in a silver mirror."

"Well, that's right impressive too. I never woulda thunk of that," Fiddleford said. "Me and Tate have been sucking them into cooling pouches in these here vacuums and then sticking the pouches in a chest freezer down in the dungeon! Maybe I oughta line the freezer with silver."

"This place has a dungeon?" Dipper asked.

Before Fiddleford could respond, Ford asked, "Which parts are we replacing?" He was inspecting the miniature particle accelerator.

"All of them!"

Ford gave Fiddleford a surprised look. "All of them?"

"Yep! Every last one!"

"Is the design changing that much?"

"Nope! It's staying exactly the same!"

"Then... why can't we just use the same machine we already have?"

"We will be using the same machine!" Fiddleford smiled mischievously. "Or will we?"

"Ah! I see! The particle accelerator of Theseus," Ford said. "Very clever."

"And kinder on the local stray cats, I reckon."

Dipper offered his assistance, but the work involved too much welding and buzzsawing for him to try untrained, so he was directed to sit a safe distance away with the first aid kit. At least it gave him a chance to read some more. He had to shove aside a couple flashlights and the glue grenade to reach where the slim book had slid to the bottom of his backpack during their walk from the car.

He skimmed over some of the worldbuilding looking for the story before he realized the story was the wordbuilding and looped back. It was a lot bleaker than he expected, even after Mabel's warning. Rigid class system, oppressive government, all kinds of horrifying shape prejudices... Frustrating dream visits to the ignorant line people in the first dimension who didn't believe in the second dimension, and to the self-absorbed King Zero in the point-sized zeroth dimension who thought a whole universe was contained inside him... A just as frustrating visit from a sphere who simply couldn't explain the third dimension in a way the square protagonist could understand, which was even more annoying since the square had just seen how the first dimension couldn't comprehend the second for the same reasons, so why couldn't he accept the possibility of a third dimension he couldn't imagine? Dipper got that it was supposed to be a metaphor to help three-dimensional readers understand that not being able to visualize a fourth dimension didn't mean it was impossible; but still. Come on, man. Don't be stupid.

On the other hand, at least now Dipper had a framework to understand the concept of higher dimensions and probably a leg up on next year's geometry. Would high school geometry cover four-dimensional space?

After a couple of hours of work and a break for lunch, the miniature particle accelerator was rebuilt and ready for another attempt to generate fuel. Fiddleford pulled on one of his ghost vacuums like a backpack, put on the set of connected headphones and goggles, and settled his glasses on over the goggles. "Y'all ready?"

"Ready," Ford said. He was seated at the accelerator's monitors, holding the jug that would contain any NowUSeeitNowUDontium they generated, and wearing the other vacuum—with the goggles over his glasses, and he was a bit worried about how Fiddleford had positioned his.

"Ready," Dipper said, a tad less certainly. What if he couldn't do it today? What if he'd never actually been able to do it last night and the whole thing really had been a dream?

But Fiddleford flipped the accelerator's power on, stepped back, and said, "All right! Do your thing!"

"Okay." Dipper stared straight at the machine, and—eugh—thought about degloving his body from his soul, peeling out of his skin fingers first.

This was only the second time he'd left his body deliberately. He'd observed in the past that the mindscape was strangely gray and still compared to the real world—but he'd never realized just how stark and swift the change was, like all the color and warmth had been abruptly sucked from reality. He shivered.

Ford inhaled sharply. Fiddleford stumbled back against the nearest table and yelped, "Flipping flapjacks!"

"You can both still see me?" Dipper said. "Can you hear me, too?"

"Loud and clear," Ford said.

"Like the voices of the dead." Fiddleford shuddered. "Welp, let's get this over with. I don't like all this ghost business. It ain't natural."

Ford gave him an amused look. "Since when have you ever been concerned about what's 'natural'? Didn't the engineering club vote you 'most likely to build a robot that flies in the face of God'?"

"You hush! There's nothing unnatural about iron, electromagnetism, and flamethrowers."

Dipper studied his body's face, its eyes pointed blankly toward the particle accelerator. "Well, I'm looking at the experiment, but I'm definitely not thinking about it. I think that's half of the paradox?"

"That's right," Fiddleford said. "Now, you just—float yerself on over to the other side of the accelerator, and think about it without looking at it."

"Right." Dipper positioned himself directly across the accelerator from his body, shut his eyes, and tried to think experimental thoughts. He didn't know much about Dontium besides what Ford had written about it in Journal 3—that it was inert when you were looking at it and radioactive when you weren't—so, if the miniature particle accelerator generated any, would he get blasted with radiation? Or was his body staring at the accelerator enough to keep it inert? But no—it was supposed to fill up the jug Ford was holding, right? Ford was observing it. Dipper tried to imagine what must be happening inside the accelerator; how did it work, would particles spontaneously generate in the tubes? Maybe they circled around until they fell into the hose to the jug...

He heard Ford gasp. "Fiddleford, look at this— Don't listen to me Dipper, just keep—keep thinking whatever you were thinking!"

"Is it working?"

"It was! Don't let us distract you."

Dipper tried to ignore the sound of Fiddleford running over to Ford, and started humming to drown out their hushed conversation. That was good, right? It meant the experiment was working. Keep thinking about that—experiment. Experiment. Expeeeriment. ... He wondered if trying to do the experiment by putting himself and Tyrone on either side of the accelerator would have worked, or if it had to be Dipper's soul and his body—

"Hot diggety!" Fiddleford shouted. "We've reached critical mass!"

"What does that mean, is it bad?" Dipper opened one eye a crack, trying to squint enough that he couldn't see the particle accelerator. "Is it gonna explode?"

Ford explained, "It means we've generated enough Dontium that it can sustain its own existence. Now, even if you get distracted, what we've already generated will remain. It can only go up from here."

"Wow," Dipper said. "That only took, what, a couple of minutes?"

"Less than that! During our last attempt, we tried for hours without reaching critical mass," Ford said. "Your idea was right on the money. Excellent work, Dipper."

Dipper grinned. After all that anxiety, it was almost a letdown how easy it was, but the coolness factor made up for it. He could just imagine the conversations the first week of high school: What did I do over summer break? Oh, nothing much. Just synthesized a new element. To fuel a weapon custom-designed to kill an immortal chaos god. And did I mention I was a ghost at the time? It didn't quite top last summer's adventures, but...

Then something went wrong.

There was a noise halfway between the electric buzz of a tesla coil and the rip of Velcro being torn apart. A stench like burning hair filled the air. A line of shifting colorful light began worming its way out of the center of the particle accelerator and up into the air.

"Oh no. Ohhh no!" Fiddleford grabbed his head. "The micro-rips! The threadbare fabric of reality! Our experiment put too much of a strain on it! We tore straight through!" One foot bounced agitatedly, "Ohhh, I knew I shoulda run some calculations before substituting in Dipper for you and Stanley."

Dipper gasped as the line of light began to agonizingly stretch open wider. Reality began seeping over its edges and dripping through into the kaleidoscopic miasma beyond. It developed a second horizontal rip across its middle as reality stretched beyond endurance in multiple directions. "What—is that?" He was afraid he knew.

"A dimensional rift," Fiddleford said.

"The Nightmare Realm," said Ford.

The last frayed thread holding reality together snapped apart, and the rift tore open wide, fully exposing the Earth to the roaring roiling chaos beyond. 

They screamed.

"Hello?" A giant set of dentures with stubby arms and legs leaned through the rift. "Oh hey! Aren't you the guys that killed Bill?"

They screamed again.

"Is screaming how humans say hi?" the monster asked. "I'm Teeth. Aaah!" He turned toward Ford. "Hey! Fingers! Lookin' less electrocuted than the last time I saw you—"

Ford socked Teeth in the incisor, knocking him back through the rift. "Back, you! You and your 'friends' are not welcome in this dimension!"

"Ow. What the heck, man."

Fiddleford shouted, "Don't stop observing the Dontium!" He bounded across the room on all four to scoop up the milk jug and stare at it. 

Ford nearly toppled through the rift, and had to grab onto the miniature particle accelerator as the heaviest nearby object to anchor himself. The rift sucked on reality like a vacuum, and the longer it was open the more powerful it grew.

Over the roar of the rift, Dipper yelled "What do we do?!"

"We have to seal it! Before it sucks all of Gravity Falls into the Nightmare Realm!"

"How?!"

Last summer, the instant Bill had no longer been around to maintain the dimensional rift, it had also sucked reality into it, starting with everything that properly belonged in the Nightmare Realm; but then it had also quickly sealed itself back shut. On the other hand, this rift was just opening wider and wider. Maybe it wasn't like the rift Bill had used to enter Gravity Falls, then? Maybe it was structured more like the wormholes that had been left behind after Weirdmageddon—

"I've got it!" Ford picked up Dipper's body—trying not to shudder at how lifeless it felt—and unzipped his backpack. "Is the alien adhesive grenade still in here?"

"It should be! Let me see." Dipper floated over to peer into his backpack.

The rift was already strong enough to drag at Ford's clothing. The lightest objects in the room lifted into the air and were sucked through. Papers. Pencils. Coffee mugs. Dipper's soul.

He screamed. "GRUNKLE FORD!"

"Dipper!" Ford grabbed for Dipper's ankle, but his hand passed right through. Ford's blood ran cold as Dipper tumbled head over heels into the Nightmare Realm.

"Look at that," Teeth said, watching Dipper soar by. "Dinner delivery."

There was no difference between the mindscape and reality in the Nightmare Realm, if Ford followed Dipper  through he'd be able to get a grip on Dipper there. But how would he carry Dipper back to Earth without him melting through Ford's grasp the moment they were through the rift? Didn't matter, grab Dipper first, then figure it out—

Fiddleford shoved the jug of Dontium in Ford's hands as he ran past. "Watch over this!"

"What—!"

Fiddleford jumped into the Nightmare Realm, the end of a long extension cord tied around his waist. He stretched out the hose of his ghost vacuum and flipped a switch, and with a yelp Dipper's soul was sucked inside. Ford gasped in relief.

Trying to keep as much of his attention on the potentially-radioactive jug as possible, Ford reeled Fiddleford back in, shoved the jug in his hands, and dug into Dipper's backpack again until he found the alien adhesive grenade. He pulled the pin and chucked it through the rift. "Duck!"

He shielded Dipper's body and Fiddleford shielded the Dontium jug as the grenade exploded. Even so, the force of it blew aside everything within ten feet of the rift and sent both of them sprawling. When Ford glanced back over his shoulder, the adhesive had gummed up the opening of the rift like a popped glowing magenta bubblegum bubble; and as he watched, it sucked the opening shut. In a few seconds the air was still and quiet, and the only sign the rift had ever existed was an immense, jagged vertical line in the air around which the light refracted wrong.

Fiddleford gingerly got back to his knees, then pulled off his glasses and pushed up his goggles. One of the lenses had been crushed, and the glasses' frame was bent beyond repair.

Ford heaved a long, heavy sigh. "A bit too familiar, wasn't it?"

Fiddleford blinked at him. "Wasn't what?"

"The—reeling you in from the Nightmare Realm?" Ford said. At Fiddleford's blank look, Ford said, "The portal test?"

"Oh." Fiddleford scratched his head. "I... still don't remember it too clearly."

"Ah. Yes. Of course." Ford's stomach churned with guilt as he looked away from Fiddleford. Over thirty years late was too late to apologize, wasn't it? (Over the past year he'd wondered, again and again; and again and again he'd decided that it was.) "Thank you for saving—" He gasped, "Dipper!"

"Oh, right!" Fiddleford took off his vacuum, dropped it on the floor, and unzipped its bag. The ghosts of a Northwest in a buckskin coat and a confused-looking hippie escaped into the air. "Hey," Fiddleford barked. "You get back here!" He raised the vacuum's hose and flipped its switch. He caught the hippie, but as soon as she was sucked in she flew out the unzipped bag and off to freedom again. Fiddleford lowered the hose and shook a fist at the retreating spirits. "I'll get you ectoplasmic varmints, just you wait!"

Ford knelt on the floor and held the bag open wider. Dipper floated out, arms crossed tight and shivering. "So... so cold... and dark... and really, really dusty."

"Let's get you back where you belong."

Ford held up Dipper's body as he lay back down in it. He could see the moment color flooded back into Dipper's cheeks and his eyes focused again. Dipper groaned.

Ford said, "You're never doing that again."

"I am never doing that again," Dipper said.

"We can't do that again," Fiddleford said. "The fabric of reality in this town is too unstable to handle another paradoxical physics experiment that powerful! We'd rip open another rift to the Nightmare Realm!"

"And we just tossed away all of our remaining alien adhesive," Ford sighed. It left Gravity Falls vulnerable if any more rips formed. Sometime soon he'd have to go back to the alien crash site and see if there was any more adhesive he could scrounge up; but even if he did, they couldn't risk wasting more of it like this.

"But did we get what we needed?" Dipper asked.

Fiddleford held up the milk jug of Dontium and shook it. It had a strange shifting color, wavering between cyan and orange depending on the lighting. "Looks like we got about three-fourths of a gallon," Fiddleford said.

"It's only enough to fully power one shot," Ford said. "But... one shot is all it'll take to destroy Bill." His stomach flipped nervously as he said it. He'd been anxious every other time he'd prepared to kill Bill, but that had always been because he'd been preparing to battle for the fate of the universe with a godlike monster who could easily kill him or worse. For the first time, he was preparing to execute a defenseless prisoner, and he didn't know whether it would make the universe any safer.

For half the summer he'd hoped Bill was harmless. Now he wished he had proof that Bill wasn't, so that he could lay his conscience to rest.

Dipper looked as uncomfortable as Ford felt; but when he caught Ford's gaze, he hardened his expression and nodded. Ford nodded back.

"WOOHOO!" Fiddleford leaped his full height straight up, making Ford and Dipper start. "We done it! YAHOO!" He waved his hat around ecstatically, doing a little jig in place. "YIPPEE! HIP HIP HURRrr—hey, how come you fellers ain't celebrating?"

Ford didn't know how to explain without making Fiddleford worry he was at risk of falling under Bill's spell again. "We'll celebrate when he's dead."

####

"Who was at the door?" 8 Ball shouted. When he didn't get a response, he paused his game. "Teeth?"

Teeth waddled into the game room. His face was completely plastered shut with some kind of glowing purple glue.

Pyronica cracked up and Paci-Fire chuckled darkly. 8 Ball sighed, "What'd you get into, you idiot?"

Teeth waved his hands emphatically.

"All right, okay." 8 Ball stood and stretched. "Does anyone have the number of that lamp guy Bill used to hook up with?"

Half an hour later, having lured over Lava Lamp Guy with the false promise of ping pong pool and illicit liquids, they cornered him in a bathroom, with Zanthar sitting in the tub restraining him while Paci-Fire struggled to hold his face still.

"Please!" Lava Lamp Guy screamed. "Let me go! I'll do anything you want! My neurologist said I can't take much more of this!"

"Cease your complaints," Paci-Fire said, as 8 Ball took off Lava Lamp Guy's bowler. "You shall not dissuade us. We do this because we have no choice in the matter."

"Why not?!"

"Because none of us feel like making the trip to a dimension with a drugstore."

8 Ball stuck a soup ladle into the open top of Lava Lamp Guy's head and fished around until he got a scoop of the red goo floating around in the thinner orange liquid. Lava Lamp Guy howled in agony. Zanthar heaved a weary sigh.

8 Ball carried the ladle over to where Teeth was sitting on the toilet lid kicking his feet. "Here you go, bud."

Teeth clapped his hands, grabbed an oversized toothbrush, and held it out for 8 Ball to pour the goop on. He scrubbed his teeth until the goop dissolved the adhesive. "Whew!" He stretched his jaw a few times, then jumped to his feet. "Thanks! I was worried I was gonna miss karaoke night." He looked in the sink mirror to scrub off the remaining scraps of adhesive.

8 Ball put Lava Lamp Guy's hat back on. Lava Lamp Guy groaned, "I think I forgot my third husband."

"You've only been married twice," Hectorgon lied.

"Oh." Confused, Lava Lamp Guy said, "Alright."

Teeth muttered, "Blech, divorce memories." He grabbed a bottle of mouthwash to clear out the taste.

"So what happened?" Kryptos asked. He was hovering in the doorway beside Pyronica.

"I'unno. I think the Dimension 46ers were messing around with their portal or something? They opened up a portal here."

"What? Uh-uh," Pyronica said. "It had to be some other dimension. We just invaded them, why would they open the portal again?"

"No no, that sounds like humans to me," Kryptos said. "If one of them pushes a button and immediately dies, the guy standing next to him will go, 'I wonder if it does that every time.' I've seen them do it."

"It was definitely them, I saw that local contractor Bill recruited for the portal who went nuts. Fingers or whoever."

8 Ball groaned. "You mean the guy that invaded the Quadrangle and tried to kill everybody?"

"Yeah. That guy. He told me I wasn't welcome on Earth and chucked a glue bomb in my face. I was like, well alright, buddy, I'm not the one who opened up a portal in your house, you could have just stayed home instead of ruining my day," Teeth said. "I didn't really say that to him. I thought it."

"So now the humans are invading us." Pyronica threw her hands in the air. "Great! This is just terrific! Bill teaches them how to make their own portals, they follow us home, and now we're about to have a pest problem that knows how to use tools! How long is it until this whole place is crawling with humans?! I'm going househunting, how many rooms should I look for? 8 Ball?"

"I'm in."

"Teeth?"

Teeth sighed, but said, "Yeah. The neighborhood's going downhill. Especially if we're gonna have a pest problem."

"Big Z?"

Zanthar gave a thumbs up.

Pyronica looked at Paci-Fire. He averted his gaze. Pyronica said, "Paci?"

Sullenly, he said, "We should ask Keyhole's opinion as well."

She laughed in disbelief. Nobody cared about Keyhole's opinion, he went with whatever everyone else went with. Appealing to Keyhole was just a delaying tactic. "Fine, sure. We'll get Keyhole's opinion."

"I'm not going," Hectorgon said, crossing his arms.

Relieved, Kryptos said, "Yeah. Me neither."

"You don't have to," Pyronica snapped. "You two and Morph can wait for Bill to come back from the dead as long as you want. But the rest of us are leaving."

Kryptos tilted toward the hall, gesturing for Hectorgon to follow him away from the others. "How long do you think we can hold this place without the outerplanars?" The Quadrangle was all that remained of Bill's turf. Without Bill's energy boosting them, none of the shapes were particularly powerful. They'd always depended upon the other Henchmaniacs to guard Bill's stronghold, the heavy-hitters like Zanthar and Pyronica. Even Bill preferred to let them fight his battles when he could; Bill's energy was much vaster, but less renewable.

Hectorgon grimaced uncertainly. "We've gotta think of something fast."

####

Dipper stared at the jug in his lap, ensuring it didn't turn radioactive before they got home. Bill practically seemed to have a radar for Ford—and on top of that, could see through walls—but as far as he cared Dipper may as well have not even existed; so they'd decided that Ford would go in the main door to ensure Bill's attention was turned away while Dipper went through the gift shop and took the elevator down to Ford's study. Ford had told Dipper where to find a lead locker that would keep the Dontium contained until Ford could use it to refuel the Quantum Destabilizer; all he had to do was put it in and stare through the crack until he'd slammed the door shut.

And once they'd decided on that, the drive home had fallen deathly silent.

As the Mystery Shack appeared through the trees, Dipper asked, "We're doing the right thing, right?" His voice was quiet. "I hate him, but—we owe him our lives. And there's that prophecy..."

"Lives can't be owed," Ford said. "Yesterday he may have saved us, but tomorrow he would still destroy our world in a heartbeat. We can be grateful to be alive—but we can't let that stop us."

"So, we're doing the right thing?"

Ford was silent for much longer than Dipper would have liked. "I hope so."

####

(We're moving toward some important stuff!! Hope y'all enjoyed and I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this week's chapter!)

[meaninglessblah-writes]

☕️🦇🤫📸

Thank you for helping me work towards my Nanowrimo goal 💙

Bruce leans his chin on his fist, looking the picture of refined ease leaned forward in his armchair. "I don't see the appeal."

Tim adjusts the focus, bringing the cape and cowl into clarity. "It's about the artistry," he says. It's not entirely the truth, but it's not entirely a lie. He shuffles through a few settings until he can really bring Bruce's cheekbones into focus. "Capturing you in a light not many people get to see."

Bruce's lips twist like he doesn't believe Tim for a second. But he shifts back into a more comfortable lean, thighs spreading wide to invite the eyeline of Tim's camera.

He follows the slope of Bruce's stomach down, tilting the camera on its tripod and flicking through a few quick snaps. Tim leans into the eyepiece when he instructs, "You can undo the belt now."

Bruce doesn't move, and after a moment Tim pulls back, flushing a little in his sheepishness.

"Can you take the belt off, please," he amends to, and Bruce smirks.

His fingers slip down to flick open the buckle one-handed, in a brilliant show of competence Tim wishes he was fast enough to catch on film. He doesn't mention how it leaves his throat a little dry, seeing a man so intimately in-tune with his own body. It's a little intimidating, and more than a little arousing.

"You really get into a headspace when you do this," Bruce observes, and then clarifies at Tim's blank expression, "Directing."

"Oh." Tim's directed a few home movies, but he more prefers still life photography, trying to encapsulate the perfect split second of a moment eternally. "It's a passion project."

"A passion project," Bruce repeats, like he's tasting the words. The yellow belt falls to either side of his hips, the long curve of his waistline prominent without the belt to intersect it.

Tim buries his embarrassment behind the eyepiece. It's easier to say his next words when there's the distance of glass between them. "When you're ready, start touching yourself."

Bruce doesn't wither under the direction. Maybe it's the benefit of not being able to see his eyes, but Bruce usually exudes calm. Tim doesn't know why he expected any less when it came to the unrufflable Batman.

One large, gloved hand slides up his thigh — tantalisingly slow beneath the gaze of Tim's camera — to grip himself through the front of his suit. He's done away with the jockstrap and cup at Tim's request, and now the thick curve of his hardening member is all too visible through the kevlar.

Tim adjusts his zoom, ensuring the triangle of Bruce's crotch is perfectly framed as he snaps a few photos. "That's perfect. Take your time. The slower you go, the more I have to work with."

"I do have one question," Bruce interjects thoughtfully. His hand doesn't stray from where it's slowly stroking his cock through the kevlar.

It takes Tim a few beats to realise he's spoken, and a few more to remember what was said. "What's that?"

"What do you get out of this?"

Tim chews his lip, memorialising a few shots as he puts together his answer. "It's... arousing. Knowing you're putting on this act for me; knowing I'm the only one who's allowed to see you like this. I'm the only one you'd let photograph you like this. It's trust, I guess? Like I said, it's a passion project."

Bruce is smirking, just the finest curl in the deep corners of his mouth. He's watching Tim intently; he can feel it. It's hard not to squirm under that gaze.

"Anyone could tell it's a bit more than that," he rumbles, gently accusing.

Tim swallows. His pants feel a tad tight in the front, and he shifts his weight surreptitiously. "Can you touch your chest?"

The lack of breastplate had been another request of Tim's, the under armour stowed for the evening's session. The suit still looks tight where it stretches across Bruce's pectorals, that bat emblem doing nothing to hide the peaks of his nipples where they protrude through.

Bruce's thumb circles one of the buds, hips shifting in their seat. It pulls the muscles of his thighs tight, pulls everything tight, and Tim forgets to breathe for a few moments as he collects a few shots.

His voice comes out husky when he directs, "Can you come like this?"

Bruce's breath whistles through his lips, the only break in the otherwise stoic mask of the Batman. "Possibly. How about you touch yourself behind the camera, and I'll get off to the sight of you enjoying this more than you let on."

Tim's cheeks feel hot when he pulls back to meet Bruce's gaze above the camera. But he wastes no time in sliding a hand past his waistband and palming his eager cock. "Deal."

11,582 / 50,000

Help me reach my goal!

[loveemagicpeace]

❄️🌌Life Events🌊🌨️

🛁6th house also represent changing your rutine and your life style and how you life. The way you life. Because your every day changes and in the 6th house we make changes in how we live and in what way. For ex.: 6th house gemini- your everyday can be different and you like it that way and you're basically used to that kind of pace. You can live differently from day to day. 6th house taurus- your every day is the same, you don't like to change your environment. You like to do the same things every day and your way of life is usually calm, stable.

🌌The 12th house represents hidden enemies that you don't know or realize are here. It can also represent what makes people jealous of you. For ex.: Venus in 12th house many women can be jealous of you. People can be jealous of your beauty and your looks. You can attract a lot of enemies that have libra or taurus characteristics. People can also be jealous of your relationship. Mars in 12th house you can attract a lot of obsessive guys who want your attention. Someone who has the characteristics of an Aries or a Scorpio. Many times people can secretly stalk you on social networks from fake profiles. People can be jealous of your mysterious nature, sex appeal and figure.

🤔Mercury represents your way of communication and your thoughts and opinions. Someone with Mercury in Scorpio will say things directly, honestly and sharply. Scorpio way of speaking will always be intense and passionate, but people can sometimes perceive you as too harsh as a person. But they just communicate more intensely and angrily haha. Mercury in Gemini will always change the topic and way of talking. They like to process several topics at once. Their way of talking is all over the place. People can often find them as fast talkers (they speak really fast and sometimes it's hard to follow them). At the same time, you can often feel that they are not listening to you, but in reality they quickly lose concentration.

❤️‍🔥The sign you have in Mars shows your energy and response to anger, conflict and drama. How do you react to hate and how do you deal with negative things. For ex.: Mars in Sagittarius you will always have something to say back, and your response can be impulsive and decisive. But negative things don't touch you, hate doesn't touch you, you only have to react to it because you like to face people and tell your side. You are not afraid of conflicts. Mars in Scorpio- you are strong and aware of your strength. But you always react to things thoughtfully and in reality you can act quite calmly, but that doesn't mean you are. You have a mysterious way of responding and sometimes you don't want to give someone the pleasure of noticing your anger.

🧝🏽‍♀️Uranus is the planet of rebellion and defending oneself, creating one's own rules, living according to one's own system. The more aquarius/uranus you have, the more rebellious you are. Uranus in 1st house -the first house represents exclusively only you. So with that placement many times you will act rebellious in your opinion. You will not want to follow the trends and you will be able to reject everything that is popular. You will want to have your own unique style and personality as well. You don't like to compare yourself to others and you don't like it when others compare you to someone.

🌙The moon represents our emotions, how we react emotionally, our needs, memory, protection, instinct, self-care. For ex.: cancer moon - you primary concern is security. Your emotions are deep and you have a very good memory. You have deep instinct. Feelings wax and wane but you are powerful. Libra moon- you have an instunct to create relationships and may feel more at home in a partnership than on your own. Emotionally, you want to understand others and look at both sides of the feeling.

🧜🏼‍♀️Neptune represents your sacrifice for others. Your spiritual escape & imagination. Neptune in 11th house -you will make a lot of sacrifices for friends, society and your dreams. Your spiritual escape can be seeing friends, social networks. Especially something related to your dreams and goals. You may give a lot of spiritual weight to your friendships and the groups to which you belong. Neptune can be deceptive, and so sometimes you may not see people, groups, or friendships clearly. Neptune in 3rd house- you can do a lot for your best friend and sacrifice for him. Many times you can defend others or make sacrifices for them. Your spiritual escape can be writing, thinking and being in the clouds. Because everything is related to your thoughts. They could be an artist, poet, or someone with very spiritual ideas. This is a placement that gives you great charm, compassion, and intuition.

🪐Saturn represents the end of a relationship. So when it comes to breakup Saturn is usually responsible for this. Uranus or Neptune can also be present, but this is only in certain cases. Saturn can also show why you will break up with someone often or in what way. Saturn in 3rd house- the views with the person may be different, or the two persons' minds may be beginning to change. The reason can also be relatives, rumours, communication. It can also be related to school. Maybe the person is no longer as interesting to you as they used to be. But we have to also pay attention to the sign that is in this house. Saturn in 8th house- this is a very private house, which means that no one knows when you break up with someone. This can often be related to the secrets you found out from the person. It can also be related to money. This is basically a very transformational house, which means that you can transform yourself through every break up.

-Rebekah❄️🌨️🤍

[rumblelibrary]

Hello 👀❤️

So... I don't know if this will work or not, but I thought why not, I send it in... And if you don't like it, that's completely fine ❤️🔥

I really like how you write the characters' mind... What they are thinking or how they act... I was thinking, maybe a new mechanic (Reader) at Ferrari (yes, it's a Niki Lauda fic, you know me❤️🔥) who is really shy, but very good at their job, and Niki likes them and he is an asshole with everyone (which is normal from him) EXCEPT with the Reader... And like... Maybe at first he doesn't realize this, but then he does, and gets all conflicted like why is he getting soft suddenly, out of nowhere... (It is obvious, but not for him)... I'm curious how you would see this, write this... The ending of this story is up to you ❤️❤️

Love you ❤️🔥👀

What Is This Feeling [Niki Lauda x Mechanic!Reader]

Word count: 2.5k Warnings: lot of swearing by our favourite Rat King Author’s note: Niki is quickly turning into my comfort character to unleash my sass, thank you for giving me the chance to write him!

Part 2

On your first day at Ferrari nobody took you seriously, but to be a mechanic wasn’t exactly typing letters, it was not a place where somebody high up in the ranks would set a lover to give her some benefit and a free pay check.

You didn’t talk a lot, you stood your ground from the moment you put hands on any part of the car, but you weren’t exactly the chatty type and, being the only woman, it took you time to be allowed to the after work beer, to the birthdays and all the balancing that came with a good team spirit.

In a world full of bias about women, you were spared thanks to your abilities and knowledge. Or maybe, because the mechanics team had someone bigger to fight: Niki Lauda.

To work with him was thrilling, but stressful.

He would walk in at any hour of the day, break some egos, pile up an amount of changes that to make a brand new car would be a faster option.

You sat on the floor beside the baby, yes baby was the car, it wasn’t like you had to stay on the floor, there were more than plenty working stations, but it felt more comfortable for you: it gave you the chance to stand and look at things from afar, you were in need to touch, to understand, to put things together. It was your skill, but also your curse, because it was hard to gain yourself a space on the floor in such a fast paced environment like the one at Ferrari. You were working on the ignition when he stormed inside, the soft chats died fast and the noise of the radio was the only thing left, but he didn’t seem to mind the effect he had on people.

In a couple of long steps he was in front of one of your colleagues.

“What is this?” The man looked down to his sandwich like it was self explanatory, but the following silence brought him to answer “my lunch”

“Nice” Niki said, his lips curling downward in a very sarcastic amusement “well, take your lunch out of my garage because I don’t want your crumbles in my engine” he hissed picking the crumbles that effectively fell on the working table and sprinkling them like salt on the man’s face.

The man frowned and left to eat outside and avoid to punch him as Niki proceeded to his next victim.

“And you call this a design development? I call this dog shit”

“If this is a well done job, I’d better retire already before I get your good job to crack my skull open”

“Just begin again, don’t even ask”

“Are you sure you don’t work for McLaren? Because by the quality of your work I am starting to wonder”

One after the other all your colleagues fell under the axe of Niki’s commentary.

Nobody was spared, it was a butchery.

“So? What is this?”

You looked up at him as he towered over you, Satan himself would be less scary, and probably less attractive, to your eyes. His standing figure with rebel curls and his Ray-ban glasses in his left hand, the polo shirt under the fancy jacket, even his bad character gave him the edge so many men more conventionally attractive lack.

“I am working on the ignition” you said as he bent down crouching beside you as you showed him, his cologne filling your nostrils like the best smell your nose ever encountered.

“Okay, in what way?” He asked resting his elbows on his knees.

You gulped softly “Well, I am trying to experiment if I change this in here” and you pointed to a section in particular “maybe the car will have a better performance at the beginning of the race”

“Have you considered that it could over work the battery?”

“I did, but I wanted to see if I make here something like this” and you took a little tube showing how you lace it around the section “if I use this to push the cooler to work into this part as well, we might avoid over heating”

He listened touching his chin with the edge of his glasses thoughtfully.

“Give it a try”

He just said standing up.

Your colleagues looked at you shaking their heads as he turned around and everybody looked down to their tasks again, so then he left.

______________________________________________________________________ This wasn’t the first time, he wasn’t letting you do things he didn’t approve, but he always listened to you, he advised you, and the harshest thing he said was probably “I think you’re not looking at the bigger picture”

Nobody commented on it and beside some joke here and there, the little preference he had over you seemed to pass unnoticed mostly by him.

“You know, you really need a girlfriend” Clay, the other driver of the Ferrari alongside him, said during some tests.

Niki looked at him.

“Why? Do I look like one that has to fuck a woman to be fine?”

He laughed as Niki was always so overaggressive “No, but you treat everyone like bullshit beside the new girl, so you either can be an asshole only with men or your seduction technique needs a real check”

He frowned, eyebrows furrowing together as his lips parted in disbelief

“You nuts”

“Maybe, but I haven’t heard you complain about her as much as you complain about the rest of the world”

He shook his head “You are just letting you Italian genes getting your head stupid”

Clay laughed at him nodding knowingly “Sure, sure” he patted harshly on Niki’s back knowing how much he hated to be patted around like that as he moved to talk to one of the mechanics working on his car.

Niki crossed his arms resting against the wall of the garage, his eyes instinctively looking for your figure finding you to one of the working table writing down some notes over the changes applied while looking at the projects.

His eyes dropping on your ass like it was the first time he checked it, realising it wasn’t the first time he mentally noted it.

Well, he couldn’t really say you were unattractive, or not his type, or a good mechanic.

His thought process was suddenly interrupted as Clay himself approached you and you moved on side showing him the papers you were just writing on.

He nodded and said something to you, his hand casually resting on the small of your back making Niki’s jaw almost snap for how much he was gritting his teeth.

You shuffled on side avoiding the touch with a casual smile, but Clay kept talking to you and from afar Niki saw him say something and wave his pointed finger between himself and you. You shook your head and smiled turning down whatever he just offered with all the politeness you had, Niki pursued his lips slightly in amusement for his best girl’s behaviour.

Wait a second. Best girl?

He glared at Clay that smirked at him from afar, a big ‘I knew it’ smirk on his lips.

Niki bit the inside of his cheek not liking it.

He was with you like with everybody else, what the hell.

Niki ignored you all day, when you showed him something he himself requested to be shown, he shuffled away, when you handed him something he was looking for, he looked for it somewhere else, he just wasn’t meeting your eyes and hell and thunderstorm fell upon anyone that even tried to engage a talk with him on that day.

“I can’t with your boyfriend anymore, I swear” one of your colleagues muttered to you.

“He is not my boyfriend” 

He looked at you “Then he’d better be soon, maybe he’ll chill out”

“Are you even paid to stand and do nothing?” Niki shouted from afar and you two parted ways faster than two kids smuggling candies during class. ______________________________________________________________________

The next day was the judgment day for all the changes done on the car, your nerves were cracking as Niki arrived in his driving suit and your eyes immediately snapped a mental photo on his figure.

Did you ever went home wishing to have his company? Yes.

Did you ever wondered if he was so aggressive ever in the intimate times? Way too much.

Did you have any chance? Probably no.

You let out a big sigh as your colleagues reassured you “Hey, if it doesn’t work we either get rid of the rat or have some more time to work on it” he joked but you didn’t feel any better.

Niki looked up as he noticed your worried look, your lips nibbling down on your lips, your foot tapping rhythmically and nervously, the sudden instinct to lean his hand on that waist of yours, to rest his leg beside yours to make it stop that nerve wracking dance, to forbid your lips any more damage not caused by him.

All of that crowded his mind and he growled tiredly.

Stupid Clay, with his stupid theories.

He finished getting ready and put on his helmet settling down in his spot rolling his shoulders back, he needed to focus.

The head mechanic came over him repeating all the changes and just annoying the hell out of him, he is not always around the car only to check you out.

“When you're done telling me what I know, tell me something I don’t, I beg you”

The head mechanic did a big effort not to spit into his face and just left him waving his arms in the air.

You touched on your forehead nervously, if you failed it would show in the timings or maybe the car won’t even start.

You looked at him, seconds before he pulled down the dark lid of his helmet, his dark eyes so focused a shiver creeped over you.

You gasped as the signal was given and the car started.

Your fingers finding their way to your mouth as you nibbled your skin.

The car was fast, that was sure, you leaned beside the head mechanic that was taking the time. You breathed heavily, your mind going through all the changes you did, all the small settlements, the little details.

An eternal list that kept repeating itself.

Then the question as he was halfway through the leap, what if you disappointed him?

What if he asked you to be sent away?

Then you looked down to the chronometer, he was already almost two seconds earlier than usual.

A smile started to grow on you, the excitement filling your veins.

The sound of the engine roaring beautifully, you made it!

Then it happened, some smoke raised up to the sky, one of the wheels snapped, the breath died in your throat.

The car flexed on side but Niki controlled it and guided it against the sandy side of the track that slowed it down until it stopped.

“He was breaking his record” the head mechanic sighed “now he is just going to break our balls”

Niki moved out of the car throwing his helmet on the ground pushing off roughly anyone that tried to help him or check if he was hurt, some of the mechanics moving to the tow truck to recollect the car, Niki moving past you, his face tense and his posture of someone ready to snap some necks. You didn’t see him for the rest of the day, nobody talked about him, nobody mentioned anything as the storm will fall on all of the team the next day.

Now it was the head mechanic to face it for all of you.

______________________________________________________________________

That night you stayed over time, the other colleagues told you to just go home, to not let the thing sink of you, to look at it with fresh eyes and all those circumstantial phrases people gift you when they try to cheer you up. 

As always on the floor, you had now the chance to spread the pieces out, collect them into branches of types and use. You pulled closer your notebook writing down the ideas and things to remember to check, the image of Niki almost crashing gutting you even if you soon realised it wasn’t your change that set off the wheel, but it was part of the cause, the car was now too powerful and the stress on the suspensions was deadly.

You yawned lightly pulling a catalogue of replacements parts trying to find the best mix you could manage, but you surely had to make up something about it. You didn’t expect to solve the problem or to find the solution for everything with a creative twist, but to, at least, plan a sequence of possibilities to present to your chief the next day.

A hand slowly leaning a mug of steaming coffee beside you.

You looked up to find Niki there, another cup in his hand, those messy curls calling to be touched, his impeccable style always winning you over with a dark turtleneck and his tweed jacket.

“Found the problem?” He asked sharply as always.

He was surprised to see you there, he spent the rest of the afternoon after the malfunction with the head mechanic and some of the administrators as he needed a solution in time for the upcoming race.

So he decided he couldn’t trust their promises and reassurances, but take the matter in his own hand, for a change. But when he arrived he saw the lights still on and you there. He was almost tempted to leave, it wasn’t a good moment to screw things with one of his most talented mechanics.

But you, again, were so into it, you looked so beautiful with your working jumpsuit and the hair messed up nibbling on that pen like it was a matter of life and death.

He couldn’t just let you stay so beautiful and alone, who knows who could approach you.

You nodded “I think so” you said showing him the piece, he leaned his head on side studying it 

“May I?”

You nodded as he took off his blazer before joining you on the floor, he crossed his legs, your knees touching as he stole those papers from your hand.

“Signal to the administration this night shift, or they won’t ever pay you” he muttered without looking away from the papers.

You smirked “I know, but it is more a matter of principle than money, I didn’t like the heart attack you gave me today”

You were surprised by your own words, maybe it was because you really were over caffeinated or just realising how it was the first time you were alone and how you felt comfortable around him. No, not comfort, it was trust, you trusted him.

He looked up from the papers up at you, he didn’t replied to your comment straightaway, he let it sink in, he let your presence sink in.

A one-sides smirk appeared on his lips

“It is going to be a long night, then” Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra Let me know if you want to get added <3

[eirikaanemo]

"Still, the winds change direction. Someday, they will blow towards a brighter future... Take my blessings and live leisurely from this day onward"

– Vayuda Turquoise Gemstone

Venti granting his crush a vision. In canon, anemo users are hardworking people with strong beliefs, but also those who need a break.

bonus: morax gives a geo vision to venti's s/o, making venti kinda jealous. 'hello, celestia tech support? i need to grant this one person a second vision, yeah its vital, wait don't hang up"

Good Enough

Venti x Visionless!GN!Reader

1.3k Words

Warning: gossiping (about you), self-worth insecurities

You've never had a vision, and that's never bothered you before. A vision isn't necessary to kick butt. You’re of two minds about the situation. Part of you is proud to have come so far without needing to rely on a vision. Another part of you, shoved to the back of your mind, feels very insecure about it all. Why don’t you have a vision?

As a knight of favonius you’ve spent a lot of time honing your combat skills. Hours and hours of your time are invested in improving your accuracy, strength, reaction time, and improvisation ability. You have to be the best of the best to keep up with everyone else. The fact that you rarely see those with visions training is shoved into the back of your mind. Surely they just train elsewhere.

However, the back of your mind is also where your insecurities lie. So shoving the thought back there only compounded the problem. They’re just better than you, your mind whispers. They don’t need to practice to be powerful. They don’t have to put in effort to be good enough.

All your hard work pays off. You’re the highest ranked knight that doesn’t have a vision. And you’re still climbing up the ranks. However, it’s been made very clear that the next promotion opportunity will likely not be available to you.

“Captain deputies are assigned to their departments based on vision type.” The knight had claimed, carefully avoiding eye contact with you. “Make sure that you hone your elemental abilities as best you can. Only the best are chosen for this position.”

While they had tried to be tactful, you could feel the eyes of your colleagues on you. You could hear their whispers behind your back for the rest of the day. “Do they really think they have a chance?” They whisper. “It’s a miracle they made it this far. I wonder how they even managed to make it this far.”

You try not to let it bother you. You can’t show weakness, so you go about the rest of your day with your usual expression pasted on your face. Everything is normal, you say silently. Nothing is wrong. It’s not like you wanted that promotion anyway.

Most people buy your soundless lies or simply allow you the dignity of not confronting you about it. Everything goes okay. Until you run into Venti, that is.

The two of you have been together for a while now. He’s always been a big supporter of your passion to do your best and climb through the ranks. Even times where he doesn’t see you for a week straight don’t budge his support a bit. You make as much time for him as you can, but he understands the kind of time commitment you’ve made and is willing to wait as long as you need.

And being someone who often puts up a facade himself, he notices something is wrong immediately. “Is everything okay?” He asks you gently as the two of you sit in a corner at Angel’s Share. “You seem pretty down tonight. Did something happen?”

You sit quietly for a moment, pondering how to respond. Chancing a look at him, he sends you a serene and patient smile. Venti is willing to wait as long as you need. The thought helps your nervousness a lot.

After another couple moments of thought you respond. “No, I’m not really okay,” you admit. “It was heavily implied today that in order for me to move further up the ranks I need a vision.”

He tries to keep his face neutral, the last thing you need right now is pity; but a small frown still slips onto his face. “That’s rather discriminatory,” he notes. “If you want I could bring it up with Jean. The knights aren’t supposed to discriminate like that.”

You shake your head. How Venti, a seemingly normal bard, has influence with Acting Grandmaster Jean is beyond you; but you would never want to take advantage of it.

“No, I’ll be okay,” you reply. “I’m sure they will eventually see the error of their ways. But- well, nevermind.” Your face falls as your insecurities creep forward as you remember the whispers.

“But…” he prompts you to continue.

“But it just seems like everything would be a lot easier if I had a vision.” You confide. “The extra firepower really helps on missions. There’s a kind of respect you gain when you have one. And, to be honest, people with visions are a lot more efficient.”

“You sound like you wish you had a vision,” he notes.

“That’s because I do,” you admit. A feeling of shame washes over you. How could you say that? So many people look up to you as an example of what a regular person can do. How could you just throw that all away?

“I thought you didn’t want a vision,” Venti pointed out, confused.

“I can see why you’d think that. Part of me is proud of how far I’ve come as I am and getting a vision sometimes feels like I’d be taking the easy way out. But that’s not to say I don’t want one. I’ve wanted a vision for the longest time,” you admit. “It just feels like I’m not allowed to want it.”

He hums in understanding. “I think,” he starts thoughtfully. “I think it’s okay to want what you want. Getting a vision isn’t easy, you really have to prove yourself. But you also have to be open to receiving one. Who knows? Maybe you will get one and can use the extra opportunities it grants you to open more opportunities for others who don’t have visions.”

You nod. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. A way to stay true to my roots while still being able to grow in a way I’m not able to right now. But you’d think I’d already have a vision by now if I was going to get one, you know? I hear what people say about me. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

Venti carefully sets his drink down on the table and turns to face you. He seems sad and almost guilty. “Do you really think you’re not good enough because you don’t have a vision?” He inquires softly. You blink, surprised at the question.

“Sometimes,” you confess.

He pulls you into a hug and moves to whisper in your ear. “You are good enough, vision or not. Whether some archon has acknowledged you or not doesn’t matter. A vision isn’t necessary to prove self-worth. You are good enough just as you are, please never doubt that. You are precious and loved and special because you are you. Vision or no vision, that will never change.”

You melt into his hug and bury your face into his shoulder. “Thanks, Venti,” you whisper. “I really needed to hear that.”

Your partner proceeded to spend the rest of the night cheering you up. He told stupid jokes and sang stupid love songs. All of his attention was on you. He didn’t even finish his drink. It was a special night that you know you will never forget.

And if you woke up the next morning to an anemo vision on your bedside table and beamed your way through the rest of the morning. If you proudly displayed in on your belt like your partner does, and held your head a little taller than usual; well, that’s your business.

And if Captain Kaeya took one look at you with your new vision, laughed, and said, “Well, it’s about time! I was starting to wonder if the archons had gone blind!” Well, your smile might have been just that much brighter.

You followed through with the idea Venti suggested, making it easier for those without visions to rise in ranks as long as they put in the work. And it felt good. But you knew deep inside, that the vision didn’t define you.

Your life continued as before, with the only change being how you trained- not how often you trained. People still looked up to you. You were still an inspiration to them. Life was good.

And yes, you got the promotion.

[classysassy9791]

Fandom: Inuyasha Genre: Romance/Humor/Fluff Pairing: InuKag Rating: T

Originally written for @inukag-week on tumblr circa 2016, now officially being updated. Its been a hot minute, hasn't it?

For InuKag Week - Day 2: Warmth

Part 1 l

Part 2 Word Count: 2,600

Can also be found on FFN and AO3.

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Kagome couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so hard.

Sometime between the moment she met the arrogant, rude man known as Inuyasha and the three shots she had consumed, they had fallen into a flirtatious banter that she rather enjoyed. Gone was the pompous jerk who had so rudely called her audacious names, replaced by a man who proved to actually be decent company.

No, she hadn't forgotten about their initial meeting, but as she downed another shot of whiskey, she realized she didn't much care. For the first time in months - maybe longer - Kagome found herself enjoying her evening. With her shackles removed and her inhibitions lowered, she relished in the sweet taste of freedom that had been sorely lacking from her life.

"You did not!" she squealed with absurdity in her tone, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Inuyasha chuckled, tilting his glass and giving a half-shrug. "I did," he confessed sheepishly, but not at all ashamed of his actions. "Miroku ran down the dorm hall, completely naked, screaming after me."

Kagome shook her head. "I can honestly say I have never stolen my roommates clothes while they were in the shower. Or pulled any pranks on them, really."

"To be fair," he continued, signaling the bartender for another round. "He actually met his girlfriend that way."

"By running naked down the hallway?"

He nodded. "Knocked her down and stopped to apologize."

"Still want to leave the tab open?" Kouga interrupted.

"Yeah, that's fine." Inuyasha finished off his beer. "Another round of whiskey shots while you're at it."

Flashing Kagome a smile, Kouga took their empty glasses. "You're going to dry me out."

"It's still early," Kagome barbed playfully. "Your bar will last until midnight at the very least."

He chuckled, filling up their shot glasses and handing them another drink. "Oh, thanks. I was afraid I'd have to close up soon."

Leaving with a, "flag me down if you need me," Kouga wandered to the other end of the bar where a busty blonde waved at him.

Typical, Kagome thought sourly. On the one hand, she didn't like the way her thoughts were turning, considering she didn't really know Kouga, and hated grouping him in with the rest of the spineless male population she had become accustomed to - especially since he was a bartender and it was literally his job to tend to the needs of his customers. But on the other hand, she couldn't help but feel bitter about his attention leaving her. Maybe it was because she had so blatantly been deprived of it for so long, that her longing for companionship had been exacerbated ten-fold.

Taking a sip of beer - which she had switched to once they started doing shots - Kagome heard her phone buzz in her purse again; it had already gone off several times during her conversation with Inuyasha. She finally pulled it out and unlocked it, frowning at the array of messages popping up on her screen.

Inuyasha raised a brow at the irritable look that overcame her expression before Kagome sighed and locked her phone. She quickly downed her shot of whiskey, not even bothering to 'cheers' him.

"Everything okay?" Inuyasha questioned, against his better judgement. There was a reason people showed up by themselves at a bar on Friday nights - either to drown their sorrows in whiskey or to find company for a few fleeting, midnight hours.

Kagome pressed her lips together. She didn't come to the bar to talk about her problems. She wasn't some sad case that needed a therapist to pour her drinks. If anything, she wanted to forget about the emotional damage that had been inflicted earlier that day. Her heart had been broken, her ego bruised, and no matter how many times her friends had told her he wasn't worth it, their sympathies didn't make her feel any better.

But, alcohol had a funny habit of turning into truth serum, and she found herself spilling her guts before she could stop herself. "Just my ex-boyfriend - er, fiance - blowing up my phone."

Inuyasha chuckled. "Can't take a hint, huh?"

Kagome shrugged with a bitter smile. "I mean, he broke off the engagement. Not sure why he can't follow through with his decision."

She had expected sympathy, perhaps even empathy. That's what most people offered in a situation like this, when they didn't know what to say or how to react. But Kagome was caught off-guard by Inuyasha's next question.

"How long were you together?"

Kagome eyed him curiously, his honey gaze hiding a wealth of understanding. "Five years," she answered him, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her finger. "Planned our life together, put a ring on it, and even booked the venue. But… I suppose he got cold feet a long time ago."

"His loss. What kind of bastard would put someone through that?"

She hummed thoughtfully, but didn't answer. It wasn't in her best interest to start talking about the past now, and she would rather take the spotlight off of herself all together. "What about you?" she asked her barstool companion as she took another sip of beer. "Any lucky ladies in your life?"

Inuyasha chuckled mirthlessly. "Nah, not anymore."

Kagome arched a brow. "Dare I ask?"

"Not much to tell. Her career and ambitions drove a wedge between us, and she decided they were more important than me. Simple as that."

"Sounds high maintenance."

He grinned. "Something like that. I mean, she knew what she wanted and didn't care what stood in her way. Even me."

Kagome felt an ache beneath her breast for the man beside her. She knew the pain of rejection very well. "Put out in the rain just like a dog. Doesn't that bother you?" she asked, tilting her head.

He frowned at her choice of words, and Kagome knew she may have touched a nerve then, but the alcohol had stripped her of her filter apparently.

"Well, I guess we're all damaged somehow," he replied with a shrug.

She scrunched her nose. "That's a bit thoughtless."

"What can I say? Shit happens. Get over it."

And then Kagome suddenly remembered the arrogant, rude, condescending jerk she had met when she had sat down at the bar earlier in the night. She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you such an ass?"

Inuyasha smirked while bringing his beer to his lips. "You are what you eat?"

Kagome let loose a growl of frustration. She had only known him for a short time, but she had quickly learned that Inuyasha was the most infuriating human being on the planet! "Your immaturity is revolting," she stated matter-of-factly, waving down Kouga for another shot of whiskey. She was definitely not drunk enough to deal with the way the conversation had turned.

"I'm not known for my friendly disposition."

Kagome glared at the man sitting next to her. "Is it fun being a jerk to me? Does it satisfy you?"

Inuyasha chuckled. "Actually, it is pretty entertaining."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, Inuyasha. You can hide behind that fake bravado all you want, but I know you're just a big softie underneath."

"Keh," he grumbled, finishing off his beer.

Kagome threw him a glare. "What? No witty repartee?"

He set down his empty glass with a little more force than usual, grabbing Kagome's attention. "I know your type, wench," he snapped, his amber eyes boring into hers. "I know exactly the kind of person you are; all high and mighty, acting as if you're better than everyone else. You think you can show someone how great life can be and how fantastic it is if I would just try. Well, sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but not everyone is worth saving, all right?"

His words left Kagome stunned into silence for a brief moment. How did their witty banter only a few minutes ago turn into this? This… This denied anger and unadulterated cynicism had Kagome reeling, her thoughts turning to what exactly had penetrated Inuyasha's life so completely that he had such a negative outlook on such.

She pursed her lips. "How much do you think you're worth?"

Inuyasha shrugged. "Like twenty bucks. Or two twinkies." He grinned at his own comment, but Kagome didn't find it very funny.

If anything, Kagome felt pity for him. No matter how bleak her life became, she always managed to find the good in it. If a person couldn't do that… Well, that was a pretty sad way to live. "As much as I would love to hear you divulge all of your secrets, this is a great song and I feel like dancing."

"Look, wench," Inuyasha barked out, his anger palpable. "I'm not looking for your validation. I'm pretty fucking happy with my life of dirty pennies and whiskey bottles. We don't all need to be Barbie."

She looked over at him, the low dim of the bar lights shining off his silver hair, and found she could only nurse one wounded heart at a time. "I just wanted you to leave tonight and think the world is a little less horrible than you thought."

"Hey, pretty lady," Kouga greeted as he appeared at the perfect time with another shot of whiskey for her and a full beer, stealing her full attention away from Inuyasha.

Kagome immediately downed the shot and chased it with her beer, ready to forget half of the night and lose herself in the music pounding through the speakers. As the evening wore on, the bar became busier, and the DJ had started up a round of tunes that had half the customers on the dance floor.

Kouga watched her curiously, arching a brow. "You alright there?"

"Dance with me?" she called over the bass pounding through the speakers. Oh yes, it was now the time of the night in which she had no qualms for asking for what she wanted.

He chuckled and glanced over at the other bartenders who appeared to have things under control. "You can steal me for a few minutes."

Kagome grinned and giggled like a school girl, leaving Inuyasha behind without delay. Kouga met her at the end of the bar and took her hand in his as she pulled him out onto the dance floor.

Some upbeat dance music blasted through the speakers. Kagome moved and swayed through the bodies crowding near the DJ, the vibrations of the music becoming part of her energy, raising her up several levels at once. Gone were her heartbroken wallows and the biting arrogance of her barstool companion. Her mind buzzed with pure joy. She moved in her dress like her hips were made to sway, the black sequins catching the disco ball that twirled above, causing her to glitter on the dance floor.

Kouga pulled her close, his strong hand pressed against the small of her back, his chiseled chest pressed against hers. She ran her fingers through her messy hair and pulled it to the side, feeling the beat of the music pound with each beat of her heart. Bodies pressed in tighter all around them. Kagome felt the part of her that was really her come out to play, to feel the vibe of the music and let her body go free.

"You're beautiful," Kouga's voice whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

His lips looked soft and very kissable, and Kagome knew her decision-making skills were indeed hindered by the alcohol that buzzed through her veins. And then his attention was caught by something else, his royal blue eyes pulling from hers to the outskirts of the dance floor. He said something to her, attempting to shout above the music, but his words were swallowed up by the electric beat that kept her entranced.

Kagome felt his hands slip from around her waist and he disappeared into the crowd. She didn't bother to follow, her hands playing with her hair, her hips moving to the music as she lost herself within it. This was what her heartbroken soul had fiercely needed; a night to forget all the troubles of the day.

Large, meaty hands found her waist, but they were unfamiliar and too warm to the touch. Kagome felt a warm flush find her cheeks as she gazed up to meet a stranger's hazy stare. He pulled her in close - too close - and even in her alcohol-ridden mind, she felt mild panic begin like sparks in her abdomen.

She tried to push him away, first gently and then forcefully, pretending to laugh at his behavior. "Thanks for the dance, but I need some fresh air."

"C'me on, baby," he slurred, pulling her tighter to his sweaty frame, his hot breath rolling over her skin. "We just met. Let's dance s'me more."

Kagome frowned. "I said no." Before she could stomp on his foot and fight her way out of the throng of dancers, the man was forcefully pulled away from her. They became separated by another man, one with very familiar silver hair who had his back to her. She didn't hear the words exchanged, but whatever was said was enough to send the man scampering off to the other side of the bar.

Inuyasha turned around, his piercing honey eyes studying her expression, before his hand gently wrapped around her waist. His grip on her wasn't strong like Kouga's, or possessive like the stranger. Inuyasha's hand was warm against the small of her back, and the anxiety she felt moments ago melted away.

"You okay?" he asked, swaying his hips in tune with hers as they continued to dance to the beat of the music.

She grinned up at him. "Were you worried about me, jerk?"

"Keh," he grumbled, his lips pulling into a smirk. "I despise you more than any other human I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. You're loud and wild and apparently have no sense of self-preservation. You also act like you have the mental capacity of a five year old."

"Are you flirting with me?" she barbed in return.

"Maybe."

His hand found the back of her neck, his fingers finding purchase in her hair, his hips grinding against hers. Warmth pooled into the pit of her stomach, his breath caressing her skin, and she moved her lips to find his.

Kagome barely had a moment to react before he pressed his tongue to the seam of her lips and delved inside her mouth. It was a very sloppy kiss with the strong scent of beer being exchanged between their billowing breaths. Her arm reached up and tangled around his strong neck. She pulled away and arched up into his broad chest, letting a moan escape in the contact of body heat against her own, before she drew back into his lips.

She could nearly taste the slight bitterness of the beer as it rolled off her tongue and seeped down her throat with every push of his tongue against hers. The kiss coupled with the beer and whiskey humming through her system obliterated every thought. For the first time that day, her mind was locked into the present. Her usual concerns for her life were suspended, and she had no wish for the kiss to end.

But as the music changed, they pulled apart. Inuyasha's skin shimmered with sweat and his amber eyes flecked with gold held her gaze. The beat of the music consumed them under the crazy neon lights, and Kagome felt alive during a night that was still so young.

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐰𝐨

full masterlist - fic masterlist

After her successful debut into the ton, Celaena Sardothein was much in demand.

The Hamel townhouse saw a constant stream of callers; many a gentlemen fawned over the charming, eligible heiress and many a visiting lady came with the intention of recruiting this new addition to their circles as a prospective bride to their own brothers and sons. Despite her determination to laugh off compliments and insults alike - or perhaps because of it - it was not long before she was declared at par with the most eligible debutantes of the season. How this distinction pleased the lady herself could not be discerned but regardless of whether or not she liked it, she was the talk of the season and invitations to exclusive events poured in. When she accepted an invite ti the Stanhope's dinner party, the rumor mill worked and it was not long before word reached Lord Fenrys Ashryver.

"This is all pointless," muttered James Galathynius to his cousin with a pinched expression on his face.

Lord Fenrys stared at him through the mirror, sprawled as he was on James' bed.

"Really, Fen," the incensed man tried, "I know how you miss my sister—we all do but I wish you would not raise your hopes again. It is simply not possible—"

"I know the last time we found a lead, it turned out to be a dead end," said Fenrys sharply, "but it's different now. I saw her. I am not so far gone in my grief that I won't recognise the girl whose portrait I see in your father's study every day, even if she has grown up quite a bit."

"She died in the fire."

"How do you know?" The familiar arguement from last week rose to the surface. "It could have been anyone! The anklet we retrieved from the little girl's body was the only evidence of her identity."

"The anklet, a man's body beside the girl's, the warehouse's distance from our estate, it was all too coincidental."

"I think our parents might have been wrong, Jem - it could have been a misunderstanding for all we know," he tried patiently, attempting to keep the frustration with his cousin out of his voice or expression. "There can be no harm in meeting her anyway, she still is the Hamel heir after all and I know you wanted an introduction; once you see her, you will know why I am so sure."

"If you insist, I will meet her," said James. "I fear you are setting yourself up for disappointment."

"I think you will be pleasantly surprised."

James regarded his cousin. "I hate to say this, Fen—"

"Then don't."

"—but it could be an impostor too. My sister had a significant inheritance, and father recently changed his will. Aelin's assets—"

"Aelin's assets, whatever they are, can be nothing compared to the Hamel fortune."

James frowned, knowing he was backed into a corner. "If we are, I should like to inquire into her background as evidence."

Evidence.

Fenrys wondered if he meant evidence against his claims or to support them but he readily agreed that it was the wisest course. Promptly, a note was sent to his solicitor to make discreet inquires about the Hamel business, the owner and his adoptive daughter. The solicitor, Mr Stone, was a competent man and it took less than two hours to provide the basic information: the Hamel's townhouse address, their rumoured income, her dowry and the stories around Miss Sardothein's 'adoption.'

"She isn't Arobynn's adoptive daughter like everyone assumed then?"

Mr Stone said, "Arobynn did adopt her, to be sure, but only on papers. Arobynn found her in the slums of London when she was but five, and persuaded the Rhunns—who have long been his dearest friends and loyal clients—to take her in. By all accounts, it looks like he took an active interest in her education but it was the Rhunns who raised her until Arobynn amassed for himself a big enough fortune, bought an estate or two in the countryside and took her in."

"How old is she now, do you know?"

"The young lady is eighteen or around, sir, though no one can be sure."

Fenrys shot a look at his cousin.

"And what can you tell us about the Rhunns, Mr Stone?" asked James.

"Nothing good, sir."

The cousins shared a look.

"Thomas Rhunn was a country gentleman until he lost his estate in gambling and like. He has been the Hamel Corporations' prime investor since it was founded some twenty years ago—that's where his fortune comes from," said he. "You will be interested in the bank records, sir, I think—he, uh, he gets an yearly sum of five thousand pounds every year from an anonymous account since 1798."

"The year they adopted Miss Sardothein?"

Neither cousin mentioned it was also the year Aelin had 'died.'

Mr Stone went on. "It is my belief, sir, that the money was for raising the young lady - the timing certainly matches - but it is not one of Arobynn's shell accounts."

"So you think someone else is paying the Rhunns to raise her?"

"I am."

"Their financial situation," James wondered how he should broach this, "Do you think they might employ deceit to secure wealth or position?"

Fenrys gave him an annoyed look.

Mr Stone, thoughtfully said, "Thomas Rhunn is a clever sort of man, sir, but too lazy for something so devious and his wife—a more insipid, unintelligent creature doesn't exist. The daughter, though, she is an ambitious one like her godfather." He hesitated, but the gentlemen looked so interested, he continued. "But I—I think, from what I heard, she is devoted to her trade and quote adept at it. I could not believe her capable of deception to achieve that."

The gentlemen sincerely thanked him for the information and he departed.

Fenrys turned to him. "So?"

"So?"

"So did you see the many proofs?"

"I didn't see any proofs, Fen. So she's the same age as our Aelin and she was adopted."

"The same year as Aelin disappeared!"

James frowned. "That doesn't mean—"

"Yes, it does." Fenrys huffed, more hopeful than ever. "To quote your own words, 'tis too much of a coincidence.'"

He fell silent, eyes shut and took a deep breath. "It's too much. If she is—If she didn't die, you know what it means? Edward has been a shell of himself all these years, my father—he is, he is on his deathbed and Aedion joined the army—he is on the continent somewhere and we might never see him! All those years we lost grieving, and she might never have been dead. None of us even thought to look! If we had, If I had... perhaps she would have been found sooner? But no, I wish to see her first. I will not worry about all that until I am sure."

Fenrys placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I know it will be hard and I am sorry for the years you wasted," said he with a calm, reassuring smile, "but all is not lost. If tis really her, your father could see her and know she is alive before he passes, Edward could finally let go of his guilt and have his sister back—he might even die of happiness—and we will call Aedion back; he will come once he hears she is back. Tis not too late to fix everything and save the years we all still have left."

"If it is her."

"I hope, that is, I really hope that it's her."

"Indeed." James nodded. "I hope so too."

"You said she is here?" Lady Perrington looked faintly scandalized.

James rolled his eyes as the crowd turned to look at the doors where a tall, blonde woman stood on the arm of a red-haired man. The room broke into furious whispers.

Beside him, a lady—Mrs Evans, perhaps?—tittered with a companion. "My George said she is not even legally adopted, you know? You don't stand that close to your godfather." This was meant to be a whisper but her voice was too nasally, the words carried over the room and people shared alarmed looks as the object of this conversation walked towards them. The woman kept talking, entirely unaware, "I could never countenance the very thought that she is to inherit a trade empire. All of her dowry will not find her a suitor if she acts like a man."

Miss Sardothein stopped in front of them. "My dear Mrs Evans! I am so grateful for your concern for my marriage prospects." Both ladies tilted his head curiously. She pressed on. "You of all people will understand the importance of caution, I am certain." Her back was towards him but he heard the smile on her face as she spoke. "Is dear Mr Evans' gout any better now?"

James choked on his drink and sputtered. Fenrys winked at him from across the room.

Mrs Evans' face turned red.

Lady Perrington jumped to her friend's rescue. "Miss Sardothein, why, it is such a surprise to see you here! Lady Stanhope has certainly been," here, she pursed her lips and then, commented in a suggestive tone, "liberal in her choice of guests. Your godfather," she nodded towards that gentleman, "is in trade, I hear. Pray, what kind of trade, can you tell?" The guests had all abandoned their own conversations in favour of eavesdropping on this one. Lord Stanhope looked torn between amusement and alarm while his wife openly and unattractively gaped at the spectacle.

Miss Sardothein lifted a hand to dismiss the enquiry. "Oh, I can never talk business on social events but you may ask your husband at your leisure. Lord Perrington regularly invests in many of our ventures." Though the lady's back was turned to him, her voice was fierce.

"Such a devious creature," a familiar voice remarked.

Rowan greeted his cousin with a nod before fixing his eyes back on the drama unfolding in front of them.

Lady Perrington was looking around in search of allies among the onlookers but when no one stepped forward, she inclined her head, her face colored. "Indeed, I shall," she said and hastily excused herself.

Mrs Evans followed suit, eyes firmly on the floor and James almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

Before his apparent sister—how he scoffed at that notion—could turn, Rowan approached at her side. It was rare indeed that the dour man approached anyone first and never so readily. The novelty of that alone occupied his attention.

"Miss Sardothein." He bowed.

She curtsied with a smile. "Mr Whitethorn." Another man approached with a lady on his arm. "Lord Fenrys! I did not know you would be in attendance."

Lord Fenrys bowed over her hand. "I came as soon as I heard you were attending." She laughed at the gallantry—a sweet, tinkling laugh that caught his attention and he again ignored his heart's nagging— and he turned to introduce his companion. "Allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr Rowan Whitethorn of Harcomb, Doranelle and his wife, Mrs Lyria Whitethorn." Fenrys' dark eyes glinted and he smiled charmingly, letting a loose lock of hair fall on his forehead.

"I have already met Mr Whitethorn." Celaena smiled at the woman, then with a less pleasant expression towards the woman. "Mrs Whitethorn, it's a pleasure to meet you."

James had met Mrs Whitethorn barely once or twice in his life and only in passing. He had expected a genial creature, if perhaps a little reserved like her husband but she looked like a simpleton.

Though the fabric of her clothes was expensive and the stitching perfect, but the colour was dull and did no favours to her sallow complexion. Her neck remained unadorned and she wore no necklaces, bracelets or earrings, a fact made more pronounced by the tight modest bun she wore her dark hair in. By her appearance, she seemed more suited to a nunnery than to a fancy dinner party as the wife of a gentleman of rank. She exchanged curtsies and shared greetings but otherwise showed no inclination to converse and hastily excused herself as soon as was polite.

Rowan stood where he was, brooding, stiff as a board when the tradesman's daughter addressed him. "I thought you would be happy here, at least, for you detest balls but you are scowling still."

Rowan said stiffly, "I detest social events."

"Even when you don't have to dance?"

"Even then."

"I should like to hear why."

"I doubt you would understand."

"Come now, sir," said she smilingly, "Do not insult my intelligence by assuming that. Tell me and I might."

"It is not that. I—I do not—you will laugh but I hardly ever know what to say and often give offense where it is not intended." He turned to her. "You cannot have any such problem."

She arched an eyebrow in question.

He said, "You are too lively and charming, you could not possibly manage it."

"And people are too apt to forgive a pretty face in general," she agreed.

His lips twitched. "You claimed you were not a fan of convention earlier but I see you have no love for modesty either."

"For false modesty, I do not. I freely acknowledge vanity to be my chief sin." Then, she paused, "Your wife is, she is terribly shy, I think, but I hope you will not trouble yourself so much on her manner."

"I would say she is more unwilling than shy," said he with uncharacteristic openness. "I hope you were not offended."

"Oh, not at all—"

"Dear cousin," an enthusiastic voice cut through the din of polite conversation in the room, "You must stop monopolizing the lady's time. There is someone I should like to introduce her to—James. James, man, she's here, look. Allow me to present my favourite cousin, Mr James Galathynius of Graceview, Orynth."

James turned to them and bowed politely as she turned.

Then his face paled.

"Aelin." He forced a smile. "Forgive me, that is, you look exceedingly like—"

"Like five-year-old Miss Galathynius? So I've been told before," said she good humoredly.

James blinked disbelievingly. His vision blurred. Blonde hair. Ashryver eyes—that damning feature he thought Fenrys had been exaggerating about and the button nose that both, Aunt Evalin and his mother had shared. His cousin, noticing his preoccupation, engaged Miss Sardothein—nay, Aelin—into animated conversation as one thought after another crashed into his mind.

Thirteen years.

Thirteen years lost in grief and regret.

Thirteen years of seperation when they should have been searching for her.

Aelin grinned triumphantly from atop the maple tree down at her brothers, cousins and friends, dress torn and muddied. Her expression had the tiniest hint of pride as she placed herself on a sturdy branch.

"You shall fall down hurt yourself if you do not climb down, Aelin!" exclaimed Elide fretfully, twisting her muslin dress in evident distress. "And then what will we do?"

"No, no, I never shall," she insisted with a pout. "I can make this my home and you may visit me whenever you would like."

"But you cannot stay up there forever! You would feel hungry," reasoned the ever-responsible Chaol, biting his lip. Barely nine-years-old, he was the first to tattle on his friends when mishaps occured between children as they often do.

"James can bring me food," she declared haughtily, pushing one braid over her shoulder.

James grinned. "And whyever should I? You never do anything for me. I will let you starve a little perhaps. It may teach you a lesson."

"May the devil take you!"

Edward, ever the polite elder brother, reprimanded, "Aelin! That is not the language we may use." He was alarmed when her eyes teared up. "I am sorry, Aelin, love, will you not please come down?"

Aelin sniffed. "You are being mean and I will never talk to you."

"But will you not calm down before our father sees you? You would be punished." He frowned when the little rascal stuck her tongue out. He added, "If you come down, I will convince father to give Mrs Norris a leave for today."

"You promise?"

Edward nodded. "A gentleman's word."

She nodded uncertainly, then looked down and whimpered. "I can't."

Edward groaned, prompting the others to snicker at his expense. He extended his hands towards the tree.

"Climb down," he said, "James or I will catch you if you fall."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do I know he won't let me fall?"

"You are our little sister, Aelin," Edward said resolutely, extending his hands further as James did the same. "He will never let you hurt, I promise."

"A gentleman's word?" This time, her bright eye were trained on James.

He nodded. "A gentleman's word."

But had he not broken his promise? She ended up in a tradesman's family so far from home while everyone thought her dead. A five-year-old alone in the streets of London with no family whatsoever, thought he with growing unease. How terrified she must have been! He turned towards her now.

Her eyes had always been bright and her disposition lively but it was all tempered with a quiet dignified sort of grace. She looked beautiful now, the roundness in her face gone and her sharp features accentuating that inner fire.

His little sister.

As impulsive and easy to provoke as ever and every inch the little terror he remembered, down to the sneaky smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. He blinked the tears back into his eyes.

"You would not object, would you, James?" asked Fenrys.

He startled. "Huh?"

"Miss Sardothein here expressed her interest in chess and I thought to invite her for her a game tomorrow in your house." He raised an eyebroe. "Unless you have any prior obligations?"

He did have prior obligations but he would cancel them all. "I would be pleased to have you there."

Rowan frowned, looking between the three of them as if he was missing something. "Is that not... nevermind, but perhaps you should consider bringing your mother along, Miss Sardothein, for propriety's sake?" James cursed the man for his caution. A private visit would be an ideal time to reveal all to her but not if she brought someone along.

Thankfully, she dismissed the idea herself. "I will see if I can get papa to come along but I am a tradesman's daughter, far too involved in the business myself. I am certain my reputation will not suffer for it, unless you mind." Both he and Fenrys assured her that they would not mind at all and James reiterated how sincerely pleased he would be to have her there.

"We will see how pleased you are when I make you eat your dust, Mr Galathynius," she teased with a grin.

James grinned back. "I wouldn't be so sure."

Dear Edward,

I know we are not in the habit of exchanging correspondence as brothers ought but I hope you will forgive me for the presumption. Certain events of note have taken place here recently, such that it necessitated that you be informed immediately. I have a shocking good news to impart:

Our dearest Aelin did not die in the warehouse fire. She is very much alive and well.

By some stroke of luck, cousin Fenrys came across her at a ball and you will be shocked to hear she is the sole heir to the Arobynn Hamel, currently known as Miss Sardothein. He insisted she was our cousin since his first meeting, though I refused to believe him but I met her today and there can be no doubt to her identity. Fenrys invited her to a chess match in the evening tomorrow, where we plan to disclose everything to her. Father has not been informed yet.

Make haste to London, brother.

Yours,

James

Edward Galathynius, the Viscount Milton sat in his armchair, stunned.

He had been the last person to see Aelin. He had stupidly left her alone on the estate grounds that awful day. He remembered his father's panic, his mother's disinterest and his little brother's distress. He had been thirteen years old, back home from Eton for the duration of the summer. He envied James who could look at their childhood—her childhood—with the rose-coloured veil of forgetfulness. James was four when she was born. He would not remember her first steps, her first words, the nights she spent in his bed when she escaped the nursery, her favourite haunts and mischiefs. James would be able to look at their time together without being wrecked with agony because of his grief, the guilt for his blunder, the irrational desire to have her back. James would not dream up variations of that cursed day repeatedly over the years.

"Aelin! Aelin, love, slow down, no, not there, yes, gods, Aelin!" Edward shouted behind her. "Your frock! You look wild—no, stop that, Mrs Norris will faint of horror if you are any more muddied."

Aelin stepped into one mud puddle after another. She sent dirt flying back at her proper, dignified elder brother who pinched his nose in distaste. "Now we are both muddied," said she, grinning over her shoulder. "You can tell her that we didn't see the mud and both slipped."

"And lie to her?" He looked horrified.

Aelin tilted her head, fussing over her hair matted with mud. "Is it a lie if we do it for the greater good?"

"The greater good?"

Aelin nodded, pleased with herself. "Of not letting her faint. She is so thin, I sometimes fear a strong gust of wind will blow her away."

She ran further, bursting into giggles every few minutes and by now, had both of them looking no less than two street urchins. He tried to be stern with her but it was awfully hard to remain angry at someone so determined not to pay attention to a word. He knew better than to scold her, lest she summon her tears. That never failed to make him comply with whatever she asked.

"Aelin, there's a hole there, be careful. Stop running, will you—Aelin!" It was too late.

Her right hand gripped her ankle while the other was on her mouth in a poor attempt to stifle her sob.

Edward frowned as she whimpered in pain. "I told you not to run, no, no, don't cry, darling, it will be fine. I shall call for someone." They had been out on the grounds for a while now and the manor house was far away. She was too heavy for him to carry so far and he did not want to hurt her further.

He patted her cheek affectionately. "There, now, you are a brave girl, and I need you to wait right here. I will run back to the manor and bring help, yes?"

She promised she would not and he hurried back to the house.

The rest of the day remained hazy in his memories. He had arrived back at the spot with his father, a growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach to find her gone. Search parties were organised and the merchants, locals and servants were all on alert for the beloved little spitfire. Day faded into night, then night into dawn when an express rider came with a letter from the magistrate and his father left the house in haste. He had chanced a look at his father's letter, his concern for her too great to worry about the impropriety of reading another's letter without permission. The contents read:

Dear sir,

I am afraid I have sad tidings to depart. One of the warehouses outside the town had caught fire the previous night and two lives were lost as far as we can determine. The first—a grown man, in his thirties or forties, has been determined as a local thief—and the second, a little girl, perhaps five or six years old. Her identity has not been confirmed but we retrieved a silver anklet among the remains. I beg for your assistance in identifying the girl's family. Do come as soon as you can.

Yours

Sir Arthur Renard

His heart pounded too loud in his ears. He felt hot and cold at once. He knew why only one ankle was retrieved from the corpse, because he had the other. It had fallen off her leg earlier that day and he had retrieved it with the intention to fix the loose lock on it.

His knees buckled.

"What happened?" James asked.

Edward shook his head, about to tell him not to worry. His words choked up in his throat and he excused himself from company, pale and ashen, his head throbbing. He ran up the stairs to his room, dismissed his valet for the night and slumped onto bed. The same bed he had shared with her on nights when she was spooked by thunder or some horror story Fenrys had related to her earlier that day.

Edward had left her there alone.

He buried his face in the pillow and wept.

Rhoe withdrew into himself after the funeral. Edward found comfort back at university, where no one or nothing would remind him of his loss, where he could avoid his guilt and pain.

Then mother died.

The summer visits to family became rarer and rarer. Father never insisted, retiring into his library, the one place where her presence was most patent and he was all too happy to remain where he was. The distance increased after he left university. His father preferred James' company, who was lively and good-humored and as James preferred the society to be found in London, they made the townhouse their home while Edward ran their country estates.

But now,

She is very much alive and well. His heart would not be satisfied.

He ordered for his horse to be saddled and riding gear prepared. The best of the family suites were to be prepared and aired out. She was alive and well, and soon, she would be back home.

Feeling happier than he had in months, Edward Galathynius spurred his horse onwards, fast as he could, to London.

I know I was supposed to update Cinders first but my brain insisted on rebelling and this is what happened. I will update that one soon tho, and I think you'll like it. 💖

tags:

@thesirenwashere // @courtofjurdan //@little-crow-corvere // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @aelinchocolatelover // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @curlyredqueen06 // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein //@jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash // @miihlovesnoone // @sanakapoor // @abookishfreak // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @morganofthewildfire // @bellamyblakru // @theilliumbluebell10 // @jesstargaryenqueen // @woollycat22

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

[kiwikyuu]

━━━━━━━━ greatest asset ; oikawa tōru

summary — there was only one thing you could think in that moment; oikawa could not lose his greatest asset no matter the cost

word count — 1.3k

genre — imagine ; enemies to lovers, slight angst, fluff

warning(s) — car accident + coma, self sacrifice (read: not death). sort of cliché oops, cursing, not edited

a/n — i read a hand holding headcanon and something about it just spurred this idea in me. also this might be a little out of character but everything just kinda made sense in my head so oops. it has been so long since i've written imagines so please be patient with me

❝ IT ALL HAPPENED SO FAST, BUT HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN FASTER. ❞

They called him the Great King—Oikawa the Great. He was a star on and off the court. With his impeccable serves and his seemingly endless fan club of girls, people found it hard to believe that a guy so stuck up his own flat ass could ever yield willingly to someone.

Then you came into the picture.

You two clashed in every way possible from the moment you met. The dislike was mutual and unwavering. There were even whispers that Oikawa found you more intolerable than Kageyama Tobio, the infamous genius setter of Karasuno High.

"There's a thin line between love and hatred, Y/N."

"Yeah, it's called rationality, Tōru, and my balance is impeccable."

Bickering became but a pastime between you two, and considering that you took the same bus as Oikawa, it happened often.

It was foggy out this afternoon. Mondays were his day off, which meant you found yourself walking stubbornly beside him. Oikawa tried his best not to mind you, but his eyebrows furrowed in frustration regardless.

"Take a picture, Tōru. It'll last longer," you said, narrowing your eyes at him as the bus stop came into view just across the street.

He scoffed. "Like I'd want a picture of you in my phone."

You rolled your eyes at him. "Stop acting so high and mighty, you arrogant asshole."

Arrogant asshole.

There it was, the words he had heard so many times before whether it was directly at him on the court or behind his back when he was turned. Everyone always had something to say, something to critique.

Oikawa wasn't sure why it bothered him so much today, but it did. Maybe it was the recent loss against Shiratorizawa at Inter-High, or maybe it was the underlying fear of not wanting to be like Kageyama and knowing what you said sounded exactly like something that he would have said to insufferable first-year. Regardless, it struck a nerve and it struck hard.

You had never seen the expression that Oikawa had donned cross his face before, and for the first time, you worried you had overstepped. Sure, he was annoying, but your comments were always meant to irritate not cause genuine harm.

"You know Y/N, for someone who acts so smart you're really fucking dense," Oikawa said, his voice small but slowly getting louder. He let out a booming laugh as he turned to face you.

"Calm down," you said.

Oikawa shook his head. "I mean, arrogant asshole? Your vocabulary is shit. Why not pompous prick or ingenuine idiot?" He took a step forward as you took one back leaving the both of you to stand dangerously close to the edge of the sidewalk.

"You're going to – " slip if you don't be careful.

But the damage had already been done, and Oikawa felt his foot slide off the curb. He would have went flailing backwards if he hadn't had the reflexes of a skilled volleyball player. He steadied himself quickly, shoes coming down flat against the asphalt of the side of the road.

For a moment, you thought he was safe again because he hadn't hurt himself. The fog was thick but not thick enough to cover the blinding headlights of an approaching car that definitely did not have enough time to swerve safely away from Oikawa who didn't even realize what was happening behind him.

There was only one thing you could think in that moment; Oikawa could not lose his greatest asset no matter the cost. You weren't stupid. You knew if the car hit him, it would have affected his hands. What was a setter without functioning hands?

It was a split-second decision. Suddenly, you were pulling Oikawa back onto the sidewalk as the momentum propelled you forward to take his place.

It all happened so fast, but he should have been faster.

Everything went dark but not before you saw the abject horror in Oikawa's eyes.

A week later, you woke up in the hospital.

"If those are tears in your eyes, Shittykawa, I'm going to – "

"You're too mean, Y/N. You just woke up from a coma."

The doctors had informed you that considering your injuries, it would take you at least a month to recover and that was if you were lucky. You weren't overjoyed to be missing school, but Aoba Johsai was just considerate enough after a certain whiny setter complained to everyone he possibly could to provide accommodations so you'd be able to graduate in time.

Meanwhile, during your recovery, if Oikawa wasn't practicing for the upcoming Spring Nationals, he was to be by your side.

"I saved your life, Tōru, so you bet your flat ass that you're going to help me during recovery," you said when he objected to your request. Eventually, he agreed.

And so began an interesting friendship.

The students of Aoba Johsai were shocked when they found out. Oikawa Tōru, the Great King of the court, reduced to a compliant errand boy?

Iwaizumi was just glad Oikawa had finally met his match. Perhaps, this would turn to be for the better.

"Tōru, buy me milk bread."

"Only if we can share." THUD. "Y/N, you hit almost as hard as Iwa-chan."

"I'm bored, Tōru."

"Okay, and?"

"Stupidkawa, read me a story."

"Jared, 19."

"Oikawa, I want bubble tea."

"And milk bread?"

"You know me so well now."

Until finally you were discharged, and with your recovery, a strong bond with the pretty setter that made your heart flutter from time to time.

The volleyball team was still preparing for Spring Nationals which was slowly approaching. Oikawa, now able to turn his full attention to it, fully immersed himself into practice. He was the captain after all.

And it was only once you started to drop by that you noticed it.

It being the swarm of butterflies that pooled in your stomach whenever you found yourself around Oikawa now. For some reason, you could no longer overlook the handsome features of his face or the attractiveness in his confidence.

Really, you wanted nothing more than to disappear in a hole once you realized.

Iwaizumi figured out Oikawa's feelings for you before he did.

It was the way the usually level-headed setter would become even more boastful on the court if you were sitting in the bleachers during their practices. Sometimes, a slight pink even tinged his cheeks when you managed a smile at him.

Slowly, the two of you were falling for each other more and more.

Oikawa would take you home after practice if you were still there, getting off at your stop which was three earlier than his so he could walk you.

"You don't have to take me all the way, Tōru."

"I want to."

You would come bearing gifts the next morning after a particularly rough night, somehow managing to get through all his fan girls to give him milk bread packaged prettily and decorated with a post-it note holding a message.

"Cheer up, Stupidkawa."

"You really know what warms my heart, Y/N."

It continued like this for a while. Iwaizumi declared he'd kick Oikawa off the team if he had bear any more of this overly-sweet pre-relationship period. Then finally it happened.

Mondays were his day off, which meant you found yourself walking happily beside him. Oikawa and you were bumping shoulders—a back-and-forth that you were now used to.

"We should get bubble tea," you decided.

"And milk bread," he added.

You stared at him blankly. "You had milk bread like every day this week. How are you not sick of it?"

"I hang out with you every day, and I'm not sick of you," he countered.

"Yeah, but I'm not bread," you said, still looking at him blankly despite the bubbling pit of affection in your chest at his words.

Oikawa nodded thoughtfully. "You're better."

You scoffed, trying to play it off, though your cheeks burned. "Your fan girls would trample me if they heard," you joked. "Something about stealing you from them when we're not even – "

"Go out with me."

[turtletotem]

Peace and Unity

If it’s possible to write Dark!Charles and crack at the same time, I think that’s what I’ve done.

"All right, that is enough of that," Charles said exasperatedly as Erik turned the missiles back toward the ships. "I'm done coddling your neuroses, Erik."

He touched a hand to his temple, and the missiles tumbled from Erik's control into the water. Erik looked at the missiles, looked at his outstretched hand, looked at Charles.

"Sit down," Charles said, "before you hurt anyone else."

Erik sat down, hard and graceless, in the sand.

"But," he said. "But the helmet—"

"It slowed me down for a few minutes, I admit," Charles said. "But it's a bit hilarious that Shaw thought it would stop me for good. Brainwaves don't only come out the back of your head. Honestly!"

Erik probed at his exposed face, frowning.

Moira came running out of the crashed plane, where she had been trying to contact her CIA superiors. "Erik, put down those—Oh. You stopped him." She lowered her gun.

"Yes, thankfully, since you certainly wouldn't have been any use at it," Charles said. "A gun, Moira, really? You were going to fire a gun at a mutant who controls metal? How do you think that would have gone? Wherever that bullet ended up, it certainly wouldn't have been in Erik!"

Moira blushed and holstered the gun.

"You sit down, too," Charles said, "while I get this figured out." He waved a hand at Moira, who dropped onto her butt in the sand, face blank.

"Charles…" Raven was approaching cautiously, the boys hanging back behind her. "Are you all right? You're acting… a little strange."

"Oh, I act like this all the time, you just don't remember it later," Charles said absently. "And Moira doesn't mind. She thinks she has a crush on me. She actually finds me quite irritating, which wouldn't serve our purposes at all, so I had to fix that. Ah ah ah!" He turned and pointed at Erik, who was trying to get to his feet. "You stay put! There, now you can't feel your legs. That ought to keep you still for a bit."

"I don't… remember it later?" Raven repeated, shaken. "But Charles, you promised you would never use your powers on me…"

"Yes, I did," Charles said brightly, raising a hand to his temple, "and of course I never shall. You believe that, wholeheartedly. You all do."

Raven and the boys all nodded woodenly.

"Excellent. Now, you." He went to stand in front of Erik, whose eyes had gone very, very wide. "I think I've been more than patient with you, Erik. You've been through a great deal, and I really enjoyed trying to help you with that. It's been such a long time since I had a real challenge to work with. Raven stopped having truly independent ideas years ago. But unfortunately you've just proven that you can't be trusted not to kill people on a whim."

"I'm beginning to wonder why that matters to you," Hank said from behind Raven, his voice heavy with dawning dread.

"Sometimes I wonder too," Charles said in tones of exasperation. "People really are so stupid, so much of the time. But they're beautiful, too. You're all so beautiful." He beamed at them all, and they smiled back tentatively, instinctively reacting to the wave of affection and approval hitting their minds. "I can't help it, Hank, I do love people! They're so complicated, so interesting, so entertaining. If I had no people to love and take care of, what would I even do with myself? Not to mention, who would take care of me? I have needs, you know. And I can't cook at all." He looked them all over for a moment, thoughtfully—all of them, Shaw's defeated minions included. "Yes, every one of you has such potential. I do believe I'll keep you." He smiled with great satisfaction.

Then he pointed, and Shaw's minions walked, blank-faced, to stand next to Erik.

"Right," Charles said. "This whole kill-the-humans mindset has got to go. I think the simplest solution is to say today has been a turning point for you all, an epiphany. Violence is not the way. Brotherhood for all, that is the only answer." He touched a hand to his temple and closed his eyes for a very long minute, face scrunched in concentration. Moira, Raven, and the boys looked at each other uneasily.

When Charles opened his eyes, Shaw's minions were looking around and smiling as if the world were somehow new and beautiful. Erik, getting slowly to his feet, looked like he might be waking up from a bad dream—his face lighter, his shoulders sagging with relief. Absently, he took off the helmet and dropped it in the sand.

"Charles," he said breathlessly, opening his arms, "I'm so sorry—I don't know what I was doing—I don't know why I thought—"

"Shh, it's all right, darling, all is forgiven," Charles said, falling into his embrace. "So long as you never do it again."

"Never!"

"Excellent." He kissed Erik for a lazy, luxurious moment. "You are so good at that. All right, everyone, gather up! Azazel's going to get us out of here."

"But Charles," Raven said shakily.

"Ah, right." Another fingertip to his temple. "You all remember me talking Erik down with a rousing and inspirational speech about peace and unity, powerful enough to bring Angel, Riptide and Azazel over to our side. Raven, your confidence in my promise remains undying. Moira, don't forget you're in love with me—though you may end up forgetting a good many other things, very soon. Never mind that for now. Come along, everyone hold hands. Let's go home!"

"Yes, Charles," they all replied in perfect unison, and disappeared from the beach.

[thedreadvampy]

Do you have any advice for a young poly person thats just started figuring out that part of their identity? I'm kind of lost at the moment

I don't really know, to be honest. Being poly is, to me, just sort of where I ended up, I didn't like...take active steps to get here. I'm a very take-life-as-it-comes person 🤷‍♀️ I don't even necessarily think of polyamory as something I AM, it's just that I have polyamorous relationships and I don't do well in monogamous ones, so to me it's pretty much something you need to handle on a case by case basis.

I think to me the key things are being honest, communicating, being boundaried, and having good time management skills.

Communication is important in any relationship, but it's like...VITAL in a poly relationship because all of you are going to have to balance each other's needs. It doesn't mean it's EASY, mind you. I have had many conversations by writing a note and then hiding, or by mumbling into a mattress while hiding under a duvet. But you need to be willing to make the effort to talk honestly with your partner, even when it's really hard, about what you need, where your boundaries are, and what you want, and you ABSOLUTELY need to be with someone who can manage a similar level of communication. You need to make room for your own wants and needs, but you also need to be able to judge what you're ok to compromise on.

Honestly again though this is just what you need to make a relationship work of any kind, it's just a bit more pronounced in poly relationships because there are more moving parts. And like any relationship, there will be times you mess up, times you hurt your partners, times you get hurt, times your needs are incompatible with your partners' and you have to step back...that doesn't mean you're necessarily Failing At Polyamory, it's just sometimes what happens in relationships.

Every poly relationship is different because every relationship is different, and you and your partners are going to have to negotiate what you're comfortable with, what you want from the relationship, and how involved you want to be with your other partners.

One thing I would stress is that it's your right and your prerogative to choose a poly relationship. It's not your right to insist somebody ELSE be in a poly relationship. Different people need different things out of relationships. It may be that you fall for someone who wants a monogamous commitment, and if that's the case both of you have some soul-searching to do - do you think you can make it work being monogamous? Are they open to giving polyamory a try? What will you do if they try polyamory and hate it? - and sometimes you will not be able to make it work, even if you really really like each other. And that sucks. But don't take it personally - they're not being unfair by maintaining their boundaries, nor are you being unfair by maintaining yours.

There's no one size fits all answer to what being poly looks like, and the best advice I have is to keep having the conversation about what you need and what the people you love need. Set boundaries and be honest about them; tell your partner if you're unhappy or overwhelmed; build a relationship that works for you. And if you've done that then everyone who acts like polyamory is weird or aberrant or selfish can piss off, what matters is that you are doing right by yourself and the people around you.

There will be awkward points and people who react weirdly. You're not obliged to tell everyone on sight that you're poly, but nor should you feel obliged to hide it. Disclose at your own pace and remember polyamory is no more or less valid than any other approaches in relationships.

You don't have to have it all figured out, you just have to be ready to work with your partners honestly and thoughtfully to figure out how you'll handle roadblocks.

Also don't cheat (and if your partner has set boundaries you've agreed on, breaking those still counts as cheating even if you're poly). Don't be a dick. Don't let anyone tell you your relationship is inherently sexual or excessively hipstery. And do lock your door when you're making out with your partner if your parents don't know you're poly, because, uh, that's how one of my partners ended up coming out as both bi and poly to their mum and it was embarrassing all round.

But also I feel like this is a lot of dos and don'ts but tbh the takeaway is - there's no reason to be stressed about it. It literally is just Doing A Relationship, and sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn't but there's no reason why you shouldn't have really fulfilling, lasting, supportive poly relationships which are as strong and nurturing as a good monogamous relationship. I think there's this perception that polyamory is somehow inherently shallow or adolescent or temporary but that's not my experience at all, relationships are relationships and if you can keep up communication and honesty then you'll have good relationships. I have had bad poly relationships where I've felt sidelined and secondary, but I've also had this phenomenally supportive relationship with my partners where like, we've been able to support each other in managing abuse and trauma, where we hang out and take the piss out of each other and play games together, where things that are stressing me that I can't talk about with one partner I can vent about with the other - it's genuinely so good. I never did well with monogamy because I never liked being the sole centre of someone's life and polyamory for me is way less stressful even though there are a lot more moving parts. I know that if I need support I won't be piling all my woes on one person, so I bottle less up. I know that I don't need to worry about feeling like I've trapped people or like I'm not giving them what they need, because if I'm not they can go find it elsewhere. For me, polyamory has been the most freeing thing and I'm so grateful that I had the confidence to say "this is what I need" and to find other people whose needs match up with mine.

I hope you find what you need and if you want any advice about any specific stuff my ask box is always open. it may not be helpful and you may just get a 2000000 word ramble but nevertheless. always open.

[ablazeinhim]

Halloweentown Musings

So I've been watching Halloweentown every day for like three weeks and i have a lot of thoughts/questions. Production/movie making thoughts, and also canon/universe thoughts. I probably should have just live logged my watchings, but I didn't, so here we are.

The first night i watched it, i watched the first three all right in a row. And by the third film, nearly all the beautiful, effortless warmth and coziness of the first film is gone.

Halloweentown is one of the most beautiful films I've ever seen. It is lit magnificently. Most of the lighting is warm, and there's an outlining light on their faces/forms a lot. The colors are rich and deep and plentiful. Even the outdoor spaces feel cozy and intimate because of the lighting and framing. It's a masterpiece.

Not surprising considering the director of photography, Michael Slovis', other work: 20 eps of breaking bad, 23 eps of CSI, many others. The other 3 films in the series have different DPs.

Look at these:

Compared to the third movie:

In especially the second movie it seems they use the richness of color, and the color tone of light to contrast the mom and grandma. The mortal world and the magical one. The love interest/villian even mentions how Marni's room doesn't seem to fit her and she says her mom likes "ordinary."

~

The effects in this movie are spectacular. All the practical effects and creature sculpts. They're gorgeous and well made! And they have a nice mix of practical and digital effects. It helps it feel real and magical, because so much of it is there physically. And BENNY. Ugh. He can show so much range in his face. The eyebrows!

Last thing about the production side. The acting is so natural. They feel like a real family! The little ways they react to each other. Especially the mom, like when she's scolding Sophie for asking grandma if she brought them presents. SO GOOD.

And the writing! Marni feels dopey at times, but then you realize she's 13! That's how 13 year olds are! Ready to go out and change the world and really believe that they can! Strong-willed, sure, optimistic. Not shameful about wanting to help or seeming over-eager. Her characterization is perfect.

One of my favorite through-lines is how playful the grandma is with Dylan. Like she knows he's the most skeptical/resistant, and because of that, is playfully hard on him. In the first movie when she's reading to them, he says it's stupid Marni thinks she could be a witch, and the grandma practically interrupts him by elbowing him in the side while she says something like, "you never know, she might be!" And in the second movie Marni uses his embarrassing username/password against him. Then as she walks away we hear the grandma whispering the name to him and chuckling.

~

Onto my canon/universe questions.

How do magical people age? How does time work? Why is the boy getting seemingly no training? I mean maybe he doesn't want it but that seems like a waste to not at least teach him practical spells and stuff. Like, he doesn't even know how to make his grandma's door appear and disappear in the second one, and the girls just wave their hand and it happens. What happened to Luke? Did Kalibar/Kal ever come back and muck things up again? At the end of the second movie Luke says he (Kalibar/Kal) will be back, but the subsequent two movies have unrelated villians.

The time and aging thing is what I'm most confused by. The grandma is over 1000 years old. But in the fourth movie we go back in time 1000 years and meet the grandma, presumably 18 then (forgive me, I'm not going back to watch it), being played by the same 18 year old actress playing Marni. And the children, half mortal/half witch are aging at a normal human pace. So like, does the aging of their bodies slow down sometime? When? How old is the mom?

In the first movie, the grandma says that two hours in the mortal world could be two days in Halloweentown, or two weeks if they're on vacation. And in the second movie it's established that if Marni goes to Halloweentown for a (mortal world)year with her grandma, it will "feel like" or "be like" 100 years to her. Soooo is whatever's up with that part of the aging thing? Doesn't make much sense considering all the creatures used to live in the mortal world. When they created their own world/dimension did they also decide to have time run differently? For what purpose?

OMG also!!! In the fourth movie, since the portal between worlds is now open all of the time instead of just on mortal-world Halloween, humans and creatures are going to college in each other's worlds. For that to make any sense at all, time, and public education, would have to run the same in both worlds.

~

There are people with humanoid bodies but jack-o'-lantern heads, and yet pumpkin products and consumables are openly sold in Halloweentown. Is that weird for them, or do they and edible/decorative pumpkins just happen to look alike?

Because this is a live-action movie, most of the creatures are humanoid in form, and that makes me curious how inter-species relations work. Like socially, but also personally. Obviously witches/warlocks are genetically similar enough to humans that they will 1. Become them if they haven't started their magical training by their 13th Halloween, and 2. Can produce offspring together. But seemingly up until the mom, no one in her family had gone off and made babies with a human, or any other creature. So did they have arranged deals with warlocks of powerful magical families? So they could ensure the Cromwell line would continue and be strong? And in the first film, Luke, a goblin, expresses romantic interest in Marni, and it's not treated as anything out of the ordinary. (I very much know love and romance and relationships happen without any need for, want for, or intent to produce children, but there are children in this universe, but seemingly no inter-species families aside from human/witch, so I'm curious if there are rules against it or logistical reasons why not).

~

Do we think the mom told her mortal husband that she was a witch? I really really hope so. I want that joy for her. I'm imagining beautiful moments of them together. Creating a shield over them to keep the rain off. Dancing in the kitchen while the freshly-done dishes dance around them. Pausing time or sealing off their space to get in one more kiss before they have to part. Beautiful, warm, romantic moments meant just for the two of them. I really hope they had that openness and joy and FUN.

~

I think that's it, but I have a few other random notes.

It feels significant that we see Sophie's powers, and she realizes them for herself, first. And before the other kids know. The first time she uses her powers AND gets to see the outcome of it, the other kids are distracted and don't realize she's done anything special.

Watching this movie at least once a day has been such an enjoyable experience. Until this year I hadn't seen it since I was a kid, and it was magical watching such a thoughtfully made kids movie. It really feels like it was in a golden age for dcoms. And the way I feel like I'm hanging out with this fam every night. Like I'm being told a story everynight (I mean like someone (really kind. A loved one or beloved famous reader) is telling me a story every night. It's v comforting.

And, Marni's scruchie is gorgeous and I need it, so if anyone has a lead on where I can get this scrunchie from 1998, hit me up.

[akathecentimetre]

Hey there, so I really like history as a subject, and I'm pretty good at it. The thing is, I don't know what my career options would be if I studied it, or if I would be able to make money. My parents are heavily discouraging me from taking it as a major. As a 'historian' in training' what's your take? Thank you

Hi there! Sorry for the delay, ‘tis the hectic season…

Oh man, I have so many thoughts for you. Full disclosure: this is something I have worked on a LOT over the course of my graduate career both at my uni and on a national level; most of my advice, however, comes from a PhD candidate’s perspective and may not be directly helpful to an undergraduate, and I should also emphasize that everything I can say on this is very firmly based on the U.S. market only. That being said, a lot of what I can say can be universally applied, so here we go - 

The number of history undergraduates in the U.S. has plummeted in the last decade or so, from it previously being one of the most popular majors. There are many interacting reasons for this: a changeover from older to younger, better-trained, energetic professors who draw in and retain students has been very slow to occur, partly because of a lack of a mandatory retirement age; the humanities have been systematically demonized and minimized in favor of the development of STEM subjects, to the occasional benefit of students of color and women but to the detriment of critical public discourse and historical perspective on current events; with many liberal arts colleges going under financially and the enormous expansion of academic bureaucracy everywhere, resources are definitely being diverted away from social and human studies towards fields which are perceived to pay better or perceived, as mentioned in the article above, as being more ‘practical.’ (We do need a ton more healthcare workers/specialists, but that’s a different conversation to have.) But now I feel like quoting a certain Jedi Master: everything your parents say is wrong. Let’s dive into why being a historian is a positive thing for you both as a person and as a professional - 

You will be a good reader. As you learn to decipher documents and efficiently and thoroughly read secondary literature, you will develop a particular talent for understanding what is important about any piece of writing or evidence (and this can go for visual and aural evidence as well). This will serve you well in any position in which you are collecting/collating information and reporting to colleagues or superiors, and evaluating the worth of resources. Specific example - editorial staff at publishing houses either private or academic, magazines, etc. 

You will be a good writer. This will get you a good job at tons of places; don’t underestimate it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been astonished (not in a punitive way, of course, but definitely with a sense of befuddlement) by how badly some of my Ivy-league students can write. Good writing is hard, good writing is rare, and good writing is a breath of fresh air to any employer who puts a high premium upon it in their staff. History in principle is the study of change; history in practice is presenting information in a logical, interesting, and persuasive manner. Any sort of institution which asks you to write reports, summaries, copy, etc. etc. will appreciate your skills. 

You will be a good researcher. This sounds like a given, but it’s an underappreciated and vital skill. Historians work as consultants. Historians work in government - almost every department has an Office of the Historian - and in companies, writing company histories and maintaining institutional archives. A strong research profile will also serve you well if you want to go on to work in museum studies and in libraries public or private/academic. As a historian, you will know not just where to find information, but what questions you have to ask to get to the answer of how to tackle, deconstruct, and solve a problem. This is relevant to almost any career path. 

You will provide perspective. Historians react to current events in newspapers and online - not just on politics, but culture as well (my favorite article of this week is about the historicity of The Aeronauts). Historians act as expert witnesses in court proceedings. Historians write books, good books, not just meant for academic audiences but for millions upon millions of readers who need thoughtful, intelligent respite from the present. Historians work for thinktanks, providing policy analysis and development (a colleague of mine is an expert on current events of war in Mali and works for multiple thinktanks and organizations because of it). Historians work for nonprofits or lobbying groups on issues of poverty, environmental safety, climate change, and minority and indigenous rights. In a world when Texas school textbooks push the states’ rights narrative, historians remind us that the Civil War was about slavery. Historians remind us that women and people of color have always existed. In this time and world where STEM subjects are (supposedly) flooding the job market, we need careful historical perspective more than ever. We need useful reactions to the 2016 election, to the immigration travesties on display at the southern border, to the strengthening of right-wing parties in Europe - and history classes, or thoughtfully historical classes on philosophy and political science, are one of the few places STEM and business students gain the basic ability to participate in those conversations. [One of my brightest and most wonderful students from last year, just to provide an anecdote, is an astrophysics major who complained to me in a friendly conversation this semester that she never got the chance to talk about ‘deep’ things anymore once she had passed through our uni’s centralized general curriculum, which has a heavy focus on humanities subjects.]

You will be an educator. Teaching is a profession which has myriad challenges in and of itself, but in my experience of working with educators there is a desperate need for secondary-school teachers in particular to have actual content training in history as opposed to simply being pushed into classrooms with degrees which focus only on pedagogical technique. If teaching is a vocation you are actually interested in, getting a history degree is not a bad place to start at all. And elementary/high schools aside, you will be teaching someone something in every interaction you have concerning your subject of choice. Social media is a really important venue now for historians to get their work out into the world and correct misconceptions in the public sphere, and is a place where you can hone a public and instructive voice. You could also be involved in educational policy, assessment/test development (my husband’s field, with a PhD in History from NYU), or educational activism. 

If some of this sounds kind of woolly and abstract, that’s because it is. Putting yourself out there on the job market is literally a marketing game, and it can feel really silly to take your experience of 'Two years of being a Teaching Assistant for European History 1500-1750’ and mutate it to 'Facilitated group discussions, evaluated written work from students [clients], and ran content training sessions on complex subjects.’ But this sort of translation is just another skill - one that can be learned, improved, and manipulated to whatever situation you need it to fit.

Will you make money? That’s a question only you can answer, because only you know what you think is enough money. That being said, many of the types of careers I’ve mentioned already are not low-paying; in my experience expertise is, if you find the right workplace and the rewarding path, usually pretty well-remunerated. 

Specific advice? Hone your craft. Curate an active public presence as a historian, an expert, a patient teacher, and as as person enthusiastic about your subject. Read everything and anything. Acknowledge and insist upon complexity, and celebrate it when you can. 

And finally - will any of what I’ve said here make it easy? No, because no job search and no university experience is easy these days. It’s a crazy world and there are a lot of awful companies, bosses, and projects out there. But I do very firmly believe that you can find something, somewhere, that will suit your skills, and, hopefully, your passions too. 

Resources for you: the American Historical Association has a breakdown of their skills-based approach to the job market, reports on the job market(s) for history PhDs collectively called ‘Where Historians Work,’ and a mentorship program, Career Contacts, which could connect you with professional historians in various workplaces. There is a very active community of historians on Twitter; search for #twitterstorians. For historians who identify as female, Women Also Know History is a newer site which collates #herstorian bios and publications to make it easier for journalists to contact them for expert opinions. ImaginePhD provides career development tools and exercises for graduate students, but could probably be applied to undergrads as well. The Gilder Lehrman Institute is one of the premier nonprofits which develops and promotes historical training for secondary school teachers and classroom resources (U.S. history only). Job listings are available via the AHA, the National Council on Public History, and the IHE, as well as the usual job sites. And there’s an awful lot more out there, of course - anyone who reads or reblogs this post is welcome to add field-specific or resource-specific info. 

I hope this helps, Anon, or at least provides you with a way to argue in favor of it to your parents if it comes to that. Chin up!

[aubretia23]

Heartbeat chapter 1 part 5 (the last one)

Rating T

Disclaimer : I don't own anything related to Naruto or Boruto.

.....

Sarada had cried herself to sleep that night. It was stupid of her because she had no confirmation that Boruto had rejected her. But still, he had cut off the call quite abruptly.

She came down like a zombie for breakfast to find her grandfather, uncle and father in formal clothes, ready to leave the mansion. “Do you have some urgent work today? It's weekend….” She asked apprehensively. Itachi looked at her gently. “We are meeting Hiashi-sama, Minato-sama, Naruto-kun and Neji-kun to finalise the details of your betrothal to Boruto.” Sarada was perplexed. A cocktail of fatigue and fear made her blurt out “But does Boruto even want to marry me?” without thinking.  Sasuke patted her on the head. “Hiashi-sama, actually Kushina-sama prior to that, called last night to confirm Boruto's agreement to marrying you.” Sarada blinked. “Umm….” Before she could say another word, the trio left in their Porsches.

Her black iPhone beeped. Sarada felt her heart thump hard against her rib cage as she read the message containing the details of a Swiss-cuisine deli from Boruto. She ran upstairs, showered in a record time limit and made herself presentable, throwing on a brightly coloured D&G dress, hoping that it will camouflage her fatigue. She reached the elegantly decorated restaurant to find Boruto, dressed in a white and blue ensemble, fast asleep on a table for two, located in a secluded but still well lit corner of the deli.

Sarada smiled. He looked so cute with his soft golden hair tousled and face buried in his folded arms spread on the table. The warm and cosy scent of baked items and the soft jazz music wafting through the restaurant must have lulled him to sleep. She clamped back the warmth blooming in her chest from becoming too apparent. Her efforts to shush the frantic waiter who hurried to pull back a chair for her were futile. Boruto stirred up and looked up to meet her eyes.

Onyx and sapphire stared into each other.

It's been so long.

"Hey!” He greeted tiredly. “Hi!” She greeted back with hesitation and seated herself. As Boruto gave out their order, muttering something about missing Swiss food and having a much better understanding of Continental cuisine than herself, Sarada took a few moments to compose herself. However, the moment he was done, concern rolled off her lips instinctively.

She wondered whether this is how it is always going to be from now. Being unable to help herself when it comes to him?

Boruto looked up from his palms, his eyes a bit blurry due to the rubbing. She looked so cute.

Too adorably cute.

“So?” He began, “Mind explaining what was going on in your head when you agreed to marry me?” “Hey, you said yes as well! No need to act so smug.” Sarada retorted. Two can play this game and she would rather be damned than lose to him.

“I agreed because I always thought you were the most obvious choice I had. Been like that since pre-school and unfortunately, despite my sincere efforts, that hasn't changed. So what's your excuse?” Sarada gaped at him. Shikadai never told her about this. “You had girlfriends back in Switzerland?”

“Girlfriends?!” Boruto blinked at her. “No!” “Then what do you mean by “sincere efforts”?!” Sarada glared at him. Boruto snorted. “I got asked out a few times. Never said yes to one because oddly enough, none of them were as interesting as you. I tried not comparing them to you. That's the sincere effort I was talking about. If I did have a girlfriend even once successfully, I wouldn't have said yes to this marriage this easily. Let's face it. You are the only one who has managed to keep up with me, Miss Number Two.” Boruto smiled smugly. “Nobody else could even compare. You are one of a kind after all, Miss Stuck Up.”

The urge to punch the table and break it down was growing exponentially with passing of each of his words and it really didn't help that it was accompanied by a stronger urge to be reduced to a puddle of blushing fits. Boruto was looking at her inquisitively, indicating that he wasn't going to let this slide easily. “So? It's your turn. Spill.”

"Fine….as you said, let's face it. You were always the best suitor my family had in mind. I won't deny that even I think that.” Sarada shifted a bit, uncomfortable at the vivid smugness slowly sliding off Boruto's face and being replaced by that calm but blank expression which shut everyone and everything out. One of many things that he had learnt during his years away from Konoha. She hated it. It was irrefutable proof of him distancing himself from her. “Boruto, we get along well. I am comfortable with you and I...I can see a future with you. A good one. A happy one.”

Boruto's continued silence prompted her further. “Look, I don't know how I can explain this to you more convincingly but when I close my eyes, I can see myself coming back to home...to you…..to our kids. A cosy house, a garden, a dog, two or three children…..” Boruto looked up to meet her eyes. She felt almost willingly naked under his stare. “If you are worried about something, just say it.”

"Sarada…..you do realise what a marriage entails, don't you?” Boruto creased his brows at her.

"Staying by each other's side, being together, being each other's support, being loyal to each other, trying our best for each other…..” Sarada hesitated, “That's what it is, right?” Boruto continued to bore into her eyes.

Boruto nodded gently, then looked around the deli, trying to clear his mind. “Sarada, I...I really don't want us to land up like one of those people who married for convenience's sake. I don't want a life where….we are detached, ya know?” Sarada knew what he was talking. She saw those kinds of couples all around her. “We won't. We are friends first and foremost.” She said firmly. Boruto’s lit up with uncertain warmth. “I….want to be happy. Both of us to be happy, Sarada. You really sure about this?”

Sarada looked at the boy she loved. His partiality towards black existed even back when they were in pre-school. She remembers him screaming and shouting at a football match back then. She remembers watching him in his black sports ensemble, his face glistening with sweat, shoulders broad, head thrown back in joyful laughter. That was the first time she clearly remembers thinking to herself that Uzumaki Boruto was absolutely magnificent. She was five back then. She is fifteen right now. Her feelings for the boy in front of her has only become more desperate over the years.

"Yes.”

Boruto felt relief flooding him. “You sure?” Sarada's words cut the air. He looked up.

Midnight hair and eyes, that urge to crush her to his chest, the desire to just follow her around and be her shade and shadow…..a decade is a long time. Boruto remembers the girl who once decided to wait three hours at the school lobby back in pre-school when he got detention for pranking her, just so that they can go back home together. He remembers how she often forgot her stationary at her desk in elementary school and he would begrudgingly take them back to her home and then would end up doing homework with her. This girl…..

"Yeah, I'm sure.”

Boruto hesitated but grabbed onto courage. “There's sex as well.” Sarada stiffened. She looked at his shoulders, not meeting his eyes.

He had very attractive shoulders.

"I know.” She blurted out. Boruto pinched his nose bridge. “Sarada….” She cut him off. “I know! I am….I don't….It’s alright. I don't mind that.” Boruto stiffened in his place, shirking back into his seat a little.

“Do you?” Sarada's voice cut through. “Huh?” Boruto looked at her in confusion. Realisation dawned. “Oh no! No! Not at all…..I am fine with it as well. It's alright.” Sarada let out the breath she was holding. Another pause followed, this one less painful than the first.

“If… if you fall in love with someone else,...tell me about it, alright? I won't hold you back.” Sarada's lips trembled. "Try not to however, please?" Boruto stiffened further. A suffocating pause followed. “You too.” He said finally.

A few moments passed in silence. Sarada looked up at him. He was now busy with his phone, frowning in concentration.

“Thank you.” She was surprised at the softness of her own voice. “Huh? For what?” Boruto ran his fingers through his hair in confusion.

“For what you did for me. The internship and all.” Sarada said softly. Boruto frowned thoughtfully at first, then sighed in resignation as realisation dawned on him. “Exactly what did you threaten Shikadai with to get information?”

She shrugged innocently. “His entire stash of an year’s worth of hair gel being accidentally set on fire. Aunt Temari would never let buy him another. She would rather freeze out his card.” She grinned. Boruto smiled at her in misery.

“Don't mention it. It's hectic but I'm enjoying it.”

Warmth flooded the restaurant as the two grinned at each other. The waiter returned, pushing the dining cart along and bursting into a torrent of details.

Sarada knew they need to talk more. This was the only chance they have got. By the time she goes back home in the evening, she knows the date, timing and venue of the omiai will be fixed. There will be no turning back after this. This was their last chance to reverse what could be. She knew he said he was sure. But still, she had to make sure.

She looked at Boruto. He was paying attention to the rather conversant waiter who was pouring out natural spring water from a packaged bottle from Europe. She watched as Boruto's eyes trailed up from his glass to meet her eyes. Almost instantaneously, she felt all of her worries melt away. There was something in his brilliantly beautiful blue eyes that always did the trick.

Perhaps they don't need this chance after all. She hopes desperately.

[lichtweh]

Hai~ for the prompts~ J-"So, how did you two meet?" 5-"Don't just stand there, run!" 31-"I did?"

this is.. a 2.6k drabble. ok,,,

here’s yoonkook, some confusion, and some fraud (ao3)

__________________________________________

“so, how did you two meet?”

the smile on the woman’s face is saccharine sweet, polite, straight teeth and red lipstick. she has a pleasant face, aged elegantly, maybe in her 50s but not quite looking it. her hair is put up immaculately, glimmering accessories in shiny black locks, pearl earrings dangling with the interested tilt of her head.

yoongi thinks of his post on that admittedly questionable site. finding someone willing had been easy— finding the right person, someone who met all requirements, hadn’t.

“our friends—”

“in a bar—”

“our mutual friends introduced us when we were out, at a bar.”

yoongi recalls agreeing on a friendly get-together, but maybe it’s the nerves now getting it mixed up, it’s alright for the first time. still, yoongi shifts his weight on his other foot, lets his shoulder subtly touch the other’s. the boy next to him quickly jumps on it, nodding his agreement.

“right, through our friends.”

yoongi can’t remember who this woman is. probably someone’s mother, or someone’s aunt, or someone’s brother’s neighbor’s wife. she’s not a direct member of the bride’s or groom’s family, the names were different, but beyond that, yoongi has no idea. he thinks her name started with h. maybe j. this conversation has been going on too long.

“ah, that’s lovely, mutual friends—” she smiles genuinely, then lets it falter a bit to knit her eyebrows together. “excuse me if i remember wrong, jihoon-ssi— you were… hyojong’s senior…?”

“hyojong’s, right,” yoongi nods pleasantly, waves his hand around to play it down, “we weren’t too close, really, obviously he wouldn’t mention everyone he knows. he’s doing so well now, isn’t he? we haven’t talked to him yet, we should definitely take the time.” he looks over to his companion, catches the boy’s pretty, big eyes, who nods enthusiastically.

the woman glances between them, smile twitching but still so very polite. yoongi has a weird feeling about it. she doesn’t let up, though, directs her attention away from yoongi.

“and you two have been together how long?”

“three—”

“four years.”

the boy’s voice sounds airy, almost timid in nature; or maybe it’s that he’s barely spoken all evening, fortunately for yoongi. he has to backtrack.

“four already?” yoongi curls his lips into a smirk, snakes a hand around the boy’s back to let it rest on his waist. he’s dressed well, dress shirt tucked into his slacks, leather belt on display. it’s warm in the crowded hall, so his suit jacket is hanging around his arm. his waist is— thin, his overall shape slender, but body toned, athletic, a sporty type. he’s been drawing attention all night. yoongi’s, too, if he were honest. he’s not blind.

yoongi catches the guy’s eyes, smile teasing, fingers pressing into his side, “i didn’t realize it’s been that long,” leans in close, suggestively, “it still feels like the first day.”

which may be the first true statement yoongi’s made in hours.

the boy does well; bashfully lowers his gaze, bites down a smile. there’s a bit of pink high on his cheeks, his nose. it’s charming. effective.

yoongi hears the woman’s quiet oh, but turns his head a bit further back, somewhere beyond his date’s shoulder.

“hey, isn’t that hyojong? we should go over and say hello,” yoongi inclines his head towards the lady apologetically, pushes them both away from her. “if you would excuse us— it was a pleasure talking to you.”

yoongi navigates them through the crowd, out of her sight. the reception is big enough that they don’t really stand out among the horde of people in their fancy suits and gowns, talking, laughing, halfway to tipsy with the free champagne. he grabs two glasses, offers one to the boy on his heels.

“still nervous?”

yoongi snorts quietly as the other downs the drink at once, grabs another from a waiter hurrying past. downs that one, too, as yoongi watches in amusement.

“it’s a bit,” he starts breathlessly, looks yoongi up and down out of the corner of his eyes; clears his throat, “different from theory.”

finding him had taken a while: yoongi had needed someone spontaneous, witty, low morals but up for a challenge and a whole lot of fun. most importantly though, yoongi had needed someone… “you look good.” —fitting.

finding jungkook was a stroke of luck.

jungkook’s pretty eyes widen a bit at the compliment, his whole body seems to tense a bit. he drops his gaze, although he tries his best not to. he’s beautiful, endearing; it’s easy, like this.

“you too,” jungkook breathes with a certain edge to it, and yoongi feels the hair raise on his skin. too easy.

he steps closer, closer, toes to toes so he can lower his voice, “you claimed you couldn’t act.”

jungkook’s eyes are half-lidded, low on yoongi’s mouth when he speaks, not backing away, “i did?”

“you did,” yoongi hums thoughtfully, touches one hand back to jungkook’s waist again. “but you’re playing your part well.”

jungkook wets his lips, meets yoongi’s eyes meaningfully. “you too.”

yoongi had tried doing this alone, which wasn’t nearly as fun as this: he’d been caught up in too many conversations, disbelieving chuckles, flirty looks, demands to dance anyway. he’d tried going with a female friend, but that had been a lot of awkward fumbling, weak smiles and unnatural touches. some painful reminders of him faking his way through high school like that. so.

yoongi had needed someone who’d make behaving like a couple with each other easier, and none of his friends had qualified. it would’ve required either an actor, a con artist, or— well, someone with whom the mutual attraction thing maybe didn’t take quite as much acting.

jungkook is slowly snaking a hand up along yoongi’s button-up to thumb at the collar, yoongi’s attention drawn to it. “who’s hyojong?”

“who knows?”

jungkook’s smile is pretty; boyish, infectious, lips a cotton candy pink. there’s that tempting mole beneath them that had immediately caught yoongi’s attention in the pictures. jungkook in front of him is much more beautiful than in pictures though, his voice sweeter than over the phone, his body— nothing had prepared yoongi for jungkook’s toned body. in formal wear.

“hyung,” yoongi had wanted someone his age, but jungkook murmuring that word hesitantly, teasingly, has a certain heat flare in yoongi’s gut. “dance with me.”

yoongi huffs goodnaturedly, means to step back from the boy a little, but jungkook’s fingers close around his lapel.

“we’re here for the free food and alcohol, not to make a fool out of me.”

“you attend weddings as a pastime and want to tell me you can’t dance?”

jungkook pulls, pulls, with his fingers and voice and his eyes glinting mischievously. “i want to dance, jihoon-ssi.”

yoongi bites the inside of his cheek, feels his stomach do some kind of weird flip. jungkook said he’d never done anything like this before, but suddenly seems way too confident with this specific part right here.

yoongi really only wanted the buffet, and a slice of stupidly pricey wedding cake. there’s something bubbling up in his chest, warm, but he’s only had one champagne some hours ago so that can’t be it. he swallows hard.

he thinks it’s a terrible idea to have their bodies this close for even longer, but—

“can’t say no to my boyfriend, can i,” and yoongi squeezes jungkook’s waist reproachfully, moves them towards the dance area with a soft gasp from jungkook’s lips, “soonyoung-ah?”

jungkook giggles, his nose scrunching up cutely. cutely. yoongi thinks it’s a bit unfair. a bit— more than he bargained for.

slow dancing with jungkook seems easy enough. yoongi knows the motions, has gone through them more often than he cares to remember; his partners usually shorter, more petite; long hair, lipstick, high heels yoongi’s feet remember as dangerous. jungkook is— not as petite, not as soft beneath his grip. it’s difficult in a slightly different way.

jungkook has his hands on yoongi’s shoulders first, yoongi could swear it’s where they were, but they seem to wander; the ghost of a touch at his nape, fingers playing at his collar, and then jungkook is too close, arms locked around yoongi’s neck. yoongi can’t remember whether this is that kind of event.

they’re swaying gently with their steps, jungkook graceful on his feet, and it’s not clear who’s leading at all. yoongi’s stomach swoops pleasantly.

then jungkook brushes their hips together, eyes sparkling playfully, and yoongi kind of chokes on air. that is more— much more than he’d expected.

“j— darling,” yoongi raises his brows in question, one corner of his mouth in interest, “i don’t think this is the right time for that.”

jungkook wets his lips, raises his chin, looks down in challenge like that. “but later is fine, is what you’re saying?”

yoongi swallows, mouth dry. well. he hadn’t intended that, but—

he glances around them quickly, but nobody seems to be paying attention to what they’re doing. nobody— except that older lady who’d questioned them for too long.

she’s standing some ways off to the side, clearly looking at them— brows furrowed, whispering to a couple of men. they all look towards yoongi and jungkook, and yoongi knows they have to go.

he pretends not to have noticed, grabs jungkook by the hand. “time to leave, play it cool.”

yoongi pulls jungkook through the dancing couples, past the groups of inebriated siblings, friends, singles. he spots the exit with his eyes when jungkook speaks up.

“my jacket—” he stops, turning to look to where they’d left his suit jacket on a chair, “i forgot to—”

“i got it, wait outside.”

yoongi curses internally but goes back for it when the group of men, persistent woman in tow, enter his sight again. he grabs the damn thing, turns on his heel and hurries towards the doors, jungkook hopefully waiting for him outside.

he spots jungkook at the buffet to his side.

“what are you—” yoongi whispers as he comes up next to him, hands trying to push the boy into motion. jungkook’s quickly stuffing his face with some of the bite-sized expensive chocolate desserts. it’s— kind of cute, kind of dumb as shit.

“excuse us, jihoon-ssi, soonyoung-ssi?”

yoongi shoves the entire plate into jungkook’s hands, turns him around forcibly; hisses, “don’t just stand there, run!”

he half-heartedly waves without looking, “i’m very sorry, but he isn’t well, so if you would excuse us!”

“wait—”

yoongi doesn’t wait to hear the rest of it, hurries out of the banquet hall after jungkook, who keeps glancing back at him, scandalized voices fading behind them. they all but run once outside, yoongi taking the lead, around corners and down hallways, out into the cool night— and then further, push past other guests smoking in the alley to the side, further, jungkook’s hand back in his, until they can slip into the throng of people filling the main street.

they slow down, breathe, but don’t stop until yoongi’s lead them to his car, parked in a side street a block away. yoongi leans against the passenger door, exhaling heavily, and jungkook’s still holding onto the stolen plate of calorie bombs, which he carefully places on top of the car’s roof when he remembers.

then they burst out laughing, jungkook all but doubling over.

“that was—” he starts, but doesn’t make it through the sentence, giggling breathlessly.

“i’m not even sure why we ran, i mean—” yoongi’s smile is wide, wider than ever, heart loud in his ears. he can’t remember the last time he had this much fun.

“what could they have done except kick us out?” jungkook’s bright laugh is stunning, beautiful, all joy and wild youth. breathtaking, kind of; yoongi’s out of breath.

jungkook bounces on his heels, excitement visible, giggles around one of the snacks he pops into his mouth. then he steps closer, takes another one— daringly reaches up to press it to yoongi’s. and yoongi— yoongi’s mouth is dry, heart and lungs still going too fast, still or again, he doesn’t know— he opens up, slowly, watches jungkook’s eyes on his own mouth as he licks the chocolate piece in, jungkook’s fingers catching on his bottom lip. jungkook inhales sharply, lashes fluttering as he tries to tear his gaze away.

“hyung,” he breathes, out of air, too much tension, and he sways, sways closer until yoongi catches him; curls a hand around his neck, a finger around his belt, lets him stand between his legs.

yoongi pulls him in when he closes his eyes, presses his lips to jungkook’s hesitantly first. they’re soft, warm, feel like what jungkook looks like— and then jungkook presses back, bold, parts his lips to fit yoongi’s between them. yoongi feels a hand slide up his chest, under his jacket, press into his side.

“i got your jacket,” yoongi mumbles between them, said piece of clothing still slung around his arm.

“thanks,” jungkook mumbles back, gently runs his teeth over yoongi’s bottom lip.

yoongi pulls back to look, but it’s kind of a bad choice. jungkook’s carefully parted hair is now somewhat messy, a flush to his cheeks, lips slick and red. jungkook looks at him questioningly, looks like he’s going to say something self-conscious, unsure of himself. yoongi leans back in.

jungkook gasps softly and yoongi licks into his mouth, swallows his whimper, combs his fingers through his dark hair.

“we can try talking it out next time?” yoongi’s muttering into the corner of jungkook’s mouth, kissing along his bottom lip, the mole beneath.

jungkook laughs shakily, “next time?” just some shallow puffs of air, “isn’t this here like half the fun?”

“mhm,” yoongi hums, licks back into his mouth, slides his tongue against his, “you’ve done well,” arousal and hope in his gut, “so if you want—”

jungkook shivers obviously, lets something of a tiny moan slip, digging his fingers into yoongi’s clothes. then he presses his hips against yoongi’s, in between his legs, pushing him against the car.

“is it later now?”

yoongi’s brain is all over the place, all over jungkook, so he needs a bit to remember. he remembers their dance.

yoongi bites jungkook’s lip with a smirk, bucks his hips into the boy’s.

“wanna come to my place and debrief?”

jungkook tries to chuckle but kind of whimpers with yoongi moving up against him, paying him back for the teasing before.

“is that the codeword we’re using?”

jungkook dives back in to kiss yoongi again, again, until yoongi has to stop them from doing anything more out on a public street slumped against his car.

yoongi can’t believe what kind of stroke of luck that was. jungkook was, is.

“i was trying to be subtle.”

“not very subtle, hyung,” jungkook’s eyes are hot on yoongi’s mouth, jaw, somewhere beneath his belt; yoongi has to push him off, has to breathe, just a bit. he offers jungkook his jacket back, opens the passenger’s door in invitation.

jungkook throws him a last suggestive glance before he gets in, biting down on a grin. yoongi hands him the plate of stolen sugary goods before he hurries to get behind the wheel and away from here. jungkook’s strapped in, cheeks full of chocolate again, and, alright— it’s cute as fuck, and maybe something stirs in yoongi’s chest. but yoongi won’t tell him that yet.

maybe next time, or the next, or the one after that, or— some day far in the future. yoongi has a feeling they’ll have more opportunities to work out the specifics.

[imstrangerthanthings-blog]

I Will Give Up This Fight (Cause I Can't Make You Love Me If You Don't) - Chapter 1

AN: Um hi…lol this is my first time posting fanfiction on tumblr and I’m not gonna lie, it scares the sh*t out of me. There are so many good writers out there and they just inspire me but also intimidate me. But whatever, I’m just overthinking, but anyway I hope you like the story. 

This story will be be split into two parts (maybe three not really sure yet). This is a soulmate au because I’m unoriginal and just a plain sucker for soulmate aus. 

This is also posted on ao3, you can find it here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241733/chapters/30289386 

Summary:  Will can see the red string that connects him and Mike. His heart breaks as he watches his soulmate fall more and more for someone else.

Word Count: 3307

Pairing: Byler, side Elmax

Warnings: Homophobia and some homophobic language is used (the f word)

From the moment a person was born a red string was tied around their pinky, going off into the distance seamlessly as if it never ended. Yet somewhere else in the world, near or far, the other end of the string would be tied around another person’s pinky. The two people connected were soulmates, two halves meant to be together.

The one problem was that nobody could actually see the string, therefore making it almost impossible to find out who your soulmate was. Almost impossible. There was one way you were able to find your soulmate. You just needed to find a seer.

A seer was someone born with the gift of being able to see all the red strings entangling the world. They also had the ability to change soulmates. They could cut the strings of soulmates and tie them to another, or they could just cut the string and leave it at that. It was as they say ‘With great power comes great responsibility’. It wasn’t common for soulmates to change but sometimes there was the odd act of jealousy or longing or hate that caused soulmates to be changed or cut off.

It was very rare to find a seer, although some of them sold their services of being able to find people’s soulmates (or changing/cutting depending on the situation). Most however, kept to themselves, not telling people of their ability, as they could never be sure if they would only be used as a way to find soulmates instead of friendship.

That’s why when a 5 year old Will Byers came up to his mother, Joyce, and asked her about why there was red string everywhere, she sat him down and told him about soulmates and his special ability.

“The red strings, they tie people to their soulmates.” Joyce tried as hard as she could to make her explanation something a 5 year old could understand.

“What are soulmates?” Will asked.

“There like…your other half, in which you share an unbreakable bond with.”

“Unbreakable bond?”

“It’s like forever friendship.”

“Oh.” Will said thoughtfully. “So how do people find their soulmates?”

“Well, like I said people are tied to their soulmate by the red strings. However most people can’t see the string.”

“Can you see the string?”

“No honey.”

“Why can I?”

“Well there are people born into this world with a very special ability. They are able to see the strings, it is very rare though.”

Joyce decided to leave out the fact that Will could also cut and tie strings together. It was too much power for a kid to have.

“So it’s sort of like a superpower ”

“Sure, yeah it’s like a super power.”

“Why couldn’t I get something like super strength or laser eyes.” Will pouted while Joyce just laughed.

“But just like any superhero, you can’t tell anyone about your powers.” Joyce told her son.

“Why not?”

Joyce didn’t really know what to tell Will. How were you supposed to tell your son that he shouldn’t tell anyone about his ability because of the chance that they may use him and his feelings could get hurt. So instead she just told him;

“You’ll understand why not when you’re older.”

“But mooooooom.”

“No buts Will. Just promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

“I promise.” Will said, a small pout on his face.

“Is that a frown I see?” Joyce smirked. “I guess we’re going to have to wipe that right off.”

She reached in and began tickling Will, his loud giggles filling her ears, a sense of childhood innocence swept over the room. Joyce thought in that moment that just maybe, everything would be okay.

Will didn’t bother asking why his mom and dad’s strings didn’t match.

It was on the first day of kindergarten that Will found out who his soulmate was. A lanky boy with wavy hair covering his head and dark brown eyes. Mike Wheeler, Will had found out was his name.

Mike had come up to him while he was on the swings and asked to be his friend. Will had, of course, said yes, he was desperate to make friends and so far Mike was the only who had come up to him.

While they both sat on the swings, Will looked at his string and began following it with his eyes like he usually would. He liked to see how far it would go and guess where his soulmate might be. Except this time, his string wasn’t stretched far out into the unknown distance. The end of his string was tied around the pinky of the boy animatedly talking about a board game that he had gotten recently.

Will stared at it for a minute, looking back and forth between the two ends of the string. He wondered if Mike could see it too but he seemed too unfazed, that Will doubted he did. He wanted to say something but he remembered what his mother said. If he told Mike that they were soulmates then he would have to explain his ability and Will promised his mom he wouldn’t tell anyone.

So Will spent the day getting to know the brown eyed boy who was his so called, other half. He liked Mike, he was funny and he was good at telling stories. Will usually didn’t talk much to other kids, but with Mike he felt himself opening up more and although he definitely didn’t talk as much as Mike did, he found his voice was filling the room more than usual.

When Joyce met her son at the end of the day, she certainly didn’t expect him to come skipping out a wide smile on his face, waving a quick goodbye to a boy across the way from him. It was quite the drastic change from that morning.

Will had been dreading to school and when Joyce and Jonathan were walking him to kindergarten he had been a bundle of nerves. When his mother and brother bent down to say goodbye and wish him luck, his doe brown eyes had filled with tears and Joyce had to restrain herself from just walking back home and taking Will with her.

So to say it was a drastic change was an understatement. Joyce had expected to have to spend the whole walk back home convincing Will that he had to go back to school the next day. Yet there he was, talking fast about his day and how he made a new friend called Mike.  Joyce silently thanked this boy, Mike, for befriending her son and actually making him excited for school the next day. When they arrived home Will was still talking and even though Lonnie, his father, still gave him a cold greeting hello, nothing could bring down his mood.

Lonnie and Will didn’t have a very good father son relationship. Will was the opposite of what Lonnie wanted his son to be. Lonnie thought Will was strange unusual and Will was kind of scared of his father. Joyce and Lonnie would often fight, the yelling would be heard throughout the whole house. During these moments Will would go into Jonathan’s room to hide. Lonnie didn’t look very nice when he was yelling.

Will had always felt closer to his mother and brother anyway. That was probably why Lonnie was so cold towards his youngest son. They had no connection at all, the only thing that really made them similar was the fact that they shared a few genes and a last name.

It wasn’t until everyone was sat at the dinner table that Will mentioned that Mike was his soulmate.

“He’s really funny and pretty and nice which is good because I’d hoped my soulmate would be that and-”

The table fell silent as Lonnie dropped his knife and fork onto the table creating a loud clatter. “You think this Mike boy is your soulmate?” Lonnie asked.

“I don’t think so.” Will said. “I know so. I saw our string was the same.”

He looked around the room in confusion as everyone seemed to have weird expressions on their faces. Jonathan looked as if he was waiting for something to explode, like he knew something bad was going to happen. His mother looked worried almost and his dad looked a mix between angry and disgusted.

Joyce quickly hopped into action before anything to bad could happen. “Jonathan could you please take Will into your room.” It was more of an order than a question.

Will was about to protest as he was still hungry and wanted to finish his dinner but he then noticed how Jonathan just went along with what their mother said and how serious he looked that as soon as he gestured for Will to follow him, he immediately got up and followed.

The two of them made it to Jonathan’s room and sat down on the bed. “Jonathan what’s happening?”

“Mom and Dad are just talking.” Jonathan replied.

“Does this have to do with Mike being my soulmate?”

“I don’t know.” Jonathan lied. Will was very perceptive for his age and could tell that his older brother was lying.

“Why are you lying? Mom said lying was bad.” Will said.

Jonathan laughed despite the situation. Will was always able to read him like a book. Jonathan loved his brother to pieces, the minute he held him in his arms after he was born, Jonathan vowed to protect his baby brother from anything and everything. However, Jonathan feared that now he may have to protect Will from their own father.

Jonathan had found out about his father’s views on same sex relationships when he was 7. His dad and him were having a ‘Father-Son’ day, as his mother called it. Jonathan could tell his dad didn’t really want to do it but his mother forced him to. The two were walking back from the park when Jonathan spotted two men sitting on a bench a few meters away from them, holding hands.

“Dad? Why are they holding hands?” Jonathan had asked, his young mind full of curiosity like any other.

“Because they’re queer .” Lonnie said the word like poison on the tip of his tongue. “They like each other, which they shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because boys shouldn’t like boys, it’s wrong.”

Jonathan wanted to ask why it was wrong. It seemed fine to him, it was just two boys who were holding hands, it’s not like they were doing anything wrong. Well not in his mind anyway. Jonathan held off on talking about the subject anymore. He could tell his dad didn’t like it.

His curiosity got the better of him though, so he asked his mom about it that same night.

“Why is boys liking boys wrong?” He asked.

Joyce had stopped in shock for a minute. She wasn’t sure what to say, she was sure she hadn’t given any impression of the sorts. She wasn’t against people who were queer, she found it sort of weird but what didn’t really affect her day to day life didn’t really bother her.

“What brought this on?” She asked her eldest son.

“Well me and dad were walking in the park today and I saw two boys holding hands and I asked dad why and he said because they like each other and that it’s wrong.”

“Well, you know, it’s more unusual than wrong. People will like who they want to like, they can’t help their feelings. Although most boys like girls and most girls like boys, sometimes the universe decides to switch that around.”

“So it’s not wrong?”

“You seem very curious about this Jonathan, do you like boys?”

Joyce wasn’t sure how to handle the situation she was in. She knew she’d love her son no matter what but she never thought she’d have a situation like this come up.

“No!” Jonathan answered almost immediately. “I just don’t see the problem with it.”

“Well you are one of the rare people who don’t. Don’t listen to your father about it being wrong. He just isn’t very open minded.”

“Do you think it’s bad?’

“If they are good people then it shouldn’t matter.” Was all Joyce had said.

From that day, Jonathan knew that his father was against anyone that was different in the matter of sexuality. The minute Will had said this Mike boy was his soulmate, he immediately looked at his father and saw the surprise and disgust in his eyes. He knew whatever was going to happen next wasn’t going to be good.

“So you’re positive this Mike kid is your soulmate?” Jonathan asked.

“I already told you, I saw our string, it was the same.” Will replied.

“Did you tell him?”

“No cause then I’d have to explain that I can see the strings and mom said I couldn’t tell anyone.”

Jonathan was about to say something when they heard their dad yells fill the house.

“Our son!? A faggot!?”

“Lonnie stop!”

“I always knew he was weird, girly even” There was the sound of a door slamming, which made both Jonathan and Will jump. “It’s no surprise he’s…one of them.”

“Will is our son! It doesn’t matter who his soulmate is, he is our son. Stop talking about him as if he’s nothing.”

“Jonathan why are they fighting because of me?” Will’s eyes were brimmed with tears. He was used to his Mom and Dad fighting, it happened more often than not. But this time he knew they were fighting because of him and he didn’t know what he did.

“Dad’s just being a jerk.” Jonathan told him before getting up to lock the door. “Ignore it Will.”

“Is this about Mike? What’s so wrong with him being my soulmate?”

“It doesn’t matter Will.” Jonathan insisted. “Please just drop it for now, okay?”

That night ended with Will sleeping in Jonathan’s room, Jonathan lying next to Will vowing to protect Will from anything this new found situation would throw his way,  Joyce sitting on the couch cigarette in her hand silently praying that everything would be okay, and Lonnie out at a bar drinking up a storm. Whatever innocence was previously in the household long gone.

The already almost non-existent relationship between Will and Lonnie had perished in the fire that had occurred that night. Will still hung out with Mike, finding both him and school a break from the emptiness that was his home.

The dinner table was now filled with agonizing silence and Will was no longer even greeted when he came home from school. The fights between Joyce and Lonnie increased, which both Jonathan and Will didn’t even think was possible. This carried on for a couple more years until Will was 8.

Will was sat on his bed, his sketch book open, carefully working on his new masterpiece. There was a knock on the door and Will assumed it was his mum or Jonathan.

“Come in!” He called and he did a double take when he saw his dad enter the room.

“Hey son.” Lonnie greeted before sitting down on Will’s bed.

“Uh, hey dad.” Will replied.

“You must be wondering what I’m here for.”

“Just a little.”

“I just want to talk to you.” Lonnie explained. “About this whole soulmate thing.”

“Oh.” Will wasn’t exactly sure what was going on but he was sure that his dad wasn’t exactly happy about his soulmate situation.

“You have the ability to see the strings right?” Lonnie asked.

“Yeah…”

“Did your mother tell you about your other abilities?”

“What other abilities?”

“You can change soulmates.”

Will was confused, ‘Change soulmates?’ . “What do you mean?”

“You can cut people’s strings and tie them to others creating different sets of soulmates.”

“Why didn’t mom tell me?”

“She thought it was too much responsibility for a five year old, which it was, but now you’re eight and I think it’s time you knew.”

“Well thanks for telling me I guess.” Will still wasn’t exactly sure why his dad was talking to him.

“There’s more.” Lonnie said. “I want you to change your soulmate.”

“What!? Why!? I like Mike.”

“Because boys and boys aren’t meant to be soulmates Will, that’s just the way it is.”

“Who said?”

“Everybody!”

Will didn’t understand what was so bad about a boy being his soulmate. Sure most boys were with girls but so what? He liked Mike, a lot actually.

“Look it won’t even hurt. All you have to do is cut the string.” Lonnie pulled out a pair of scissors.

“I won’t do it!”

“I can’t have a queer as a son!”

“I-”

Will was cut off by his mum slamming open the door.

“What is going on in here?” Joyce announced before her eyes landed on the scissors in Lonnie’s hands. “You wouldn’t…”

“It has to be done Joyce. It’s not right.”

“He’s eight Lon! What’s not right is making him give up his soulmate!”

“It’s not a soulmate Joyce, it’s a mistake.”

“The only mistake is me allowing you stay in this household, if you can’t accept your son, you are not welcome in this house.”

“You don’t mean that Joyce.” Lonnie insisted. “You need me here.”

“Get out!” Joyce yelled. “Get out!”

That was the night Will truly lost his father, not that he had much of one to begin with. Lonnie packed up his things and left the house. Will couldn’t help but sob in his bed that night, their family was falling apart and it was all his fault. He almost wished he had cut the string.

The next day, Will went over to Mike’s as Joyce wanted him out of the house while she cleared away all of Lonnie’s left over things.

When Mike greeted Will at the door, the two of them made their way down to the Wheeler basement and as soon as they sat down, Will broke down.

He told Mike all about his dad leaving, his parents fighting and how he ‘knew’ it was all his fault. He left out the soulmate part of the story. Mike held him throughout the whole thing. Not saying anything, which was rare, he listened to Will and comforted him.

“You m-must think I’m s-such a baby.” Will sniffed.

“Actually I think you are one of the strongest people I know. Once my parents got into a fight and I ran out of the house crying like a baby and I didn’t stop crying for two days. If I’d been through what you have, I would definitely have reacted so much worse.” Mike told his best friend.

“Thanks Mike.” Will wiped his eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Hey do you want to invite Lucas over so we can all play a game? It’ll get your mind off everything.”

Lucas Sinclair had lived next door to Mike since forever. They had become really good friends when they were six, so when Mike befriended Lucas, he extended his hand in friendship to Will as well. Will was kind of surprised at first because….well two people now wanted to be his friend, he never thought he’d see the day.

“Yeah that sounds fun.” As the two of them ran off, Will held his pinky, fondling with the bright red string that tied him to the person who always seemed to make things okay. Any thought he ever had about cutting the string was far away from him.

That afternoon, Will Byers was just an eight year old kid playing with his friends, the weight that always seemed to be on his shoulders, lifted for just one moment.