#did i just waste my break time doing this

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ stay still!! / caleb x reader

synopsis; caleb would lay his head on your lap forever if he could. he's a bit more reluctant about staying still when you bring out a weapon (tweezers) to use on him though.

🍎 pomme's notes - honestly he just has really nice eyebrows. what can i say

⋆ 1k words / fluff / reader is gender neutral / 2nd person

caleb loves laying on your lap.

the first time he did was when you were still kids — he was climbing a tree at a park you two often hung out at, and after picking two apples from said tree, he promptly made his way down to you.

with the widest grin 10-year-old caleb could muster, he looks at you and beams;

"pip!! look at what i got us!!"

his eyes shone bright, crinkling at the corners upon seeing you light up and flashing him a smile with a tooth missing. when he leaned down to sit next to you, you looked up at him and patted your lap, telling him "put your head here!! a pillow after you got us apples!!" and he swore his heart skipped a beat.

in retrospect, maybe that was the first time caleb realized he liked you, not just as a close friend — but that was a thought he could ponder about another day. right now, you looked at him with the same eyes as you excitedly pat your lap. only it was fifteen years later, and you were finally dating.

as he happily strides towards you, you think that if caleb had a tail, it'd be wagging excitedly at the idea of resting on your lap. the fleet's ever-so-serious colonel caleb xia, melting away and donning a lovesick smile on his face.

he settles on the couch, legs hanging off the edge — stupidly big man acting like a tiny puppy. head finally resting on your lap, caleb speaks up with a teasing tone;

"what's up pipsqueak? missing your favorite weighted plushie on your lap?"

"mmh, i sure did. i missed my favorite doll to experiment on."

oh.

so that's why you were so eager to get him lying down on your lap. he laughs nervously, getting ready for the worst and that's when he sees it. tweezers in your dominant hand.

visibly turning more pale, he tries to get himself out of the torturous experience you're about to put him through.

"actually, i think i have something to do, gorgeous! wow, it sure is getting late and dinner isn't gonna prepare itse-"

"i already ordered takeout. don't you worry about a thing, colonel xia, nothing will come in the way of my tweezers and your brows", you interrupt him, and that's when reality sinks in for him.

caleb is done for. the last time you did his eyebrows was two years ago, when he came back home from the DAA for spring break, and he still remembers the sting of it all.

he needed to get out.

"y- you know, you really don't have to do this!! i can handle it myself!!"

"yeah, but i want to. what kind of partner would i be if i don't take care of my handsome and lovely boyfriend, who's definitely not trying to get out of this?"

he gulped, almost comically so. you caught him, and there was no way out of this one — or maybe there was. he didn't want to do this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

puppy eyes. caleb stared at you and tried to look as pitiful as he possibly could, praying to every deity out there that you'll have some mercy on his soul.

"come on, Y/N.. my eyebrows look fine and i don't wanna waste your time — and this hurts. i don't understand how you do it, and i could never be as strong as you. please, please, please spare me. pretty please?"

you snort and lean down, pressing an exaggerated wet kiss on his forehead, making sure to emphasize the 'mwah' sound.

"nope! loved the puppy eyes, though. you should do that more often. alright, if there are no further inquiries, i'm gonna ask you to sit tight and relax pretty boy. let's get this done."

caleb stiffens when he realizes there's no way out of this. how is it that he went through DAA training, the fleet's conditioning, but somehow, you doing his eyebrows was the end of him? he's lost in his thoughts now, thinking about happy memories, but when your tweezers make contact with his skin, he immediately flinches and starts whining.

"ow ow ow ow ow, pips! it hurts! it hurts!"

you smile and flick his forehead lightly,

"i didn't even touch you yet! you always call me dramatic but you're not any better!!"

and then you pull out a hair.

"oh my go- i can't. i can't do this, please pipsqueak, please, have some mercy on your boyfriend."

and another one.

and he yelps, keeps on wriggling and trying to get out of your grasp. he thinks that you're stupidly strong right now — and all that strength is used in order to make him suffer.

"i thought you loved me!! we grew up together!! Y/N, you're hurting the love of your life, plea- ow!!"

you're giggling now, watching your big, strong, and fearless caleb being reduced to yelps as you do his eyebrows.

he inhales sharply, trying to roll away from your hands and begging for mercy, "it hurts!! please tell me you're done with the right brow, please pips!!".

laughing even harder now, you drag him back by the shoulder to his original position on your lap, and he has his face hidden in his hands, eyes tightly shut. he's shaking his head in disagreement and fake crying.

"oh my god, sit still, you dummy! if you keep on wriggling, i'm gonna put you on a cilantro only diet for the entire week!!"

and that seems to do it. he settles down again, but not without a few whines and sniffles.

drama queen.

when you're finally done (not without some more "ow ow ow- ouch!!" and "you hate me! you hate your boyfriend!" from him), he gets up and admires your work in the mirror. he wipes a stray tear that he insists isn't a tear but rather a hair that fell in his eye, and while you beg to differ, you let him have this small win.

"light work. this was a breeze", caleb exhales. free at last he thinks. that is, until he hears you hum. and he knows you — that hum meant something bad for him.

"oh yeah? same time next week then, boyfriend."

you swear you can see the color drain from his face, and you giggle.

such a drama queen. but he's your drama queen, all yours.

🍎 pomme's final notes - this is my offering to him because i really really want farspace deprivation to come home </3 it's the only card of his that i'm missing :((

[deswhomst]

Pinky Promise | @black-sisters-microfic | Tedromeda-centric | Word Count : 695

Hogwarts, September 1964.

“You’re a mudblood, then?” Andromeda asked suspiciously. “I’ve never heard the name Tonks before.”

Ted Tonks, who had been unnecessarily cheerful up till this moment, dropped his smile immediately. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“Why?” Her brows pulled together in confusion. “It’s just a question. I won’t be offended if you ask me my blood status.”

Ted stared at her. “The difference is that you’re insulting me.”

“When did I insult you?” Andromeda threw up her hands in exasperation. “You’re the one who can’t answer a simple question!”

“Are you stupid?”

“Oh, clearly, I am,” she said. “Why else would I be wasting my time talking to you?”

Ted rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I’ll let you go so you can continue your bullying.”

“What!?” Andromeda shrieked indignantly. “I have never bullied anyone, nor do I want to!”

“Didn’t you just call me a mudblood?” asked Ted, eyebrow raised.

She groaned in frustration. “I only asked if you were. And you still haven’t answered me.”

“I’m not a mudblood,” Ted said pointedly. “I’m a muggle-born.”

Andromeda blinked. “Is—what is wrong with you?” she asked. “That’s exactly the same thing!”

“No, it’s not!”

“A muggle-born,” she began through gritted teeth, “is someone who has muggle parents. A mudblood is also someone who has muggle parents. I fail to see the difference.”

“When you say mudblood, it sounds like you think you’re better than me,” Ted said. When Andromeda pursed her lips and didn’t make a comment, he scoffed. “You do think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

“Well … yes,” she slowly nodded. “But that’s because I saw you trip and fall over nothing. You were just walking, there were no obstacles, and you still fell.”

“That can happen to anyone!” he pointed out indignantly, face flushing a light pink.

“It has never happened to me.”

Ted glared at her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Who the fuck cares—”

“Don’t use the word,” Andromeda hissed, eyes widening.

“What word?” Ted blinked. “Fuck?”

She nodded, distressed.

He huffed out a mirthless laugh. “So you can call me a mudblood but I can’t say fuck?”

Andromeda wanted to burst into flames right then and there because why was this boy being so difficult?

“It’s just a blood status,” she tried patiently. Maybe he doesn’t know since his parents are muggles. “So, you see I’m a pureblood because my parents are, too. If someone has one parent who’s not a pureblood, then that person is a half-blood. If you have both parents who are muggles, you’re a mudblood,” She held up her hand when he began to interrupt her. “It’s also called muggle-born, I know, but mudblood makes more sense. Pureblood, half-blood, mudblood.”

After that, Ted stared at her silently for a very long time. It seemed that he was contemplating his next words carefully, finally settling on, “We prefer to be called muggle-born because people use the other one in a bad way … it’s like how you don’t like hearing fuck because it’s a bad word. Mudblood is a bad word, too.”

Andromeda digested that, nodding slowly. “But then you can’t use that word, either.”

Ted’s face split into a helpless grin. “I promise that if you stop using the m-word, I’ll stop using the f-word.”

“Deal,” she nodded, satisfied with this. “Should we make an Unbreakable Vow?”

“What’s that?” he asked curiously.

“It’s an unbreakable vow,” she raised an eyebrow. “It means you make a vow that you can’t break.”

“I meant,” Ted rolled his eyes again, this time with a smile that seemed fond, “what would happen if I do end up saying fu—the word?”

“You’ll die,” she stated simply.

“Oh, good thing it’s not something dramatic and unnecessary.”

Andromeda laughed.

“We can do a pinky promise instead,” Ted told her. “It’s the muggle version of that vow, except you don’t die if you break it.”

“Then it’s not very binding, is it?”

He shrugged. “It’s about trust. You can break it, yes, but I would be trusting that you won’t … and vice versa, I hope.”

“Hmm,” she passed a small smile. “Alright. Let’s do this muggle promise of yours.”

[hanniescookie]

too many hobbies - YJH

pairing - jeonghan x f!reader

genre - domestic au, fluff

warnings - use of pet names (baby for reader, hannie for jh), kissing, pure fluff, mentions of mild insecurities, and uhm yeah that's it ig

summary - everyone around you seems to be soaring, traveling and building perfect lives while you're surrounded by the love of your many hobbies that leaves you feeling a little confused at times. luckily, jeonghan is there to not let you feel insecure.

author's note - second fic and i'm sooo nervous even though i've been writing for 7 years already 😭 anyway, this is for the bbangi to my shingi @kissbyoon / baby you deserve all the love 🤍 i'm ltr sharing jeonghan w you so like gimme some love 😔☝🏻

-------------------------**~~**--------------------------

You slump tiredly into your couch for the first time in a while, closing your eyes as the setting sun reflects on your face from the large window. It's not everyday that your energy goes down, but inevitably, there are days like today when you want to isolate yourself from the world just a little bit.

The living room of your apartment is still messy with all the stuff — papers, scissors, crayons, and stationary of all sort — that you were using to make your boyfriend a gift card.

Your eyes scan all the stuff, and most importantly, the pretty purple and white gift card you completed before leaving for the dance studio. It looks meaningless now, not even slightly pretty to your eyes.

All you can think about is how your dance colleagues talked about their life plans a while ago – how their words sent you in a spiral of uncertainty about your own life.

"You all, please pray I pass the audition. Not for another second am I going to waste my time here!"

"You will! Trust yourself. I thought I was going nowhere until I got my job."

"But I have come to terms with the fact that dancing here won't get me anywhere, I'm probably gonna make use of my degree and apply at the law firm."

"Well of course, I just can't sit with my hobby for a lifetime. I'm pushing my age already, so I'm hoping for my promotion."

It isn't like you to ponder over words, but this conversation did make you feel overwhelmed. Maybe you are being sensitive, but seeing everyone else talk about their sorted life makes this mess in your living room a lot suffocating than it is.

You reach out, holding the gift card in your hands and staring at it for a while. It speaks ugly words to you — pointing fingers at you and calling you a loser.

Your fingers involuntarily curl into it, almost about to rip it apart when a pretty voice breaks your reverie.

"Oh my baby!!! Did you make that for me? Show me!"

Jeonghan appears beside you out of nowhere, making you blink at him in surprise as the card is nearly snatched from your hand. The awe on his face makes your heart soften. He reads the card — all silly little messages you had scribbled in there — his contagious smile broadening on his face.

Before you can say anything, he has wrapped you in his arms, squishing you into his large frame. "Why are you soooo sweet? What if I cry?"

You end up smiling against his chest, wrapping your arms around him with a sigh. He has managed to wash away any negative emotions you were facing a while ago so easily. "We all know you're not gonna cry that easily, hannie."

He pulls away just enough to meet your eyes, a constant smile plastered on his lips. "I appreciate that you know me well, but I fear you're not entirely aware of how much I love these little things you do."

Something in your chest flutters as your smile dims slightly, staring at this loveable man and his comforting existence. He didn't even need to give you a whole speech about how it's good that you're on your own pace, and you're doing great in life (he can provide you with words of affirmation if needed) yet you're already feeling like none of people's words matter. Because you're reminded of the fact that you're indeed exactly where you're meant to be, and you'll be where you're meant to be in the future too.

You press a feather-light kiss to his nose, "What little things?"

He grins, returning the gesture with a more firm kiss than yours. "These little gifts you make me. But that's not all I love about you, you know? I love all that you do. Your dance, your impromptu shower singing, those stories you write in your laptop — I love all of it. Never quit on any of your hobbies. They make you, you."

It isn't like you to cry easily as well, but when you feel the sight of your pretty boyfriend blurring a little, you know you have tears in your eyes. He furrows his brows, instant concern spreading all over his features.

His hand cups your cheek softly. "Baby? What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

You sniff, and close your eyes for a second so the tear residing there falls past your cheek. Then you shake your head. "Never." You breathe. "You can never say anything wrong, hannie. In fact, you only ever say everything right. Everything to make me feel special."

He doesn't seem convinced given that he still doesn't smile. He just continues to look at you, trying to detect signs of distress. "Baby—"

You giggle a little, moving to wrap your arms around his neck. "Don't worry. I just got a little emotional because of what you said. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

You nod, feeling his thumb wipe at the lone tear that had fallen before he finally breaks into his signature teasing grin. "Who's the one easily crying now?"

You roll your eyes despite the smile on your face, "Stop being so cocky."

"You love it." He grins, kissing you briefly because he couldn't resist it. You hum, and chase his lips the moment he pulls away. He wants to tease, but right now he's going to give you what you want so he smiles and kisses you back.

If it's with Jeonghan and his gravitational comfort, you know you'll get everywhere you want to be in life.

[dollwhite]

Face of another

FOA fic. Made by dolling

Aunt reader chapter 4

Also this does not look like 1k words but it is I promise😭

“So auntie what is it that you’ve been doing around the world?” Damian asked his gaze fixated on you. “You know, the usual. Modeling, rich party’s, and more modeling.” You muttered. Your eyes focused on the road.

“How come you never bothered to call, or text, or send a letter?” He hissed. If you were just doing the same things you did, when you were living with his mother. How come you didn’t make time for him?

Your only nephew? What since did that make? Oh well he can answer that!

Simple, it didn’t. No matter how hard Damian tried to look at it. From different perspectives, and angles. He just couldn’t see what could possibly make you so busy?

So busy you couldn’t send one ‘good Morning’ text?

“Hun.. I just needed a well deserved break.” You confessed, pulling over the car into your apartment driveway.

“Away from your family? Grandfather also said family should never abandon family.” He uttered, his voice flat, trying to get straight to the point.

“Me and your…Mother, didn’t exactly get along.” You whispered, even just thinking about the memories with Talia were painful. “Even as we got older, she always felt… superior towards me.”

“But from my perspective, you and mother got along just fine.” From as far as Damian could remember you and Talia, always had a Solid relationship.

Even if you both had a disgment about something. At the end of the day you both put it behind eachother to get to the bigger picture.

You and Talia once had a sibling relationship, but that was when you were 12 and younger, at least that’s what Damian believes.

From the rare occasions when you told him stories about your childhood.

“Yes, from your perspective. Me and your mother knew better than to be around you, when we were arguing, our relationship only started getting better when you were born.”

With any other person, they would have just left the conversation there. But Damian? Oh he wasn’t just any other person. If he wanted to know about something, he would find out. One way or another.

“Tt, blood sisters not getting along?” Damian questioned, he’s never heard of such a ridiculous thing. Sibling argued and had sibling rivalry.

But just plan not liking each other, at all?

And by his mother and her twin. His mother, the same woman who constantly reminded him when he was growing up. That family is everything?

“Maybe we should continue this conversation later” you said, not giving him the opportunity to speak.

“What wait-you, you can’t just walk away!” He said opening his door to follow you to your apartment.

“Child, do not try and tell me what I can and cannot do” you peep him trying to get the trunk door open, so he can get his bookbag out of the trunk . he really does look exactly like Bruce and Talia, such a beautiful but sad combination.

“Tim, what did you find about her.” Bruce said, it had been only a few hours since you and Damian left. But they had wasted no time, in trying to find anything about that they could.

“Nothing other than the fact, that she models” Tim said. His voice hiding his uneasiness. Finding any information on someone from the league was hard enough. Finding info about Ra’s second ‘daughter’?

Now that was tough, even for the greatest detectives in the world.

That’s why Bruce was so quick to send Damian with you. He was Bruce’s son, sooner or later. Damian would ‘try’ and put mini car in your house.

Dick had left a little while after you, and Jason went back to his apartment to get ready for patrol.Duke is sleeping, Stephanie is doing whatever shit she does before partrol.

And Cass is already out there fighting the crimes, so really it’s just Tim and Bruce.

And Alfred with the occasional pop up with refreshments.

Maybe Bruce should’ve asked you where you lived, just so he could check up on Damian. Or…to check up on you.

And here you go again, flooding Bruce’s thoughts. It’s like he couldn’t get you off his mind no matter how hard he tried. Maybe it’s the way you look at him.

The way you look at him like he’s not Batman the greatest crime solver, like he’s not Bruce Wayne the billionaire playboy. Like he’s just him.

Like he’s human.

“Understand, you should grab something to eat before patrol.”

Tim sighed in disbelief, Bruce telling him to go to sleep? the same man who Alfred has to continually remind him to go sleep?

“Maybe you should take your own advice.” Tim hissed, he didn’t mean for his words to come out that way. It’s just this random woman, walks into the batcave.

Like she’s some close old friend of Bruce’s? And than clams to be Damian’s aunt! And Damian doesn’t even deny it.

When Tim was with the league, he hadn’t heard of Ra‘s having another daughter.

And the worst of all was, that Bruce let Damian go with this random woman. Even if Tim and demon spawn had a confusing relationship Tim still didn’t want his bother in danger.

Tim didn’t trust her. Not one bit.

“I’m sorry, da-Bruce I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” Tim said, turning around his chair to take a look a Bruce. Lightly stroking his hair.

It was a habit, he had since he was younger. It was something his old nanny did to him when he use to cry because his parents wouldn’t make it to his birthday celebrations.

Aka them parting like their lives depend on it. Sometimes even forgetting they had a child at home, most of the time they would remember when it was time to pay the nanny’s.

“It’s fine Tim, I get your just worrying about Damian. But I can reassure you, he will be fine.” Bruce said, his voice not reaching his eyes.

It was clear he was slightly paranoid about Damian too.

“How can you be so sure about that? We know nothing of her. Nothing…”

“Your brother knows how to take care of himself.”

Hopefully you guys liked thissss! 1k words but special! Because myyy bday is coming up! March 24444444

Taglist: @lazyemmy @ninihrtss @tsuniio

[sylusonychinus]

Episode Ten: The Ring and the Accusation

The next morning, while Reader was busy at work, Caleb found himself wandering into a jewelry store at the mall. The bright lights reflected off rows of sparkling diamonds and precious stones, but his eyes were only focused on one thing—finding a ring.

He told himself it was just for show. Just a prop. Something to make their marriage look real. Nothing more.

Yet, as he scanned the displays, his fingers hovered over delicate bands, ones that seemed to suit Reader perfectly. He hesitated before pointing at a silver ring with a small but brilliant diamond.

“This one,” he said.

The store clerk beamed. “Excellent choice, sir! Is this for a proposal or a special occasion?”

Caleb’s jaw tightened. A proposal? His heart stuttered at the thought. No, that wasn’t it. He cleared his throat and nodded stiffly. “Something like that.”

When the small velvet box was placed into his hands, a strange warmth settled in his chest. He shoved it into his pocket and turned to leave, shaking off the unfamiliar feeling. He had a flight to catch.

What he didn’t notice, however, was Marissa and Liana standing a few feet away, their eyes wide as they watched him walk out of the store.

“Did he just… buy a ring?” Liana whispered, her tone breathless with excitement.

Marissa smirked. “Looks like it.”

Liana flipped her hair. “It must be for me.”

Marissa rolled her eyes. “Obviously. Caleb would never waste that much money on someone like her.”

The two exchanged a knowing glance before Marissa’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “I think it’s time we reminded everyone exactly where [Reader] belongs.”

At work, Reader was busy reviewing incoming flight schedules when Marissa and Liana suddenly stormed in.

“There you are, you thief!” Marissa’s voice rang through the office, making everyone turn their heads.

Reader blinked in confusion. “What?”

Marissa stormed closer, dramatically waving her left hand. “[Reader], I can’t believe you would do this! I was looking for my wedding ring all morning, and guess where I just found it?”

Before Reader could even react, Liana crossed her arms, smirking. “In your bag.”

The office fell silent.

Reader’s heart pounded. “That’s impossible.”

Marissa reached into her purse and pulled out a large diamond ring—the kind only someone like her would own. “I checked my things before I left them in the break room. So how else would my ring end up in your bag?”

Whispers spread across the room.

“She stole it?” “That’s embarrassing.” “She’s probably broke.”

Reader’s stomach twisted. “I didn’t take anything.”

Marissa scoffed. “Then how did it get there?”

Liana smirked. “Come on, just admit it. You’re not exactly swimming in money, so maybe you thought you could sell it for some extra cash?”

The words stung, but before Reader could respond, another voice cut through the tension.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Caleb.

He walked into the room, his sharp gaze flickering over the scene before settling on Reader. His expression darkened when he saw her standing stiffly between Marissa and Liana.

Marissa immediately switched to her damsel-in-distress act. “Oh, Caleb! It’s awful! [Reader] stole my wedding ring!”

Caleb’s jaw tensed. “She did what?”

Liana pouted. “We found it in her bag. What other explanation is there?”

Caleb didn’t react right away. Instead, he let out a slow, unimpressed scoff.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

Marissa blinked. “W-What?”

Caleb folded his arms. “You seriously think I’d believe [Reader] would steal from you? If anything, you two are the most suspicious people in this room.”

Marissa’s face paled. “That’s not true—”

“Security,” Caleb called out. “Pull the footage.”

Marissa visibly stiffened. “That’s not necessary—”

“Pull it.”

Minutes later, everyone stood around the security monitor. The footage played.

And there it was.

Clear as day.

Marissa slipping her own ring into Reader’s bag while no one was looking.

Gasps filled the office.

Marissa’s face turned as white as a sheet. “I—I—”

Caleb stepped forward, his voice dangerously low. “I don’t want to hear another word from you. Security, handle it.”

The guards grabbed Marissa’s arm, leading her out.

“Wait! It was just a joke! I didn’t mean—!”

Her voice faded as she was escorted away.

Liana, realizing the situation was falling apart, quickly held up her hands. “I had nothing to do with this! It was all Marissa’s idea! I swear!”

Caleb shot her a glare. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Liana swallowed nervously but said nothing more.

As the office returned to normal, Caleb turned to Reader. “Are you okay?”

She took a shaky breath. “Yeah. Just… tired of their crap.”

He nodded. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“The garden,” he said simply. “You need some fresh air.”

They sat in silence in the quiet garden. Reader stared at the sky, hugging her knees to her chest.

Caleb watched her carefully. He had never seen her look so exhausted before.

Just as he was about to speak, his phone rang. He sighed, pulling it out. When he saw the caller ID, his stomach dropped.

His mother.

He hesitated before answering. “Mom?”

“Caleb, sweetheart!” His mother’s warm voice filled the line. “I was just calling to let you know—I’ll be stopping by after work today to check on you and [Reader]!”

Caleb stiffened.

Reader looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

His grip on the phone tightened.

His mother was coming over.

And their rooms weren’t even together.

Shit.

“We’ll be ready,” he said before hanging up.

He turned to Reader with a serious expression. “We need to go home. Now.”

Reader blinked. “Huh? Why?”

Caleb ran a hand down his face. “Because we need to make it look like we share a room before my mom gets there.”

Reader blinked again. Then realization hit.

“Oh, crap.”

And just like that, the two of them rushed home to rearrange everything before Caleb’s mother arrived.

Taglist: @jinwoosbabyboo @kithyyy @mcdepressed290 @nezuswritingdesk @elegantdeerlady @yuuuumii @duhgurl @lumieresdreams @bidisasterforevermore @i-messed-up-big-time

@that-one-scoundrel @justpassingdontworry @ansbobcar @nagireos @auriuswolve @bookworm1999 @sickleddreamer @heeknow

[pixel7777]

The First Worshipper: Ch. 1

The naughty version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

What if Astarion, grieving and haunted by the passage of time, became the first worshipper of the newly ascended God of Ambition, Gale, in a strange bid for connection, purpose, and perhaps just a little bit of chaos?

Story Completion: This work is fully written (~60K words) and mostly edited. I'll be posting at least 2 times a week, maybe more if the fancy strikes me.

Read below the break here or on AO3!

Work Content Tags: Post-Canon, Vampire Spawn Astarion, God of Ambition Gale, Immortality, Grief, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Endings (despite pretty much everyone dying), Explicit Sexual Content, Dual POV, 1st Person Astarion, 3rd Person Gale, Epistolary

Chapter 1

16 years "After Netherbrain" (AB)

[A letter written in elegant script on expensive parchment, waiting to be burned]

My dearest, most infuriating Tav,

I failed. Our little thief, our Mol—she's gone. Just like that. A knife in the dark, they tell me. Quick and clean, as though that's meant to be a comfort. She didn't suffer, they say. As if that makes it better. As if anything could make this better.

Where are you? You should be here. You should have been here to stop this. To warn her, guide her, protect her—all the things you were always better at than me. Instead, you left us. Left me to fumble through this alone, and look what happened. I didn't keep her safe. I couldn't...

Do you remember how you'd scold me for being overprotective? "Let her spread her wings," you'd say. "She needs to learn." Well, I did. I let her take over the Guild, let her play at being Nine Fingers' successor. I tried to trust in her abilities, just as you would have wanted. And now she's dead.

I should have locked her in that tower like I threatened. Should have forbidden her from the Guild entirely. Should have been the monster everyone already thought I was, if it meant keeping her alive. But I wanted to make you proud. Wanted to prove I could be the father she deserved.

I hate you for dying. I hate myself more for failing her. Our daughter deserved better than both of us—better than a dead hero and an immortal fool who couldn't save her.

The funeral's today. I don't know how to do this without you, Tav. I don't know how to say goodbye to our child alone.

Forever yours, even in my anger,

Astarion

* * *

I adjusted my black silk cravat, adorned with an obnoxiously large amethyst brooch, and swept my cloak back for maximum dramatic effect. The gathered mourners shifted uncomfortably in the grand hall of my estate.

"Friends, enemies, and those of you still unsure which category you fall into—we gather here today to honor our beloved Mol." I raised my arms skyward. "And what better way to commemorate her life than by dedicating it to our newest, most ambitious, and might I add, most absent deity?"

Karlach's jaw dropped. Shadowheart pressed her fingers to her temples.

"Oh great and powerful Gale, God of Ambition and Spectacular Fashion Failures, hear my prayer!" My voice echoed through the hall. "Your first and most devoted worshipper calls upon you to explain why you, in your infinite wisdom, allowed our precious Mol to die in an alley like a common cutpurse!"

"Astarion," Halsin warned, but I waved him off.

"What's wrong, old friend? Too busy rewriting the fabric of reality to notice one small death? Or perhaps you simply didn't care enough to intervene?" I spun in place, addressing the ceiling. "Come now, don't be shy. Surely the God of Ambition has something to say about this tragic waste of potential?"

The air crackled with divine energy, and Gale materialized in a flash of light, his expression thunderous. "This is not appropriate, Astarion."

Wyll muttered something that sounded like "here we go" while Lae'zel leaned forward with obvious interest.

"Isn't it?" I bared my fangs in what might have been a smile. "Then by all means, oh divine one, tell us what would be an appropriate response to your negligence."

Gale gathered his breath, but I wasn't done.  Not by a long shot.

"Oh mighty Gale," I drawled, prowling around him like a cat stalking prey. "Tell me, what offerings should I make to earn your divine intervention? Blood? Gold? My undying devotion?" I gestured to the gathered mourners. "Look at all these potential worshippers. Surely that's worth something."

Gale's divine aura flickered with frustration. "You know that's not how this works. The laws of—"

"The laws?" I laughed, the sound brittle as broken glass. "You're a god. What are laws to you? Or was that whole 'ambition' thing just for show?"

"Astarion—"

"No, no, let me finish my prayer." I dropped into an exaggerated bow. "Most illustrious deity, who watched our Mol grow from a street urchin to the finest thief in Baldur's Gate, who drank the wine she poured at Last Light Inn, who promised to keep an eye on her from on high at at her mother's funeral—where were you when she needed divine intervention?"

"I couldn't interfere." His voice carried the weight of celestial law. "Ao's restrictions—"

"Restrictions?" I spat the word like poison. "The great Gale, bound by restrictions? How disappointing. Perhaps we should find a more competent god to worship."

Divine energy crackled around him. "That's enough."

"Is it? Because I'm just getting started, old friend." I infused the last words with all the venom I'd been saving. "What good is having a personal god if he can't even save one little tiefling?"

"That's not how it works and you know it!" (Don't fucking tell me what I know.)

“You! You took her! And now you owe me, Gale. Personally.”

“I didn’t take Mol! She was mortal, Astarion. Mortality happens. It’s not some divine conspiracy!”

I waved dramatically at the crowd,“Oh, of course, just a coincidence that the only people I care about keep dying while you sit there glowing smugly in your celestial robes!”

Gale took in the crowd listening to all of this, and I gloated at his discomfort. Divine energy crackled around Gale, his celestial aura flaring with genuine anger. "You think I don't understand loss? I gave up everything I was! Everyone I loved looks at me like I'm a stranger wearing their friend's face!"

(Finally. There you are, old friend.)

"Oh, poor Gale," I sneered, circling closer. "Forced to become a god. How tragic." (Make it hurt. Make him feel it.)

"You're not the only one who's lost people, Astarion! You're not the only one who—"

"Do you know what it's like to have centuries stretching ahead of you, and the only thing you can count on is losing everyone? Do you? I stayed in Baldur's Gate for her. I could've left! I should've made them both leave with me! But no. She wanted to be here, and I—" My traitor voice cracked. "I stayed. And now she's gone. So yes, Gale, you owe me. You owe me this, you miserable excuse for a deity."

The divine light around him softened. (Don't. Don't you dare pity me.)

"Astarion." His voice carried centuries of understanding. "I'm here. I've always been here."

"Don't." (Please.)

"I know it's not enough. I know it will never be enough. But I'm not going anywhere."

I laughed, the sound raw and broken. "Until Ao decides you've broken too many rules and strips away your godhood."

"Then I'll be mortal again." He stepped closer, that insufferable compassion in his eyes. "And I'll still be here."

(Damn you, Gale. Damn you for knowing exactly what to say.)

"I hate you," I whispered, but there was no venom left in it.

"I know." He smiled, sad and gentle. "I know. You’re angry. You’re grieving. And, for what it’s worth, I am sorry."

Karlach's pointed cough broke through the tension. Right. We had an audience. How terribly gauche of me, letting genuine emotion slip through.

I smoothed my cravat, collecting myself. "Well. Since you did make the effort to show up, I suppose I can forgive your divine negligence." I waved a dismissive hand. "For now."

"Astarion—"

"On one condition." I raised a finger. "You must try harder at this whole godhood business. It's embarrassing, really. The God of Ambition should be more..." I gestured vaguely at his celestial form. "Ambitious."

Gale's divine aura flickered with what might have been relief. "I'll take that under advisement."

"Excellent!" I turned back to our gathered mourners with renewed theatrical vigor. "Ladies, gentlemen, and assorted creatures of questionable origin—in honor of our dear departed Mol, I hereby announce the founding of the First Church of Gale!"

"You what?" Gale's voice cracked in a most ungodly fashion.

"The Church of Gale," I repeated, savoring each word. "Dedicated to ambition, fashion disasters, and the memory of the finest thief Baldur's Gate has ever known. I think she'd appreciate the irony, don't you? Since it was ambition that took her in the end."

"You can't—"

"Oh, but I can. And I will." I flashed him my most dazzling smile. "After all, what's the point of being your first and most devoted worshipper if I can't cause a little chaos in your name?"

"And so, my darlings," I swept my arm in a grand arc, "let us remember my beloved daughter, my Mol, not as she died, but as she lived—clever, bold, and absolutely insufferable." A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Good. She would have hated a somber farewell.

"She once told me that respect was overrated, but a good story was forever. So tonight, we'll gather at The Copper Crown—" I paused, savoring (hating) the moment. "Which, as of this morning, is officially mine. A gift from our dear departed troublemaker, who apparently thought it amusing to make me proprietor of a thieves' den."

More laughter now, genuine this time. Even Gale's divine aura flickered with something like approval.

"The first round is on the house," I announced, then added with a sharp smile, "Though I expect you all to drink enough top shelf to make me regret that particular generosity. It's what she would have wanted."

I turned to the ornate coffin, carved with the symbols of Mask that Mol had secretly worshipped. "Rest well, my little thief. Try not to pick too many celestial pockets." (Rob them blind, darling daughter.)

The mourners began filing out, heading toward the bar in the Lower City. I caught Gale's eye. "Don't disappear just yet, darling. You and I aren't finished."

He inclined his head, that infuriating divine patience still radiating from him. "I know."

"Splendid." I turned back to the ornate coffin, my hand brushing against the edge as if touching it could keep her closer for a moment longer. "Rest well, my little thief. The world is poorer without you, but the stars... they’re brighter now."

I straightened, adjusting my cravat as if donning armor. "Come, my darlings," he called to the remaining mourners. "Let us drink, lie, and fight in her memory. She'd want nothing less."

* * *

From within his divine avatar, Gale watched his old companions gather at their usual table in The Copper Crown. He hadn't intended to be here.  His business was no longer with these few friends.  He had a wider scope to learn to manage.  But Astarion was Astarion.

You always did know how to yank my chain.  It seems divinity has not lessened your pull on me.

Ao would not be pleased.  Yet, here he was.

The familiar weight of mortality hung over the mourners like a shroud, despite their attempts at cheer.

Halsin raised his glass. "To Mol."

"To Mol," they echoed.

Karlach leaned into Dammon, her new heart humming steadily. "The forge is doing well. We've been thinking..." She exchanged a look with her husband. "Maybe it's time to fill that empty room upstairs."

Lae'zel scoffed, but her eyes held warmth. "Your offspring will be fierce." She adjusted her armor, battle-worn from the Astral front. "Vlaakith's forces weaken. Soon, all will kneel to Orpheus."

The conversation drifted to the former Shadow-cursed lands.  Now known as Brightbough Vale, Jaheira and Halsin were proud of its prosperity and eager to share the newest developments, but Gale's attention fixed on Astarion. The vampire's fingers traced the outline of a vial in his pocket. His declaration of worship had been classic Astarion theatrics, yet beneath the performance lay raw desperation.

Gale recognized the maneuver for what it was: a challenge, a demand for divine intervention. For divine attention. Astarion was trying to force his hand, to draw him back into mortal affairs when he needed to focus on establishing his godhood.

Still, watching his friend's careful mask slip when he thought no one was looking stirred something in Gale's newly divine heart. Perhaps that was Astarion's real power – the ability to make even a god feel human again.

Gale watched Jaheira lean forward to draw Astarion into the conversation, her weathered hands curled around her cup. "What will you do next, Astarion? You could come to the Vale. We have room, and the children would benefit from your... unique perspective."

Oh, that won't work at all. He'd drive the initiates mad within a week.

Astarion's lips curved into that familiar, deflective smile. "Thank you, but I think I'll stay in the city. The Copper Crown needs attention, and someone has to keep these dregs in line." He gestured at the rowdy tavern crowd.

There it is. The lie wrapped in just enough truth to pass inspection.

Gale observed the subtle tells he'd learned over years of friendship – the way Astarion's fingers drummed against the table, how his gaze slid past direct eye contact a moment too soon.

"Running a tavern?" Jaheira's skepticism matched Gale's own. "That seems... beneath your usual ambitions."

"I'm tired of Patriar politics." Astarion shrugged. "Besides, the Lower City has its charms. More interesting characters, fewer tedious social obligations."

He's planning something. The bar's just a convenient excuse to stay in the city.

Gale wished he could pierce the veil of divinity and pull the answers directly from Astarion's mind, but even gods had their limitations. More than he had realized, if he was honest. He would have to do this the hard way, and it would be hard. Whatever Astarion was plotting, he'd wrap it in layers of half-truths and misdirection.

Just like old times, my friend. Though usually, I could be there to help untangle your schemes.

Gale watched Astarion deftly steer the conversation away from himself.

"Speaking of the Vale, how's that temple coming along, Shadowheart? Still insisting on putting up those gaudy moon symbols?"

Shadowheart's shoulders tensed. "Selûne's symbols are not gaudy."

As the others engaged in the theological debate Astarion had provoked, he caught Gale's attention with a slight tilt of his head toward a quiet corner. He produced a bottle of Baldurian brandy – Gale's old favorite – and poured two glasses.

"Come down here a moment, oh divine one. I have a theological question of my own."

Gale shifted his consciousness to join his friend. Strange, how the physical world felt both more and less real now.

Astarion swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "Tell me something. Would Mol be like Tav? Turning down resurrection?" His voice carried none of its usual artifice. "Because I've tried. With Tav. Multiple times. But she won't..." He knocked back the drink. "Well. You know how she is. Was."

The raw honesty caught Gale off guard. In all their years of friendship, Astarion had never spoken of Tav's death so directly.

Gale weighed his next words carefully. The truth would hurt, but Astarion had earned honesty. "I see more than I used to, but souls... they're complex. Most who find peace resist returning."

"Ah. Annual attempts too frequent then?" Astarion's attempt at levity fell flat. "I should space them out more."

The admission struck Gale silent. He'd watched those desperate rituals from afar, unable to intervene. Each failure had carved new lines of grief into his friend's otherwise ageless face.

"Don't look so shocked. We both know you've been keeping tabs." Astarion's fingers tapped against his glass. "Though I suppose proper worship requires some transparency on my part."

"What are you planning, Astarion?"

"Nothing that requires divine intervention." Astarion refilled their glasses. "For now, could we just... sit? Like we used to?"

The pull of the celestial planes tugged at Gale's consciousness – duties, responsibilities, the weight of divinity demanding his attention. But across from him sat his oldest friend, mask finally lowered, asking for nothing more than company.

Gale settled his divine presence more firmly into the moment. "I suppose the pantheon can wait."

Astarion tilted his glass, a sharp grin cutting across his face. "To making gods wait."

Gale shook his head, a trace of amusement softening his features. "And vampires who never change."

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Illusion cat stan and illusion wolf accidentally get caught and taken to the pound and then they work together and free all the animals

Ford: WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE, this is too cramped and my very human body is not supposed to be squished into a tiny cage made for dogs, I’d say even if I was a wolf then this is definitely still unsuitable for my hypothetical species!

Stan: Eh I wouldn’t say this is that bad, surprisingly this more well funded and treated than most prisons I’ve been too

Ford: Exactly my point Felix- (does a double take) HUH?! YOU HAVE BEEN WHAT NOW?!?

Illusion cat and wolf twins would waste so much time doing things and asking each other "now what does this look like to you?" Fiddleford would show up before they really even started looking into breaking their curses, because they'd be too distracted laughing at each other and all the things their Illusion selves were doing.

The fight about stealing would quickly get derailed into them trying to grab each other, and then laughing at how it looks, because Ford thinks he's holding a cat, but to Stan it looks like this wolf is grabbing his hand in its mouth.

They get caught and go to the pound, because neither of them think about how to other people they're just two animals and not people. Stan's not even in a crate, he's just has his hand in one and is laughing hysterically about how everyone thinks he's trapped, even Ford. Then they both burst out laughing when his cat illusion glitches through the doors but all Stan did was pull his hand out.

The angst of finding out they're each other's brothers is overshadowed by them laughing at Fiddlefords confusion about two animals writing notes to him.

[gayofthefae]

The thing about a character's main plotline is you only get one. Mike's isn't Will no El no Will no El no it's Will but now it's El,

it's his relationship with his own queerness as he confronts it in his relationships with both men and women.

Because if his story is Will, what are seasons 1 and 3 about? If it's El, what about seasons 2 and 4, why are they apart and not working towards the same goal together?

You have to find a consistency. It reminds of something I like to do when I'm doing character work, which is to ask "what is this character's biggest fear?" I had a character who I decided feared being forgotten above all else and let me tell, that fed into every aspect of my performance in some way. Mike's biggest fear for a long time is being queer or being out. We know that because of how it impacts everything he does.

You have to find the consistency. You go back through and see what he does and feels and how he reacts to both Will and El the same, or maybe very differently but always around the same topics. Those topics are what inform us.

Mike's story is one thing, and if it were his love for El, they wouldn't have wasted so much time on him and Will. Professional writers know that scenes must serve all characters involved, and if Mike's story were El, what a waste of an entire season for him. That would mean he has little to know growth from season 2 because it doesn't affect him, something that would also break every screenwriting structure and give us a feeling of lack of momentum - which we did not feel.

No, he has a singular plot. Queerness through his relationships with both El and Will. That's what those homophobic bullies were really there for. It wasn't just easter eggs. It was drive for a character present.

If his story is about both Will and El then no it's not. If it's about multiple people that just means it's about only himself. It's about what those people reflect of him. But they have to reflect only one thing...

There's only one plot consistent enough to be his one plot. And we already know, if the requirement is that his relationship with Will impacts his relationship with El and vice versa...we already know there's only one way it could have done that the way it did.

[thewinterdrafts]

Part 04 - Recognition | Frostbite Series | The Winter Soldier

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Original Female Character (1st Person)

Word count: 2,630

Summary: As Elena tends to the Soldier’s wounds, an unexpected moment unsettles the fragile balance of their routine. A single word changes everything, pulling her into a memory long buried. Struggling to contain her emotions, she is left grappling with a question that has no clear answer. And for the first time, when she looks at the Soldier—he is looking back.

Disclaimer: This series is extremely dark, touching on graphic violence, psychological torment, and human suffering in all its forms. If you choose to read, proceed with caution.

Warnings: none for this one!

A/N: hey-hey, we're baaack! i figured while we wait for the Oscars, we might as well read. i hope you guys like it :) happy reading!!

❄️ Frostbite Chapters: Part 01 - Severance Part 02 - Incision Part 03 - Containment Part 04 - Recognition - you are currently here

📍Masterlist

Silence is a weapon. And right now, I’m sharpening it.

The Hydra operatives stand at the edges of the room with their arms crossed, and their eyes locked on us like we’re lab rats under a microscope. They want to see something—a mistake, a sign, some kind of misbehavior they can report back.

I know they noticed the Soldier's reaction to me not long ago. I felt the shift right away—but if they want a show, they’ll be disappointed. I had a plan as soon as they walked in.

I went quiet. Dead quiet. No casual remarks, no small talk, no unnecessary movement. I kept my focus entirely on the Soldier as if there was nothing else in the world but the sutures beneath my fingertips.

The heavy silence filled the space enitrely.

At first, they watched with interest, expecting something—waiting for me to fidget, for him to flinch, for some tiny thing to break the monotony. But I gave them nothing, and neither did he. I worked at an agonizingly slow, methodical pace, making sure that even the sound of my tools was dull. No sharp clatter, no unnecessary noise, just the rhythmic pull of stitches through skin.

The Soldier remained utterly still, his breathing controlled and unreadable. I didn’t know if he understood what I was doing, but if he did, he played along perfectly.

Yulia, smart as she is, caught on immediately. She stayed motionless unless absolutely necessary, handing me instruments as if it were the most mundane task in the world. The seconds crawled into minutes, minutes into an hour. Still, we gave them nothing.

Boredom is a powerful weapon. At the mark of the third hour, one of the operatives shifts where he stands, exhaling sharply through his nose. Another taps his fingers against his thigh, then clenches his fist.

Good. They are getting tired of this.

I carefully place my sutures, tying it off with deliberate precision, taking my time as though I have all the time in the world. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of a reaction—of anything they could report back on.

Another ten minutes. Another fifteen. Then finally, one of them sighed. "Мы теряем время. [We’re wasting time.]"

The other operative answered right away. "Сообщи. Она просто делает свою работу. [Call it in. She’s just doing her job.]"

I didn't need to know Russian to understand what any of that meant, because Yulia looked at me with a small, devilish smile on her face. We've done it. We've successfully bored them to death.

One by one, they filed out, their boots thumping heavly against the sterile floor. The door hissed shut behind them, and then… more silence.

I wait, listening to their footsteps fade down the hall before I allow myself to exhale. Yulia’s shoulders drop, her hands unclenching at her sides.

"That was… painful."

"But it worked." I murmured, my voice low. "They left."

She huffs out a dry laugh. "Yeah, well. I think they’ll think twice before sitting in on one of these again."

Slowly, I turn my head to glance at the Soldier. 

He is looking at me for the first time in three hours.

Not just observe in passing—he's looking at me deliberately, as if he is acknowledging something neither of us have spoken aloud. The weight of it settles into my chest, stealing a fraction of my breath before I can suppress it. I'm not sure if I am more startled by the fact that he is looking, or by the fact that, for the first time, he made a choice to do so.

I flex my fingers and roll the tension out of my shoulders. I don’t know if he understood what I did. But if he did… he let it happen. Which means he is much smarter than I initially thought.

"You ever get tired of playing assistant?" I ask. I had enough of the silence for the rest of the day.

She startles at the sudden question, nearly knocking over a tray of instruments. "W-What?"

I gesture for the next set of sutures, keeping my tone light. "I mean, this isn’t exactly glamorous work. Cleaning wounds, handing me tools, holding your breath every time I ask for something sharp." I shoot her a glance. "Is this what you wanted to do with your life?"

She exhales through her nose, shifting from foot to foot. "I never got the chance to decide."

She doesn’t sound bitter, just tired, like someone who has long accepted their circumstances. I feel bad for asking her such things, but still, I don’t want to let the conversation die. I need to focus on something other than the way the Soldier’s presence feels different now.

"What did you want to be?" I ask instead.

Yulia hesitates. Then, as if she’s afraid to say it aloud, she murmurs, "A nurse, ironically."

I pause for half a second before refocusing on my stitching.

"You still can be," I tell her. My voice is quiet, but firm. "This place doesn’t get to decide that for you."

She snorts, but there’s no real amusement in it. "That’s optimistic."

"It’s true."

She meets my gaze. "And what about you?"

I blink. "What about me?"

"What did you want to be?"

I exhale through my nose, focusing on my hands. "A doctor."

She frowns slightly. "Not a professor?"

I let out a soft chuckle. "That came later."

"Why?" She tilts her head curiously.

I adjust my grip on the forceps. "Because I didn’t just want to treat injuries. I wanted to teach people how to treat them." I shrug, keeping my voice even. "Surgery is as much an art as it is a science. If you don’t train the next generation properly, then what’s the point?"

Yulia watches me, quiet for a moment. "I think you are a really good teacher."

I offer a faint smirk. "High praise, considering I mostly bark orders at you."

She actually laughs at that. "You do bark orders at me."

"But you listen."

"Yeah, well," she mutters, rolling her eyes, "kind of have to."

I glance down at my work. The stitches are neat and precise. My hands move on their own now, muscle memory guiding each pull and tie. I should be focused on the procedure, but my mind drifts, pulled toward something else—toward him.

The Soldier has not moved. Has not spoken. But his eyes have curiousity in them now.

"You’re serious?" Yulia asks suddenly. "About me being a nurse?"

I glance at her. "Of course."

Her mouth presses into a thin line, and I know what she’s thinking. We may not get out of this. And she may be right, but I'm never going to let her believe that.

"I’ll make sure of it," I say quietly. "When this is over. You'll be a wonderful nurse."

She exhales, shaking her head slightly. "You always sound so sure."

"I have to."

Yulia bites her lip, then hesitantly asks, "Where did you work before all this?"

I glance at the cold, sterile walls around us and shake my head. "A place nothing like this. I worked in a hospital in California, near the coast."

Yulia’s eyes widen slightly. "You lived near the ocean?"

I nod. "Every morning, the air smelled like salt and sunlight." I offer a small, wistful smile. "It was loud, too. People always moving and talking, and I hated it at first. My own head was too loud as well. But after a while… I started to love it."

She looks down, twisting a piece of gauze in her fingers. "I’ve never seen that side of the world."

I pause at that, my chest tightening. "You will."

She exhales, giving me a small, skeptical smile. "If you say so."

A few beats pass in silence before I ask, "How did you learn Russian?"

"Well, I am Russian," she says simply, as if it should be obvious.

I blink at her, taken aback. "You have absolutely no accent."

Yulia smirks faintly, shaking her head. "I worked hard for that. I was always fascinated by English. As a kid, I used to steal old tapes and books wherever I could find them. Any spare time I had, I spent practicing, repeating phrases over and over until I sounded like the people on the tapes."

She glances down at the tray of instruments, idly shifting them into place. "I figured if I ever got out… if I ever had a chance to leave, I needed to sound like I belonged. Like I wasn’t someone who had never seen the world outside a frozen, gray city."

Silence settles for a moment, the steady rhythm of my work filling the space. 

"It took me five years to make my Romanian accent go away."

Yulia’s brows lift slightly. "Five years?"

I exhale through my nose, nodding. "I was twelve when I left. I barely spoke a word of English, and every time I opened my mouth, people knew I didn’t belong."

I pick up a fresh set of sutures as the memory settles in like an old ache in my chest. "I hated it. The way people looked at me when I got something wrong, and they slowed down their words, like I was stupid. So I practiced, like you. Every time I heard a word I didn’t know, I memorized it, repeated it. Forced my mouth to shape the sounds until no one could tell I was different."

Yulia is quiet for a moment. "Did it work?"

My lips press into a thin line. "It made things easier, but I still never felt like I belonged."

Yulia lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, shaking her head. "That’s the thing, isn’t it? You change yourself so you don’t stand out, but no matter what you do, you still don’t fit."

I look at her, longer this time. I never realized how much of myself I see in her—not just in the way she holds herself, but in the way she never truly allows herself to relax. She is always watching, always anticipating the next moment she might have to run, fight, or endure. We are both survivors of things we never asked for and we have both learned to adapt, and fold ourselves into whatever shape keeps us breathing for another day. We have both spent years pretending not to be afraid.

I see it in the way she clenches her jaw before speaking, how her fingers twitch like she’s bracing for a blow that might never come. I recognize it because I do the same. We are different, but we are the same where it matters.

"Yeah," I murmur. "Something like that."

Yulia clears her throat. "You know… everyone here calls you Professor. What's your real name?"

I look at her, then back down at my work. "Elena," I say simply. "It’s Elena."

As I say it, the Soldier moves again. He tilts his head in almost an imperceptible way, just so he can look me in the eyes. My heart immediately jumps into my throat.

"Свет."

I freeze. 

He spoke.

The word lingers in the space between us, soft but sharp enough to carve into me.

Slowly, I turn to Yulia. She is already looking at me, her lips slightly parted, her expression locked somewhere between shock and disbelief. 

I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper. "What… what did he just say?"

Yulia blinks, staring at the Soldier like she isn’t sure if she imagined it. Her mouth opens slightly, but no words come out at first. She exhales sharply, steadying herself, then she finally speaks.

"He just said… light."

Everything inside me stops. My pulse. My thoughts. My breath. A memory crashes over me so vividly that for a moment, I’m not in this cold, sterile room anymore. 

I'm curled up in my mother’s lap, her warmth wrapped around me like a shield against the world. The kitchen smells like oranges and fresh bread, the curtains dance lazily in the golden afternoon light. My mother hums as she brushes my hair, her fingers gentle as they work through the tangles.

"Elena," she murmurs, her voice soft but full of something I don’t yet understand. "Do you know why I gave you this name?"

I shake my head. I had never thought to ask. Names are just names. But Mama smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"Because you are named after the Sun."

I blink up at her. "The Sun?"

"Yes, puiule," she says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "Because wherever you go, you will bring light. Even in the darkest places, even when you cannot see it yourself, you will shine."

I frown, thinking. I know the sun is bright and warm and high above everything else. But me? I don’t feel like that. I am small. I am quiet. I am afraid of the dark.

"What if I don’t?" I whisper. "What if I get lost in the dark?"

Mama’s hands cradle my face, her thumbs brushing against my cheeks. Her eyes are warm and endless, the way only a mother’s can be.

"You won’t. Because light does not disappear, it just finds another way to shine."

She presses her forehead against mine, sealing the words inside me like an unspoken promise. "You are light, my love. Make sure you remember."

A breath shudders out of me, and my vision is already blurring. My hands go slack, the sterile white of the gloves on my fingers distorting through the tears I refuse to let fall. He shouldn’t know this. He shouldn’t know me.

I don’t dare lift my head. I can feel Yulia staring at me now, watching the way I fight to keep my face blank, to keep everything locked inside. But the moment is too raw and real to keep them hidden. The first tear falls and then another. Then they just won't stop.

"Elena?" Yulia asks carefully.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, forcing my voice steady even though I feel anything but that. "My mother—she named me after the sun."

Another pause. This one is heavier. I feel more than see the way Yulia processes this, as she shifts uncertainly. I don’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this.

Then, she asks, "How does he know that?"

I press my fingers into my palms, trying to ground myself while struggling to find an answer that makes sense. But I can’t. I don’t know how he knows. I don’t know if it’s instinct, or memory, or something far more impossible. But I do know one thing: he is still looking at me.

Cautiously, I lift my head. My breath catches in my throat.

He is watching me, not in the cold, vacant way he observes everything else, but with something else entirely. Curiosity. As if he is trying to figure something out, as if the word he just spoke means something to him, even if he doesn’t fully understand why.

I have spent days working on him, being in his presence, tending to his wounds, speaking around him. And never, not once, has he looked at me like this.

My chest tightens as a strange mix of emotions swelling up, something I don’t know how to name. He recognizes something. Maybe not me, not completely, but something about me.

I want to speak. I want to ask him—Why? Why did you say that? How do you know? But I can’t. My voice is gone. The only thing left between us is silence, and his unwavering gaze, steady and searching, holds something I can’t outrun or deny. 

Recognition.

[castalianspring]

[curioscurio]

Just started generic vyvanse and wow. No wonder it changed lives. They say it lasts more than 4 to 6 hours and then it DOES? Most adhd meds I've tried will wear off in 4 or 5 hours, so I'd often have to take another dose later in the day, but this shit keeps me going for a good 10-13 hours!

(This is just my experience! I'm just a guy I'm not a doctor disclaimer so uh don't take my word as law lol)

[tinyfantasminha]

👍

[knifegremliin]

i changed my mind, moving sucks (<- is in the cleaning up and getting rid of things step in the moving process)

[deus-ex-mona]

wdym christmas is next week?????

[mybreadsmybutters]

never understood why immortality is so frequently portrayed as a curse. oh no u get to be young and healthy forever while ur loved ones age and die boohoo. does nobody own pets is not the inherent beauty of love and connection in that it must always END. there is nothing eternal even in nature WHY wouldnt i want to experience that a step removed

[sleepii-moth]

man if i had the engergy to write fics. the things id do to fiddleford.. oh man the things id do..