#there is no point and it WILL ruin my life if it is on my record.

[mylovesstuffs]

OMG, Kae, what have you done to me?! Mingyu is my EVERYTHING, and you’ve just set the bar so high I��m convinced no man will ever come close to being as perfect as him. I'm literally in love with him. 😩😭 Every time I read another chapter, it feels like my heart is getting ripped out of my chest and then put back in just to fall in love with him all over again. WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME, KAE?!! 😭 Like, seriously, WHY are you doing this to my poor heart? What am I even supposed to do now? What do I do with my life when Mingyu doesn't exist? This is just so unfair. I’m in love with him, and I’m not even sorry about it, but like… WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? This beautiful, perfect, fictional dreamboat of a man has got me S O B B I N G. You’ve taken me on this rollercoaster and I don’t know if I’m ever getting off. 😩 Kae, I swear… Mingyu’s ruined me. And I can’t even be mad because I love him so much, but honestly, what have I done to deserve this agony??? 😭💔

not for sale 💳 mingyu x reader. (3)

celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader. check out 🛒 not for sale's masterlist.

You can’t bring yourself to end the call. 

Your phone is overheating. You’re below the acceptable battery threshold of twenty percent. And the dark-haired boy on the other end of the screen looks more asleep than awake. 

You should end this call, but you can’t. 

Mingyu doesn’t seem keen on ending it either. His eyes are drooping and his head has begun to loll every so often. He’d spent the first couple minutes of the call talking about his day— the seemingly endless rotation of engagements that came with being a celebrity. 

Sometimes, it still strikes you as odd that this is the life you now lead. Being on FaceTime with somebody that hundreds, maybe thousands of people fawned over. 

But you were friends… right? And friends called each other. Friends texted. 

This is friendly, a small voice in the back of your head tries to convince you. So very, very friendly. 

The conversation has since mellowed out. Mingyu makes good on his word; he falls quiet, observing your work like it’s some form of entertainment for him. At one point, you even forget he’s watching. 

It’s why you’re a bit jolted when he absentmindedly mumbles, “You have nice hands.” 

You pause in the middle of bubble wrapping an order. One cursory glance at your screen, and you see that Mingyu is absolutely fighting for his life to stay awake. The sight almost makes you smile. 

“You should head to bed soon,” you say instead of addressing his compliment. “We’ve been on call for— what? Two hours, I think.” 

Mingyu says something too low for you to catch. You give a noncommittal hum of ‘hmm?’, prompting him to repeat what he’d said. 

And maybe he’s just tired enough to decide fuck it. Maybe it’s past midnight and that makes everything fair game. 

Because Mingyu breathes out a quiet “not enough,” and you swear your something screeches to a halt in your brain. Two hours. Not enough. 

You swallow. He’s out of it, you think to yourself, your fingers quivering a bit as you cut, tape, seal. He’s sleep-deprived and talking out of his ass. 

That’s what gives you the audacity to ask what’s been on your mind for days now. 

“Mingyu,” you ask, “why do you want to be an ambassador for Bittersweet?” 

A beat. One that stretches long enough for you to wonder if Mingyu had finally succumbed to his exhaustion. 

But then, his voice— quiet, but not any less sincere— rings over the line. “Because I like your jewelry.” 

Plain and simple. You’re not sure why you expected more. 

He goes on, his tone a little softer, slower. “I like what you’ve done with the business. I like… how hard you work. Your passion. All that.”

Mingyu pauses to yawn. You glance over to see him smiling into his phone, his half-lidded gaze trained on your hands moving over your workbench. It makes his next words a one-two punch on your poor heart. 

“Your brand may be called ‘Bittersweet’,” he says, “but you’re as sweet as they come.” 

EXCERPTS FROM "MINGYU opens up on being named Rising Star of the Year"

Q: Earlier this year, the Internet fell in love with you for being an ‘advocate for small businesses.’ You’ve seemed to take it a step further, though. 

MINGYU: [laughs] Is that what they’ve been saying? I had no idea. But, yes— the pieces I have on right now are from a small business. It’s called Bittersweet Jewelry, and it’s something I found one day while scrolling through SNS. 

Q: You didn’t know the seller prior to purchasing? 

MINGYU: No, not at all. They didn’t even know it was me. I used an alias for a while. 

Q: I see. A lot of people believe your support has been reflective of your personality. Being caring, considerate. 

MINGYU: That’s very nice. I appreciate that. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m just a guy who likes good jewelry. I admire consistency, quality. [holds up his rings] These have it in spades. 

Q: That’s why you keep coming back to brands like Bittersweet. 

MINGYU: Sure. We could say that.  

[...]

THE TOP FIVE SONGS MINGYU HAS BEEN PLAYING ON REPEAT LATELY

Love Me Like That by Sam Kim

Linger by The Cranberries

Tadhana by Up Dharma Down

If You Do by GOT7

LMLY by Jackson Wang

[...]

Q: What do you look for in a partner? 

MINGYU: Now, Minghao… [laughs] 

Q: Sorry. The readers want to know. 

MINGYU: I’m never going to escape this question, am I? Give me a minute to think about it. 

Q: Sure. 

MINGYU: [after a moment] I’d like somebody dedicated and passionate. Someone sweet. And… 

Q: And? 

MINGYU: Someone with nice hands, I guess. [smiles] 

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[hanniebaeee]

Without you

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: lots of tears

Genre: established relationship, angst, fluff

Summary: When Hyunjin comes home after a week away for work, he finds you gone. And he's furious because you didn't say a word, just packed and left. And he knows it has everything to do with the dinner you had with his parents just before he left.

a/n: writing my pain away. I'm sorry if this is too angsty.

Hyunjin’s knuckles rapped against Jisoo’s front door with such force you feared that it might come off its hinges. You glanced at Jisoo, your face streaked with tears, your heart racing.

“Y/N!” His voice came through the door, sending a jolt of panic through your chest. “Open the damn door, or so help me, I’ll kick it down.”

Jisoo shot you a glance, silently asking if you wanted her to handle it. You just shook your head. You had to face him at some point. 

“You sure?” Jisoo asked, her protective instincts flaring.

You nodded, and she sighed before walking towards the door.

Memories of that night flashed through your mind painfully. Dinner at his parents’ place. Everything was going fine until his mum cornered you in the kitchen as you helped her put things away. She was so polite as she suggested that her son was very impulsive, and rarely thought things through.

You heart nearly stopped as she said that, because you had a feeling where this conversation was headed. And then she told you with a smile that if you really loved him, you'd stop holding him back, and let him have the life he truly deserved - a life with a Korean girl who'd fit better with his family. With him. 

And she had proceeded to pretend like everything was ok the rest of the night, while you had to do everything in your power to not break down. He was their only son. You didn't want to ruin his relationship with them, considering how wildly protective he was of you. 

The man loved you with everything in him. And Hyunjin literally wore his heart on his sleeves, and you would never knowingly do anything to agitate him. And so you'd gone home silently that night, spent a long time silently sobbing in the bathroom as he packed for a one week trip. He had multiple shows scheduled for the week, all outside Korea. 

Obviously he knew the minute you emerged from the bathroom with a smile. He had stared into your eyes, his mouth opening and closing like he desperately wanted to talk. But he had to leave in another hour, and he didn't want to start a conversation that he knew he couldn't finish before he left. So he engulfed you in a hug, kissed you deeply and told you that he loved you. And that you're his entire world. 

But sadly, that didn't make your aching insecurities vanish. Because after he left, you'd packed your own bags and called Jisoo, panicking.

He called out again, this time a little softer, but his tone was dripping with frustration.

“Jisoo, I know you’re in there. And I know she’s with you. Let me in.” he said. “Please.”

“Fine! But if you make her cry again, I'll make you suffer.” Jisoo opened the door, shooting him a glare as she moved aside. “She's in the guest room.”

Hyunjin stormed in, wearing his travel-worn hoodie and sweatpants, looking so tired, but furious at the same time. 

His sharp eyes locked onto you immediately as he stepped into the guest bedroom. Hyunjin stood there for a moment, staring at you. Your face was nearly unrecognizable - eyes swollen, skin blotchy from crying for days. You could barely keep your eyes open. 

Hyunjin’s chest rose and fell with deep breaths, and you could see the tension radiating off him. 

“You wanna explain to me what the hell is going on?” he asked finally, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger.

You tried to hold his gaze, but the intensity in his eyes was unbearable.

“Hyunjin, please don’t do this right now,” you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your oversized sweater.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” he said, stalking toward you like a predator who’d just spotted its prey. He crossed his arms, towering over you. “Start talking. Now.”

You folded your arms, a weak attempt to put up a barrier. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about?” He scoffed, letting out a humorless laugh. “That’s rich, considering I came home to our apartment looking like a ghost town. All your stuff gone. My gifts left behind like they were trash. And you dodging my calls?”

His voice was rising, and it was clear that more than anger, he was hurt.

“I didn’t dodge your calls,” you countered weakly, your voice breaking.

“You didn’t answer them. Or my texts,” he fired back. “What the hell, Y/N? I want you to tell me why you thought it was okay to pack your things and leave without a word."

You tried to muster the courage to stay firm, to push him away like his mother had suggested.

“I… I think we’re too different, Hyunjin.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. “It's for the best…”

His jaw clenched, his angelic features hardening. “Bullshit.”

Your eyes widened at his bluntness, and how he took another step forward. 

“You don’t get to pull this ‘too different’ crap on me now,” he snapped. “If you don’t want to be with me anymore, fine, say that. But don’t lie to me. Is that it? You don't love me?”

“No, no,” you insisted, though your voice was shaky. “Hyunjin, please-”

“Then tell me why you cried your eyes out after that dinner,” he challenged. “Tell me why my mom’s been calling me nonstop asking if you’re okay.”

Your heart sank. Of course, he’d piece it together. He wasn’t stupid.

Hyunjin exhaled, running a hand through his short hair, his frustration giving way to something softer. “Baby, what did she say to you?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Hyunjin, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” he said, his voice cracking. “It matters if it’s enough to make you leave me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, and your eyes burned as you blinked them back.

“She loves you, Jinnie…whatever she wants for you, it's for the best…you do deserve better,” you admitted quietly. “Someone who fits into your world better than I do.”

Hyunjin let out a low curse, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He turned away for a moment, running both hands through his hair as he paced the room, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

“You deserve someone who won’t hold you back.”

He froze, his gaze darkening as he asked, “You think you hold me back?”

“Hyunjin -”

“I don’t care what she said,” he snapped, cutting you off. “I’m asking you. Do you think that?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

“Y/N,” he whispered, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “You’re my world. No one else fits better into it than you. My mom doesn’t get to decide who’s good enough for me, baby. I do. And guess what? You’re it. You’ve always been it. Don’t you see that?”

“I just…” You shook your head, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to cause problems for you. I love you too much to -”

“To what?” he interrupted, stepping closer again. His hands found your face, his touch firm but gentle as he tilted your chin up to make you look at him. “To stay? To fight for us?”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice.

“And if my mom can’t see what we have, that’s her problem,” he continued, his tone fierce. “But you don’t get to decide for me. You don’t get to run away without even talking to me.”

You felt your resolve crumbling, your walls breaking down under the weight of his words.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, trying to push him away.

“Like what?” He smirked, his confidence creeping back. “Like I’m madly in love with you?”

“Hyunjin…” Your voice was barely audible as you mumbled, “I don't want you to regret this. Ever.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t you dare say that. Because it's bullshit. You’re everything to me.”

The tears flowed freely now, and you couldn’t stop them even if you tried. “But your mom -”

“I’ll handle my mom,” he growled, cutting you off again. “You’re my choice, Y/N. My family. My life.”

His words shattered the last of your resolve, and before you knew it, you were sobbing into his chest, clutching at his hoodie. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you so tight. 

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your hair, his voice trembling. “And I’m yours. Don’t ever forget that.”

You nodded against him, too overwhelmed to speak. A small tearful laugh escaped you, despite the tears still streaming down your face.

“There’s my girl,” he teased, brushing a thumb over your cheek to wipe your tears away. “Now, grab your things. Let’s go home.”

You hesitated, still unsure if you could ever face his mother again.

“Don’t worry about her,” he added, as if reading your mind. “I’ll handle it. This is not your battle, okay?”

And just like that, the weight on your chest began to lift. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was just you and Hyunjin - two souls refusing to let go of each other.

And you knew, deep down, that you never would.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world

[vatelixx]

Ton 618,

S3-S4ish Spencer Reid x Reader (no mention of gender).

Fluff (no angst… surprisingly). Autistic Spencer (present in all of my one shots bcos it’s canon to me).

──── domesticated time inbetween cases & blind adoration.

Warnings: literally none (who am i???), brief mention of past trauma (Hankel).

w.c: 1.5k

— They’re both nerds who are a little too invested in space. Light biblical imagery & Greek mythology references. My writing has been sufficiently domesticated (dw i’ll be back to angst soon, war is not over.)

Loosely inspired by:

a/n: just giving him what he deserved to have.

────────────

For the first time, in a long time, there is little residing in Spencer’s mind. Beyond warm hands, and soft skin, and the pulse of someone else’s body. Obsessed is one word for it, a textbook definition that can’t truly articulate the ache he derives from the thought of you. Obsessed, fatefully ruined, if this is the work of divine intervention, then consider him, once obstinate in his atheism, entirely, profusely devout.

He’s still thinking about you. What’s new? The memory of your lips pressed against his, the tattooed promise of more, more because it will never be enough. He wants, god when has he ever wanted? Life before appears bleak now, black and white. Academia, pursuits of knowledge, lonely nights and the transient fear of forever being stuck in a cyclical cycle of loneliness.

You think he’s pretty. He smiles on the way home from work, Morgan pressing him, because ‘kid you can’t be that happy for no reason.’ There is a reason, a monumental, life-altering one that waits for him at the door. He likes that, the domesticity. He’s never asked for much, content in his mishaps of intimacy, always baring the weight because he wants needs to be good. For the people around him, for the home he’s carved into his skin, for anything that starves off the decades of isolation.

When he threads his arms around your waist, leaning all of his weight into the contact, you both go stumbling back.

He’s soft. Of course he’s endured more than anyone should, the sharp edge of addiction, the stifling weight of a morbid job that has him fixated, hook line and sinker, compass pointing South every time he’s thrown into the field. But for all of that, he still obtains naive, blinding light.

He burns. Or more so, he warms.

“Hi, hi. Sorry— that wasn’t very eloquent. Can I try again?” He’s halfway out of the door; you have to lean forward, grip his wrist, tug him closer, “Okay.” He laughs, “I’ll take that as a no?”

He’s certain your name is imprinted onto his heart. Carved just for you alone. There is no one else. There could never be anyone else.

That night he falls asleep on your shoulder. Hands interlocked, body splayed out across stressed leather, abandoning his book for the soft drab of safety. There’s a tangled wire of headphones draped between you, knotted further when you pull him, half conscious to bed. He follows mindlessly.

You spend his allocated time off as recluses, abandoning civilisation. No sunlight, his apartment is permanently drenched in molten light. Scattered lamps, balancing off stacked books and messy surfaces. Every morning he’ll wake you with butterfly kisses and the promise of a breakfast he will consistently burn. He’s content, over the moon, to forget the world around him. For it to just be, just the two of you.

Today, as usual, you eat his charred attempt at food. He’s trying, he’s definitely trying, even if the end result is… a health risk. Still, you eat it regardless, without complaint, you eat it.. and then he’s just… kissing you senseless in the middle of his kitchen. Cold tiled floor, and mismatched socks. Fuck, he loves you, he’s never loved someone the way he loves you.

“I’ve been dreaming about falling into black holes recently,” he says when you cradle his face. Pretty features besotted with the sight of you. “Weird. Kinda cool. Please don’t eat anymore of my food.”

“No promises,” you grin, and he has the audacity to pout.

Because that’s not fair, burnt food can cause carcinogens to form, to obstruct digestion and metabolism. “My cooking is going to kill you. Your death will be on my hands. The grief will be immeasurable. I’ll become a hermit, never leave my apartment again. Don’t do that to me.” hands wrapped around your wrists, he preserves the contact. “Please don’t do that to me.”

“Well only because you said please—“

He sighs, audibly, ”You just died, you’re dead, and the only thing you can focus on is a word. A word I very generously repeat, at any given moment.” — he’s polite, he will use his manners, and he will unceremoniously echo please please please to obtain even a fraction of you.

He’s senseless. Too far gone.

You take his hand, press it against your heart. “Still alive. I think?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “For now.”

“You’re dramatic—“

He cuts you off, “Did you know one of the largest black holes ever recorded is 66 billion times the mass of the sun? Ton 618.” Pausing to kiss you (a vital necessity), his hands play aimlessly with your hair, strands sliding through the crevices of his fingers. “Imagine falling into that—“ kiss, “You would die obviously,” kiss, “But it would be a pretty cool death.” Kiss. 

Time dilation, worm holes, cosmic demise, you. Sigh— you.

“It would take over 10 billion years for its light to reach earth.” you say, and yeah. Okay. Just casually recite facts to him. That’s okay. He won’t melt, because he’s a rational, dignified, highly-cerebral adult.

Lie. You always know when to talk, sometimes, sometimes, he gets so lost in thought-loops and spirals of intellectual confusion that you have to draw him back to the present. He disintegrates. Every. Single. Time. One intelligent word and the threads of him are woven tightly around your finger.

”You’re stealing my job. And—and you’re doing it better than me. I’m taking a vow of silence. No more words. I’m becoming a monk. Except, maybe without the celibacy?”

“Whore—“

“For you? Always.” he says, knocking his shoulder into yours, “You’re missing the important aspect to this. Don’t discard my threat.”

“Spence, if you ever stop reciting random facts to me at..” you scramble to check the time, early morning, it’s hard to differentiate the hours when they all bleed into one convoluted mess of intimacy. “At 9AM, we will have serious issues. I might get HR involved.“

He’ll ramble about the laws of thermodynamics. Dedicating hours to the philosophical differences between determinism and free-will. You’ll call him a nerd, and he’ll laugh, muffling your protests with his mouth. It’s routine. Something to fall back onto.

 “Hey! Don’t drag HR into our domestic affairs! That’s—“ he interrupts himself to kiss you, again. Just because he can.

Once he’s satisfied that his lips will ache for the next millennium, he continues. “Anyway. I think we should get old together, and then, when we’re losing our minds, and we can’t tell the days apart, we just.. take a casual trip to space, travel through Ton 618. I’d be scared, so I’d hold your hand when we fall. Getting sucked into eternal darkness would be an acceptable way to go.”

He laughs, “You know, as long as you’re by my side, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, before holding out your pinky. “Deal?”

He feeds his own through yours, “Deal.” 

Yeah, just promise eternal devotion to him. That wont have any lasting, fatal effects on his sanity. It’s not like he’ll cling to it for the remainder of his ephemeral existence.

Later that night, when you’re draped in limbs, skin pressed against skin, you sigh against the warm slope of his neck. “You’re reciting the periodic table in your sleep again..”

It’s a habit. A permanent, engrained idiosyncratic that he’s endured since adolescence. He stirs awake, turning to face you in the hazy light. Features swollen, sleep-soft and pretty. “Was I?” He murmurs, finding the audacity to ask, “What element was i on?”

Because that’s clearly essential.

“Osmium,” you say, tucking strands of tousled auburn behind his ear. “Gonna continue?”

“Mhm— yeah. Iridium. One of my favourites, thank god you woke me up before I got to it.”

You humour his tendencies; you’re nothing if not a condoner of his weird quirks. “Discovered by Smithson Tennat in 1803.” is your response, “The name comes from Greek Mythology, Iris. Two stable Isotopes, 191 and 193.”

There you go again. Fracturing his mind, and stealing his information before it can fall from bruised lips.

He thinks you might be cut from the same cloth. He thinks he was probably just made for you. “I like the way you say Isotopes.” He mutters, “Like the way you kiss. You always take my top lip.”

There’s no epiphany. No sharp blade, dragging, penetrating, skin, forcing you to confront stifled feelings. They’ve always been there. Red string of fate, Plato’s Symposium: Aristophanes’ account of the ‘other half.’ Hero and Leander. It doesn’t matter. There’s only the here and now.

He does this thing. Often. Where he’ll moan into your open-mouth. Fingers sunk deep into your hair, keeping you impossibly tethered to him. You’re not sure what planet he fell from, but you’re glad they deported him, if only for your selfish benefit of circuiting around him.

“I’m in love with you,” the admittance is easy. Maybe the words have always been waiting for you to verbalise, bated breath, inexorably interlinked. Maybe they’re long overdue. Something pleading to be let out. But, maybe, it matters more to wait until this, when everything is soft and untouchable. Fresh, untainted. He’d like to live in your skin.

Here’s the thing, Spencer always thought he would be the first one to say it. Reciprocation was always a fantastical hypothetical, something he could only blindly hope for. But, to have his illimitable feelings, in their extensive capacity, matched? That’s— more than he ever thought he deserved.

He presses his forehead to yours, “Saying ‘i’m in love with you’ doesn’t measure up, doesn’t articulate even a fraction of what I feel for you.”

He’s pretty sure he could die right here, in this one fragile moment, and be happy with everything he’s accomplished.

[spinfins]

I just love the fact that it shows Lucanis is over it.

When you first recruit him its all Zara, zara, zara, zara! I must kill zara! I must have my vengeance on zara! I live only for zara!

And he has good reason to. She ruined his life.

But then the veilguard helped him put Zara behind him. He didn’t even kill her. They helped him make peace with his trauma and Spite.

And now Lucanis is over it. He’s telling this Venatori; dude, she’s not important. Stop wasting your life like I was. There are better things to do, like making Risotto.

And then he stabs the dude, but my point still stands.

This is the fucking funniest exchange in the entire game. This is peak fight banter. I cannot believe Lucanis actually says this during the final run through Minrathous

King shit right here. Absolute king shit

[blackfyrerebels]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ House of the Dragon/Fire & Blood (Dance Era) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

smut = ❤️‍🔥 (please note I may forget to add the heart, so read the tags yourself)

This masterlist is mostly for my own use, but also serves as a recommendation to anyone who stumbles upon this blog, and an archive in case any fics are deleted or blogs go inactive. If you would like your fic removed please message me.

Aegon II Targaryen

tag: #aegoniitargaryen A Cruel Fate - @spider-stark The Summer Islands - @fairysluna He Needs Me ❤️‍🔥 - @teethingbeetle Aegon Targaryen x wife!Reader - @gtgbabie0 Did Some Force Take You Because I Didn’t Pray? - @m4tthewmurd0ck

Aeron Bracken

tag: #aeronbracken Jump Then Fall | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 - @thebenjiblackwoodexpress

Alicent Hightower

tag: #alicenthightower Bedroom Hymns (feat. Gwayne) - @sansaorgana Rotten Soil, Rotten Fruit (feat. Jace) - @princessbellecerise

Benjicot Blackwood

tag: #benjicotblackwood The Bridge - @spider-stark Lady Strong - @spider-stark I Love You, It's Ruining My Life | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 - @yikes-aemond (❤️‍🔥 throughout) You Can Hear It In the Silence - @yikes-aemond The Mermaid of Tully - @drmaddict Drabble - @benijbol Dramatic - @cherryheairt

Cregan Stark

tag: #creganstark Sons & Daughters - @annwrites (note to self - read the rest of this & reblog) Art of Braiding - @seafarersdream

Criston Cole

tag: #cristoncole A Loyal Dog's Reward ❤️‍🔥 | Part 2 ❤️‍🔥 - @venus-maneater

Daemon Targaryen

tag: #daemontargaryen Coming soon...

Davos Blackwood

tag: #davosblackwood Weak Point - @dani-says-stuff

Gwayne Hightower

tag: #gwaynehightower Bedroom Hymns (feat. Alicent) - @sansaorgana Come Back to Me - @raven-dor Delicate | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 - @thebenjiblackwoodexpress Birds of a Feather - @raven-dor A Conversation Between Old Friends - @spider-stark I Wanna Be Yours - @raven-dor

Helaena Targaryen

tag: #helaenatargaryen Beneath the Cherry Tree ❤️‍🔥 - @sapphire-writes

Jacaerys Velaryon

tag: #jacaerysvelaryon Should've Been Me - @teethingbeetle Snow White and the Seven Bandits - @painted-flag Distain - @jacaerysgf The Wrong Way (modern au) - @benjinotes Rotten Soil, Rotten Fruit (feat. Alicent) - @princessbellecerise "Gold Rush" - @sourcherryandsprinkles

Otto Hightower

tag: #ottohightower One And The Same | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 - @annwrites (Please note the "dead dove" tag. This sometimes reads like borderline psychological horror (in kind of a hot way), and I confess I haven't finished it so I don't know how intense it gets)

[livmightlive]

Legend’s real fiancé/fiancée

this is probably my dumbest one yet

The chain has picked up on Legend occasionally mentioning a fiancé. He gets flustered every time. It’s one of the only real ways to catch him off guard. Since it’s a Link trait to be nosey, everyone is WAY up in Legend’s business. Each time they mention it though, Legend just blushes and waves them off.

The chain meets Fable at some point and she’s cunning, sarcastic, and funny. She seems like a very good match for Legend and… She goes doe eyed around him. She can’t take her eyes off him and she seems to hold onto his every word. Sky can recognize her affection for her hero from a mile away. He’s so happy to see that he’s not the only one in love with a Zelda. Twilight hangs over his shoulder, also understanding the love between a princess and her hero. So they slide up to her and asks if she and Legend are engaged. Her reaction is a little shocking. Her eyes go dark, her posture rigged. Her good mood is ruined. No. She’s not his fiancée but she wanted to be and tried. There’s so much she could offer him. They could be so happy. But no. To both men’s horror she has angry tears in her eyes. “I hate his stupid partner. It’s just.. AUGH.” She stomps away to sulk.

When the chain meets Ravio it all clicks. The man practically hangs off of Legend, linking their arms, hip bumping him as he passes. For Hylia’s sake they’re ROOMMATES. Time and Wars share a knowing look. During the war Ravio was always mentioning a special someone after all. So Time and Wars slide up to Ravio, teasing grins and all. They ask him if Legend was his bunny. They ask if the two are engaged. Ravio gets a wistful look on his face. It’s a bit sad and a little confused. Ravio tells them all about how he had asked Legend if he wanted to be more than roommates, not necessarily engaged, but partners. Legend apparently turned him down with lots of grace explaining he was already taken. Ravio had thought that maybe Legend was put off by them being mirror counterparts of each other, that could get pretty weird to be honest… but… it couldn’t be more weird than what Legend had!! Who he was engaged to! Ravio goes to the cellar to find the hard cider they make TOGETHER from their apples from the orchard.

Wind and Four are hanging out an a beach when a seagull joins them. Between Wind’s affinity for ghosts and Four’s Minish magic, they can understand her squawking. She asks about Legend, she’s very worried about his wellbeing. She relieved when they tell her he’s doing well. They piece together that this is the lovely Marin Legend has spoken of on more melancholic nights. She must be… ah it all makes sense. Fable’s frustration, Ravio’s hurt. Legend must’ve been engaged to his dream girl. The girl who he had to leave behind. The girl that still keeps vigil over him even when he doesn’t know she’s there. He must be unable to let go… So they ask her if she’s Legend’s betrothed. Somehow, for a bird, she puts on a stank face. Her feathers ruffle, she smooths them down with her beak. Ahem… no she’s not. She looks annoyed for a bird. Even while Legend was sleeping and she was there as his literal dream girl, Legend didn’t even go so far to kiss her. He just had such a strong feeling that somebody else was waiting for him… When she started a new life, that of the sky and sea, flying as a bird, she went to see who this person who was so special to him was and… she huffs and flies off, leaving a plume of feathers behind.

The chain ends up in Labrynna and there they meet Ralph who is ecstatic to see Legend. He also wears just as many if not more rings than Legend himself does. Wild and Hyrule exchange a look. Could it be possible that one of those rings might be a wedding ring? So Hyrule and Wild ask, probably too directly but Ralph… He sighs, shakes his head. When Legend came this way it seemed everyone had wanted chance to go on a date with the hero. Ralph wasn’t excluded from that group… but by the time he asked Legend to do something sometime, maybe something a little romantic, Legend kindly shot him down and told him of his engagement. Ralph was like ??? we are 15. (At the time of oracle of ages) Ralph gets a strange look on his face. He tells the chain that Legend’s betrothed is HERE. In Labrynna.

so of course they beg to meet this person. Everyone has so many questions. Legend has so many people that want him, who are so into him. How does this person surpass all of them? Legend, blushing like a maiden, agrees to introduce them. He leads them through the forest.

and this is her.

when he introduces the chain to a tree they think he’s lying. Not just a normal tree, but a talking one. A talking tree that’s annoying. She’s so offended when they don’t believe Legend. She demands her fiancé, omg is this real??, make them apologize. The chain doesn’t know what to do. Legend hugs her bark and she giggles. Hyrule breaks away from the chain. He looks concerned. “Legend. You were 15 when she proposed. How old was she?”

pandemonium breaks out when he mentions she must have been somewhere over 400 years old. He tries to claim that she’s like their age in tree years but it doesn’t really work.

idk if they stay together after this but I couldn’t get this stupid idea out of my head 😭 I hope somebody enjoys this!

[keyaho]

notes: in the spirit of dropping new ideas and then acting like I can't find Waldo when it's time to update, here's a teaser for a fic inspired by Praise In Advance. I don't know when it will drop so here's a glimpse into the idea.

Tired didn't encompass how Terry felt. He was drained, covered in dirt and grime, and hungry. His lunch had gone missing right when was headed to grab it and the thought of the last piece of meatloaf going into someone else's stomach soured his appetite for the day. Though a rookie brought him tacos from the street vendor, he put his all into that meatloaf last night. And by all, it was all his energy. He should have called it an exhaustion loaf. It didn't taste as good as it could have, but it fed the hunger. Except today. 

"See you tomorrow, boss!" 

Terry gave a tight smile to the young orcs in the academy. Ever since Jakoby and Ward, the precinct and city had changed its stance on the class divisions. The tension had eased and there was more common ground between the species. As a human, Terry had only watched it unfold, keeping his head down and rising the ranks in the precinct. His military background and martial arts training made him a necessity in the fight to maintain balance and order on the magical side of things. 

"Yeah,' Terry grunted, sliding into his car and letting his head drop back on the seat with a thud. "Fuck." He cursed, the weight of the day making his shoulders slump as his body finally relaxed into something softer than his office chair or training mat.

He mindlessly put the keys in the ignition to start the car. He opened his eyes to the sound of something whistling. His body tensed instantly, his hand lowering to the gun holstered in his front seat. his thumb popped the button holding it in place. Terry reached for his door handle, ready to get out and asses when something crashed into the hood of his car. 

HARD 

The windshield had cracked, splintering in hundreds of places. The alarm had little time to work and it was quickly stopped from the impact of the body-

Was it a fucking body? 

He pushed out of the ruined car, gun drawn as he side stepped and ducked under the thick feathered wings. W I N G S!? The body moved, pieces of the car crumbled beneath the shaking body as they slid to the ground. 

"Aye!" Terry shouted. "Stop fucking moving!" 

"Okay." 

Were his ears ringing? He swore he heard wind chimes. 

She curled in on herself, using her wings to cover her body. He realized then she was naked, but there was a white band around her ankle, similar to what they gave in hospitals or mental facilities. She looked up at him, gold eyes, with a gaze full of fear. 

"Shit." He muttered. 

Terry lowered his gun, he read little about them, but based on the wings he was dealing with an Angel. Something he wasn't supposed to know really existed. This was well above his security clearance. 

"Help me?" 

He rubbed his hand down his face, his ears ringing again, but he realized it was because of her voice. She was the wind chime sound. 

"You need help?" He lets out a half hearted laugh. "You land on my car…….destroyed it." 

She turned around and stood then realized she's was stepping in broken glass and car parts. He heard her muffled 'oh' before her hand landed on the car, the broken pieces fusing back together. Terry had seen a lot in his life and maybe because he was tired this didn't phase him. It probably would in the morning. 

"Help me, now?" She turned around and Terry closed his eyes. 

"You need some clothes." He pointed at his car. "There are some in the backseat. Just…..get in." 

[fancydunamancy]

Argo Tuulik's fundraiser has reached its goal today! Here is the thank you note from the man himself:

Two months ago I stood by a dead van in the middle of the night on a windy French highway after leaving behind the life I had lived in the United Kingdom for the past six years. Freezing, sleep deprived and dead-broke, a terrifying realization dawned on me as I looked at my partner and our three cats waiting in the van: I put us all in this horrible situation and I really don't know what to do next. Fiasko after fiasko that led to this moment crossed my mind and filled me with the kind of cold fear I thought only accessible to children. The fear of being helpless and small. This was the absolute low point of my life since I can remember. I came very close to regretting standing up to the mighty and the corrupt, since it was now my most beloved who were paying the price.

I will never forget that moment cause without it I would've never experienced the love and the support you wonderful people have shown me. We don't ask for help in the Wild Wild North. It's easier to just curl up and die than to admit that I am not enough. It's not strength, it's fear that isolates us from love.

This morning I woke up to a notification that the fundraiser had reached its goal. It feels surreal. Unbelievable. In less than two months?! Get outta here, it can't be…

Thank all of you generous, compassionate people who have not only saved me and my family from financial ruin but also given us the means to continue the fight I came close to abandoning on the side of that highway in France. I cannot even begin to tell you how moved I am seeing how people who themselves have almost nothing still find it in their hearts to help someone they've never even met. From the bottom of my heart, thank you all for your donations, both small and large! Thank you for the love and the support, your kind words and the time you have given me! Thank you for restoring my faith and resolve! I'm not scared anymore, I know what I have to do.

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #5 Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid

This was a book recommended by a friend an absolute eternity ago which I finally got around to reading, having long since forgotten any of its selling points or interesting qualities which might have accompanied the recommendation. Going in blind, I quite enjoyed the book as I read it, finished it feeling it had ended somewhat anticlimactically, and have grown a bit more sour on it as I thought about it to write this review. It’s not a bad book – still a fun, easy read! - but I’m not sure it’s really much more than that.

The book is structured as an oral history – or maybe the transcript of a documentary – about the titular band, a musical phenomenon that set the world on fire for a moment in the late ‘70s before dramatically breaking up halfway through the tour after releasing one of the best albums of the decade. Aside from bits of narration and scene-setting at the start of each chapter (and one conversation in the climax) the documentarian is invisible, and the story is entirely told through quotes from members of the band, associates and hangers-on, or just critics and writers on the period, as they’re interviewed thirty years and change later in the 2010s.

In the abstract, I adore this. I love unreliable narration, and Rashmoon-esque scenes where we get mutually exclusive versions of the same conflict from different perspective. Properly packaged, I am an incredibly easy mark for messy self-destructive codependency and melodrama. Thanks to some peculiar media taste on my parent’s part, I even have enduring fondness for the whole, I don’t know, heroic age of rock&roll? And the whole mass of accompanying narratives and tropes that you get buried in talking about music in the 60s-through-early-80s. And it’s not that the book doesn’t deliver on any of that, exactly – it’s not at all poorly executed, it knows what it’s trying to do. It’s just-

It feels like this is a book about a fictional band because it would be impossible to make such a morally simple, happy and redemptive story about any of the actual bands that clearly inspired it without seeming like Jenkins was getting paid to whitewash someone. It’s not that there isn’t mess, exactly, but it comes across like a born again Christian giving lurid descriptions of their debauched and sinful former life. There’s sex and drugs galore, but the worst person in the entire book is just a shitty deadbeat boyfriend. The entire main thrust of the book is building up an unacknowledged love triangle between Daisy, Billie and Camilla – actually quite compelling! And then it finally reaches a head, is cleanly and simply resolved in the most boringly conventional way, and the story jumps thirty years ahead to a ‘where are they now’. Where is the toxicity, the mess, the unforgivable betrayals everyone has to ignore so they can get on stage together, the fortune-destroying legal battles over the rights to the band’s legacy once it all falls apart? You finish the book feeling like Charlie Brown trying to kick a football.

This might be a problem of me setting my expectations too high, but up until the halfway point it does feel like it was building up to something appropriately nuclear. Instead, it peaked with Billie (and, despite the book’s name and cover art, in a narrative sense he really is the main character of the book) hits rock bottom and goes to rehab so he can be a good father for his daughters and husband to his wife. A truly mind-numbing fraction of the book from there is dedicated to singing the praises of the redemptive power of the reproductive nuclear family and an advertisement for going to rehab and learning self-control before drugs ruin your life. I spent two hundred pages waiting for it all to be groundwork for juicy, bitter dramatic irony, but no – just sincere, straightforward themes of the work. Hideous.

There is one rather hostile reading of the book that works? It’s revealed at the book’s climax that the diegetic framer and compiler of this oral history is Julia, Billie and Camilla’s daughter, and she is creating this project when her mother rather abruptly dies. And you know? This story is exactly what you might expect from an entertainment industry nepo baby asking her parents and a bunch of family friends (including who everyone assumed to be The Other Woman) about her parent’s romance and relationship and putting it all together into a deeply mediocre documentary that will kickstart her career entirely thanks to all the juicy stories from last generation’s superstars. But I am on the one hand really pretty sure this is not even close to the intended read of the story, and on the other still leaves you only reading the deeply mediocre documentary with no access whatsoever to the more interesting story underneath it. Decent conceit for fanfiction, I guess?

The identity of the diegetic narrator is also the justification for how shamelessly the story plays favourites with which band members to focus on – of course her parents and their relationship will be the central focus of the whole piece, of course her uncle and his girlfriend will get second-string status, of course the rest of the band will basically exist to provide colour commentary and throw peanuts (if that). A disparity the story itself draws enough attention to it, honestly, goes from charming to eyeroll inducing when it never actually does anything with it.

The story very much wants to be About gender and feminism, and (going by the discussion questions I glanced at while skimming through the reader’s guide section at the back of the book) is proud of it. Which isn’t really unjustified – it really does have a decent number of different female characters with their own developed personalities and prominent roles in the narrative. It does the thing I kind of hate where by happy coincidence all of them (even the ones on opposite ends of a romantic triangle) end up liking each other whenever they interact, but that’s just kind of a piece with the book not really letting anyone be a proper piece of shit. It is however very funny that the only black-coded character in the entire story is literally in the narrative to be Daisy’s longsuffering and supportive best friend there to provide a bit of maternal influence and talk sense into her when she really needs it.

But yes, decent airport read I suppose? Fun for a lazy day if you enjoy the premise, but not really worth seeking out otherwise.

[residentrookie]

NFU 

a messy exes/right person, wrong time jegulus microfic inspired by the song NFU by del water gap for my bb @static-radio-ao3 as my thank u for the introduction :))

“Hello?” 

“Regulus,” a hoarse voice rasps on the other end of the phone, drawing out the syllables of his name. Rough and low and… drunk. Extremely fucking drunk, by the sound of it.

Regulus stiffens. “James. Are you-- you’re drunk calling me. Again.” 

“Very astute. You’re always so astute, Reg.” 

He checks the clock on his nightstand with bleary eyes. 3:30 AM. God. Not this again.

“I thought we talked about this,” he sighs, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“We don’t talk much these days,” James points out rationally. “I think I would have remembered.” 

Regulus rolls his eyes. Not fucking likely. 

“Since you were in a similar state the last time we had this conversation, I’m not surprised you don’t remember. Just so we’re clear that doesn’t make it okay, James. This is— you have to stop doing this.” 

By ‘this’ Regulus means getting wasted and calling him when James is too far gone to talk himself out of the idea. And, if Regulus were smart, he would stop picking up when James’ name flashes across his screen. 

“Like I said. Astute.” 

Drunk James is his worst nightmare, truly. Drunk James is a walking, talking reminder of everything he doesn’t have anymore, everything he will never have again. When he calls, lacking crucial social skills like self-control and any modicum of a filter, Regulus is forced to be the rational one, reminding them both that this boundary exists for a reason. A very good reason.

“Okay. Well I’m glad— it’s good that we talked about this. But this is— this has to be the last time. I’m hanging up now, okay?” 

James continues as if he never spoke. “How’s your um— your boyfriend doing?”

Immediately no. 

“I’m not talking about this with you—” Regulus attempts to shut him down, but James is nothing if not obstinate. 

“You’re still dating the guy with the dumb fucking name, right?” 

James knows full well that he is. Sirius would have informed him otherwise. He just wants to hear Regulus say it because he’s fucking sick and twisted. Naturally, Regulus can’t give him the satisfaction, so he avoids the question. 

“You can’t think Regulus is a perfectly normal name and then turn around and shit on a guy for being named Kingsley.” 

James scoffs on the other end of the phone. “I can shit on him as much as I want. Fucking hate that fucker.” 

“You’ve never met him. You can’t hate someone you’ve never even met.” 

“Sirius hates him.” 

“Sirius doesn’t hate him—” Sirius just wishes he was you. 

“Mhm. Told me so. Said he’s a little bitch who can’t hold his liquor.”

Now it’s Regulus’ turn to scoff. “This coming from you right now? You sound so fucked up, I doubt you can even see straight. Not that you could before, but—” 

“I’m not fucked up,” James insists, then says calmly, “I just missed the way that you talk.” 

This. This was why they had to stop. In his worst moments, Regulus loathes the fact that Sober James all but ignores him most of the time, only bothering to text him on important holidays or birthdays. That is, until he’s reminded that Drunk James wants to ruin him— completely and thoroughly— by the casual cruelty of speaking his mind and expecting Regulus to go on peacefully with his life as if he didn’t just upend it entirely. 

“James…” he starts shakily. 

“Fuck, that sounded stupid. This was,” James hiccups, “not my best idea, I fear. Rash. Extremely rash feeling.” 

“What, drunk calling your ex? Yeah, I would say it’s one of your worst.” 

James is quiet for a moment. “You kill me, you know? I-I hate talking to you.” 

Rage wells up in Regulus’ throat so fast he nearly chokes on it. “You called me—”

“God, you sound good. You always sound sexy when you’re angry, did you know that?  Rougher… hotter. All red in the face and your neck…I can almost see it, if I squint.”  James pauses, presumably squinting like a drunken idiot. “Maybe that’s why I called you— to make you angry. To hear you be angry at me again. Stupid fucking thing to miss, isn’t it?”

Yet again, Regulus is at a loss. 

“You— I’m— God, you’re a real fucking bastard. Do you have any idea how excruciating it is to talk to you when you’re like this?” 

But James ignores him, saying ruefully, “Sirius told me, he always tells me, he says, ‘Don’t fucking do it, James. You always regret it, you always yell at me the next day for letting you call him,’ but he can’t stop me,” a childish giggle bursts from him. “I’m too fast. Much, much faster than him, just for the record. He’s never once beat me in a foot race, and if he says he has he’s a big, fat fucking liar—”

“James, I sincerely don’t give a fuck about that— be honest, did you run away from him at the bar?” 

Drunk James will do that. He’s a runner. Well, not when Regulus was around to keep him on a tight leash, but it seems that without him, James is turning back to some of his worst habits. 

The line goes quiet. Then, “A little bit.” 

“It’s a yes or no question, James.” 

“Mm.” He seems to think on it. “Yes, then.” 

Regulus tosses his hand in the air, forgetting James can’t see him. “Go back and find him!” 

“Don’t want to,” James sniffs. “Tryin to make my mistakes in peace.” 

“You— I’m hanging up and calling Sirius.” 

“No, no don’t!” James yells into the receiver, making Regulus wince and pull his phone away from his ear. James’ voice is much quieter when he speaks again. 

“Don’t, I have to say— I wanted to tell you. I have to tell you that I’m sorry, Regulus. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

A pit of dread forms in his stomach. James sounds wretched. He sounds like how Regulus feels when he thinks too long about how far they’ve drifted apart, how little they speak to each other anymore. For one infinitesimal second, Regulus gets the satisfaction of knowing that he’s not alone in this specific shade of misery— dark blue and bottomless. And then he reminds himself that he’s sober and his ex-boyfriend is drunk and they shouldn’t even be fucking talking right now if they knows what’s good for them. 

“James, look, you’re drunk, you’re emotional—”

“‘S not what I’m apologizing for.” 

“What, then?” 

“Everything. All of it. I never—I wanted…” 

Don’t say it, Regulus begs silently. Please don’t say what I—

“I still love you,” James breathes out. “I love you so much I can’t breathe around it.” 

Regulus lets his eyes sink closed, firmly shuttering the tears forming in his eyes. He can’t let himself say it back. He can’t. If he does…

“James…” Regulus lets himself savor the sound of his name on his tongue. Then says softly, “It’s okay.” 

They both know it’s not. 

______________________________

James looks down at the number on his phone. Blinks, just to make sure he isn’t imagining… but, no, he isn’t making it up. He picks up his phone, his apprehension growing. 

“Regulus?” he asks, unsure. 

A snort sounds on the other line. “Hm, fffancy seeing you here.” 

James blinks again. “...We’re talking over the phone.”

He doesn’t have to see Regulus to know that he’s just waved James’ words away with a flippant hand. “Metaphorically, then.” 

It’s been weeks since the last time they spoke. James remembers very little of that ill-conceived conversation, except of course for the part where he said the one thing he promised himself he would never say again because his brain hates him. It’s played on a loop in his head everyday since, his ragged, sincere words and Regulus’ noncommittal response to them. 

It’s okay, he had said. 

It was anything but okay. They both knew that. 

He had been doing so well, had been training himself to think of other things besides his ex boyfriend and his ex boyfriend’s new boyfriend and what the two of them were getting up to together, all the fun things they were probably doing while James was just focused on getting through his day. On getting to the next one. The next. The next the next the next the next the next—

“You don’t have ‘nything to say? Hm?” Regulus’ words slur. Unusual for him. Regulus was always so in control of himself. 

James frowns. “Are you okay? You sound—”

“Drunk? Well, that’s because I am. Royally, massively fucking toasted. Thought I’d return the favor and call you for once. ‘S your lucky day.” 

“Oh. I guess— I deserve that.” 

“I’ll say. Taste of your own medicine. Drink up, Potter.” 

James huffs a humorless laugh. “You must be drunk if you’re calling me ‘Potter’. You never call me that.” 

“Never say never, Potter,” he spits out meanly.  “It’s never a good idea to say never, remember? Remember how not good of an idea it is to use the word never? My therapist, she says I need to stop talking in absolutes. Never and always. Never say never, I learned that from her. Shame you didn’t, too.” 

James sinks into a kitchen chair, burying his face in his free hand, rubbing out the headache growing in his left temple. “You were right,”  he admits. “This is excruciating.” 

This conversation is making him feel awful for every single time he’s dialed Regulus drunk, the barrier between his thoughts and his words nowhere to be found. Regulus was right. He deserved a taste of his own medicine. He deserved this for every single second Regulus had to keep his cool on the other line while James was busy fucking them up a little more than they already had been. 

“Like remember when you said we’d never break up? Or when you said you’d always love me? Hilarious. Really, really funny stuff.” 

Regulus’ voice is liquid rage, red hot and acidic. James swears it’s burning him through the phone. 

He sighs. “Regulus. Can we not?” 

“No, no, we should talk about it. It’s been long enough. We can be rational adults and have a damn conversation. Here, you know what, I’ll even go first. I wanted you to come with me, you know. I should have asked you. To come with me.” 

James feels his heart stutter in his chest at those words. “You did ask me to come with you,” he murmurs. 

Regulus was waiting for that, like a snake rearing to strike. “Wait. Yessss, that’s right. I asked you to come with me and you said no! Now I remember. You said fucking no.” 

James clenches his jaw, his own anger slowly rising up the column of his throat. “I didn’t say no. I asked for some time to decide if I wanted to upend my life and move across the country, which is a pretty sane response to a question of that fucking magnitude. You’re the one who decided my hesitation meant I didn’t fucking love you.” 

“Well, it sure didn’t feel like you loved me when you let me leave.” 

“Let you—?!” James cuts off, knowing he’ll blow a gasket if he doesn’t calm himself.  “Regulus,” he starts, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one lets you do anything! You do whatever you please and damn the consequences! I just never— I didn’t want to be one of those consequences.” 

Regulus, to no one’s shock, does not attempt to calm himself. In fact, James fears he’s only stoked the flames. 

“You are hands down the most infuriating human being on the face of the goddamn planet! Of course you’re blaming me! Of course, like you were just an innocent bystander while I went about ruining our relationship! Like you had nothing to do with it! You had no part in it, no, not perfect James Potter, never him! I cannot believe— I just— it’s all so— fuck!” 

His voice breaks on the word and then the rest of him breaks too. His tears sound painful, like they’re fighting they’re way out of Regulus’ body with each sob. He cries loudly and messily and James can’t pretend like the sound doesn’t break his heart all over again. 

“Regulus?” He makes his voice gentle. Soothing. “Hey, don’t cry. Listen, you’re drunk. Why don’t we try talking when you’ve sobered up?” 

“No, James,” he sobs, gasping for breath. “You don’t understand. I fucked up. I fucking fucked up.” 

James sits up straighter, alarmed. 

“Are you okay? Are you safe? What’s going on—” 

Regulus sniffles. “No, I’m— I’m at my place. I’m fine. It’s just… it’s Kingsley.” 

James’ mind goes still in a way that should scare him but doesn’t. “Did he hurt you?” He doesn’t  bother keeping the cool rage out of his voice. 

“No!” Regulus nearly shouts. “No.. the opposite, actually. I hurt him. Badly.” 

James closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath. “Look… I’m sorry you’re upset but I really don’t want to listen to your lover’s spat—”

“I said your name last night,” Regulus whispers. 

“You—what?” 

Regulus doesn’t hold himself back. “He fucked me and I said your name. When I came. Yelled it, actually. No way to hide it. James and Kingsley don’t sound remotely similar.” 

And that— well. James has lost the ability for rational thought. “Oh,” he manages.

“Yeah, oh,” Regulus mimics him harshly. “He stormed out and we haven’t talked since. And I think— I think he’s going to break up with me now. He should break up with me. It’s— what I did is unforgivable.” 

No matter how hard he tries, James can’t think of a single thing to say to this information. Naturally, Regulus won’t let that stand. 

“James? Are you gonna say something?” 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks weakly. 

“Say you’re sorry!” Regulus shouts. “Say you’re sorry for drunk calling me all the fucking time, for reminding me that you exist, for reminding me I still fucking love—” 

He cuts off, but not quite quickly enough. James still heard everything he didn’t say. 

“I am sorry,” he says, voice rough. “I’m really fucking sorry, Regulus.” 

He hears the hitch in Regulus’ breath. If he closes his eyes he can see Regulus before him, see the pain take up residence on his beautiful face, the way he scrunches his nose when he cries, his eyes going stark red, his cheeks staining themselves pink. 

He can see Regulus so clearly in his mind. But he didn’t see what was coming next. 

“I-I just want to be with you again,” Regulus cries softly.  “I want to be with you, James. I’ll move back, I’ll quit my program, I’ll move in with you like you wanted, I’ll do fucking anything— but I can’t live like this anymore, James, I can’t, I can’t—”

James’ own tears slide down his cheeks silently, falling off the cliff-edge of his chin. 

“Regulus,” he says as firmly as he can manage. “Stop it. Please. You didn’t move away on a whim, okay? You’re in an amazing program. You love Chicago, you love the city and the river walk and the Art Institute and that bookshop across from Grant Park—” 

“You can’t— I didn’t tell you about any of—” 

“I pay attention. I know you love it. And I love where I live. I love my job here.” He forces the next words to leave his mouth, even though they taste like poison. “We’re… in the right places for ourselves. I have to believe that.” 

This doesn’t satisfy Regulus. The most twisted part of him is glad about that. 

“Why don’t you fucking get it, James? I can’t be in the right place if I’m not with you. The right place doesn’t exist if we aren’t in it together.” 

James squeezes his eyes shut tightly. Regulus can’t know how badly this is hurting him. He can’t know that James feels like dying every day they spend apart, that James has applied for over ten jobs in Chicago just to hear nothing back, has looked at apartments in Regulus’ neighborhood enough times he’s saved the site to his favorites bar. Even when Regulus was dating someone else. Even after Regulus had moved on from him. 

He's looked at it from so many angles, tried to reconfigure it so many times in his mind, and nothing made sense for them. One of them would always be giving up something, making sacrifices for the other, letting the resentment build.

Even thought Regulus is saying everything he’s been wanting to hear for an entire year...

He’s drunk. He’s drunk and he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Doesn’t know what he wants. 

“We’re happy, Regulus,” James tells him stiffly. “We’re both happy.” 

Maybe if he keeps repeating it, he’ll finally start to believe it. 

“If this is what happiness feels like,” Regulus snarls, “then I don’t want to be fucking happy.” 

No. And James doesn’t either. 

“You’ll feel differently in the morning. I promise.” 

Regulus laughs without humor. “I’ll still want you in the morning. Being sober doesn’t change that. It just lets me hold on to a shred of my dignity and not call you to tell you about it. But it doesn’t change a damn thing. You have to know that.” 

He’s drunk, James reminds himself. He’s fucking drunk. 

“Goodnight, Regulus,” he chokes out. 

“I still love you, James.” 

“It’s okay, Regulus. It’ll be okay.” 

They both know it won’t be. 

[toonice113]

Renegade ⋆ ★ Matt Rempe

Pairings: Matt Rempe x Reader

Genre: angst 

Summary: After a heated fight, you finally tell Matt all you’ve been keeping in.

Warnings: none 

Word count: 644

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ a short blurb of something longer i could write but probably won’t because college sucks, full angst because i'm PMSing and been crying and getting angry at the stupidest things ever (and also not so stupid things because the world sucks rn) 

“I don’t know what you want me to do” Matt’s voice is quiet yet the change in volume from your previous shouting match does nothing to ease the situation, in fact, it feels worse

“You never do! And that’s the problem” At this point he’s sitting on the couch while you are leaning on the small dining table in your shared apartment “I moved my life to be here with you and it just feels like we’ve never been further apart” Matt doesn’t say anything, his head is in his hands and you wait and wait for him to say something but nothing comes out so you pick up the bag you had discarded when the fight started and walk towards the door 

His hand stops you as you are opening the door “Don’t” he shakes his head “Don’t go” 

“Why? Matt, this is not working, we’re not working, it’s breaking us” Your eyes are filled with tears, and although they were tears of rage before, there’s a deep sadness in them now 

“Okay, okay yeah, you’re right” He says, an exhausted air coming from him “Things haven’t been great lately and I’m sorry, baby I’m so sorry I haven’t been all you’ve needed me to be and I won’t stop you from leaving right now, not if you really think that’s what we need” You look at him, he looks tired, and he probably is since he had just gotten back from a game before you started fighting, his suit still on “But please come back to me, this whole thing, it’s not us, it’s the timing, maybe it’s the wrong time for us to be together, but I can’t lose you completely” 

“Matt” You say, tired as well “I can’t promise you that and you know it, this is not about timing, this has been going on for forever, everytime we fight we just push it down and move on acting like everything is right the next day and we can’t keep doing this, truth is you don’t trust me” 

“I do trust you” His words are sharp, defensive 

“But you don’t, When was the last time we talked, like actually took a moment to talk about something not superficial? We talk about our days, we talk about my work and we talk about hockey, sometimes we talk about tv shows or tiktoks but we never talk about ourselves” You feel silly saying these words, and that’s the reason you haven’t brought it up before, but you know it’s exactly what you need to talk about right now “You often come in angry after a game and when I ask about it you only say it was a rough game and you don’t want to talk about it, and if I was any other person I would get it because you keep this mask up that you are this big scary enforcer with a massive ego that only cares about winning fights, but I know you Matt, you are so much more than that, and sometimes I wish you would feel comfortable enough to talk to me when you are hurting” The words seem to sink into matt as soon as you speak them “I want to be there for you because I love you, but every time you push me away it kills me a little more so no Matt, this is not about timing, it’s about you not trusting me” 

“I-” But he has nothing to say, you’re right and he knows it.

“Matt please, get your shit together so I can love you” With that you let go of his hand and walk out of the door shutting it behind you and not looking back, in the apartment Matt crumbles, he just did it, ruined the best thing in his life because he was too scared to open up.

[sorceresssundries]

The Tower

My next contribution for the @bg3tarotdeck is Rolan!!

This one was very special to me as I adore Rolan, and The Tower card is a pretty intimidating one to write for.

I loved it though, and I was blessed to get to pair up with the wonderful @mescalitoart for this one! Their artwork for this card is incredible.

Project Kickstarter info here!

It came as if from nowhere. 

The elder brain was a monstrosity, an abomination wearing the cursed crown of a heretic. As it rose from the bowels of the undercity ruins, its vast, pulsing mass blotted out the sun and cast a shadow that swallowed Baldur’s Gate. From his vantage point atop Ramazith’s Tower, Rolan watched in grim silence, the memory of Elturel's fall tightening like a clawed fist around his heart. He had made a promise to Tav that the sky would fall upon any who stood in their way.

He had been powerless when Elturel was dragged into hell, but not anymore.

Not this time.

This must be what it was all for, he thought with surprising numbness. He had faced banishment, the slaughter of his people, the crushing grief of thinking Cal and Lia were dead, and the humiliation of countless beatings from a cruel and undeserving master. Yet, he had endured. This was no longer a path he was being dragged down, but a mantle he was ready to pick up. 

Everything had led him here. From the pits of hell to the top of the tower - and now, he had a part to play. 

From its perch in the darkened sky, the elder brain pulsed waves of psychic energy, calling forth reinforcements. Nautiloid ships filled the sky in response, their grotesque silhouettes slipping through portals to ready themselves at its side. Minutes before, the air had been filled with the chatter and life of a bustling city. Now, there were only screams and smoke.

Rolan had made improvements to the tower’s defences and artillery, rectifying the neglect of his predecessor. The former master had been lazy and indulgent, more focused on seizing power than fulfilling his duty as the city’s protective mage. Rolan had done what he could, but feared it might not be enough to withstand the onslaught of Illithid attack ships. 

It didn’t matter. He had a promise to keep. If the tower had to fall alongside the sky, then so be it.

“Rolan!” Lia’s voice was a blade through his epiphany. His brave, stubborn sister stumbled out onto the balcony, suddenly sounding like the frightened little girl who had taken him in when they were children. She and Cal had saved him and become his family when he had no one. It was a debt he was determined to repay.

“What are you doing?” he snapped as a massive shadow from the nautiloid ship passed over their heads “It is not safe! Get out of here, now!”

“Don’t be a dolt, Rolan,” Cal snapped, emerging right behind her. “You really think we’d leave you up here alone? Not a chance. Tell us what needs to be done.”

He looked at their faces, jaws set and eyes blazing. His fierce, selfless siblings who he loved completely.

“Fine, make yourselves useful. I need more scrolls, as many as you can carry. Get back to the shop, and find any that will summon lightning.”

“But...” Cal started.

“Quickly!”

The two of them exchanged a glance, and Lia sighed.

“Do not do anything reckless, at least until we get back,” she said with one of her easy smiles. “We stick together, remember?”

He nodded, fighting the urge to pull them both into a hug—the way he had during stormy nights when they were children.

They raced through the portal without looking back, recklessly determined to help as always. Just like at the grove, on the road to Moonrise, and at every step of their journey. They had never wavered.

“Forgive me,” Rolan murmured, his voice cracking softly. With a heavy heart, he flicked his hand, and the portal shimmered and vanished in a flash of magic. Sealing them away, ensuring they couldn’t return to him.

He was alone.

Rolan resumed his place at the tower’s ledge, watching as the nautiloid ships steadied, focusing their barrage on the High Hall. They were trying to stop Tav and the others from reaching the top. His eyes flicked to the tower’s artillery control. One press, and he could rain fire down on any target he desired. But there was no signal from Tav yet, and without it, he had to wait. 

The tower shook as another volley of fire pummelled the city. He knew he had only one good shot before he gave himself away completely, and the tower’s defences wouldn’t stand a chance against the concentrated firepower of the entire fleet. 

Just then, a nearby nautiloid shifted, its shadow darkening the tower as it pivoted toward him. Its artillery halted and readjusted —focusing on the tower’s spire. 

They had noticed him. 

His heart quickened as he realised it wouldn’t wait for him to strike first. If he didn’t act quickly, it wouldn’t matter whether Tav signalled or not. His promise would count for nothing. 

He had to keep the ship off him, just long enough for the signal. 

He felt for the threads of the weave, silken and pliant between his fingers as the comforting scent of rosewater wrapped itself around him. His focus sharpened as his tongue carved out the arcane command, splitting the delicate threads of magic apart. Silk became static, and magic gathered in the skies above him, transforming smoke into storm clouds. The soft, rolling darkness growled and purred, and with one word from his lips, lightning crackled and spat across the battlefield sky.

Flashes of lightning turned his gold eyes silver-blue, illuminating his bruises and making his slow-healing scars look like fresh wounds. His teeth were bared in concentration, his muscles taut.

 He was the thunder that summoned the lightning. He was the storm atop the tower.

A bolt pierced the nautiloid ship. It sparked and blazed, and the ship stuttered like a failing heart against the smoke-clotted sky. Another bolt threw itself down, missing and hitting the surface of the Chionthar with a hiss. And then… lightning struck the tower.

The explosion rocked the structure and falling shrapnel slit his skin, but Rolan did not move. He stood firm. The end was near—he could see the ships turning toward him. He wouldn’t last long.

A strange relief washed over him. At least Cal and Lia were safe.

Just as he thought his time was up, the signal he had been waiting for pulsed in the distance. Hope bloomed once more, as it always had.

It was time to fire the cannon.

[cas-kingdom]

For the sentence prompts! Hope you are doing well Cas💜!

Begging for forgiveness was the only option at this point

A/N: Used the sentence at the end instead!

When Mark burst into the chief’s office, you had your top half hanging off the sofa, a lollipop in your mouth. You stared at him upside-down for about five seconds while you waited for him to speak.

“Mark Sloan is having a baby,” he finally announced, a very slight edge to his voice.

You blinked, then heaved yourself up and turned towards him.

“Y/N says congrats,” you said, your words garbled around the sweet in your mouth.

Mark reacted immediately. He shut the door and pointed an accusatory finger straight at you. “Don’t play coy with me. I know it was you.”

"Me?"

"You started the godawful rumour suddenly floating around the hospital!"

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” With expert skill and practice, you sat back and crossed your arms over your chest. When Mark’s glare intensified, because you absolutely had an idea of what he was talking about, a corner of your lips quirked upwards and you pulled the lollipop from your mouth. “Maybe you should go back to your baby mama.”

Mark chuckled dangerously and rubbed his hands together. “Y/N, sweetheart. Peanut. Little worm. You’re dead.”

He made a move, lurching towards you, and youstood on the couch, brandishing the lollipop like a weapon. “Hey. Hey! Now you know what it feels like!”

“What what feels like?”

“It’s your own fault for making it so believable!”

“What what feels like, Y/N?”

“To have your life ruined!”

Mark scoffed. “This is because I put dye in your shampoo? Temporary dye, Y/N, it was temporary dye!”

“My hair was green for a week!”

“Everyone said it suited you!”

“Because you told everyone it was my choice!” You narrowed your eyes at him as he put his hands on his hips. “I’m not sorry. I’m never gonna be sorry. You’re a dad now, congratulations. Hope you’re a better father than you are a fake uncle.”

The surgeon’s jaw dropped. “Okay, now, that one hurt.”

“Not as much as your penis hurt when your baby mama broke it for getting her pregnant.”

Mark's eyes widened. He’d thought the pregnancy rumour was enough—God knew he’d had his fill of those—but there was more? Really, he should have expected it. This was Y/N Shepherd he was talking about. The only person who could one up him.

Suddenly forgetting his quest for revenge, Mark thrust his face in his palms and slumped down on a chair by the desk. “Anything else I need to know about?” he mumbled, wincing in anticipation of the answer.

Before you could smugly offer one, the door opened once again to reveal Richard. His eyes quickly roved the room before landing on Mark. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why am I being told you’re taking extended paternity leave when the twins have barely been conceived?" There was a brief silence before: "Congratulations, by the way.”

You snorted.

Mark groaned.

Richard rose a brow. “Or…commiserations?”

Mark turned wide, befuddled eyes on him. "Webber, you think it’s true?”

Richard, perplexed, glanced between you and Mark. “It’s not?”

“No!”

Richard shrugged. “Congratulations, then.” He left the room only to pop his head back in a second later. “So, your…”

“Is all in working order!”

“Right. Bye.”

Mark turned to look at you, a gleam in his eye that you recognised all too well. You bit your bottom lip, still standing on the couch. “I told you it’s your own fault for making it so believable.”

He stared. Hard. Then, in about a second, he vaulted himself towards you. You clumsily leapt over the back of the couch with a squeal, falling to the floor with a thud but not caring in the slightest as you scrambled to make your escape.

“You wanna tell me who I’m having these twins with?” Mark asked, making a wild grab for you and snagging the hood of your sweater.

“A cafeteria lady! You thought her buns were top notch!”

Begging for forgiveness was the only option at this point.

Grey’s Masterpost

send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five

[weirdsht]

I have this random idea and I neeed to yap about it here lmaoo

I'm just thinking about krs taking care of a teen around locks age, he met them at some point of the apocalypse and decided to take them under his wing.

let's say they transmigrated together or reader a bit after krs, but they meet at some point in the novel, anyways bc krs!cale took care of them for a good 3-4 years before the transmigration he subconsciously does the things he did before without noticing.

another random thing that came to mind:

idk someone: "wow young master, you really know this kid"

cale: "I hope i do i took care of them for a good 3 years"

random person: "when???"

ignore how this might not make sense storywise and probably characterwise, I'm really sleepy 🙏

Homecoming - Cale & Teen! Reader

a/n: i want to write more but my brain is all out of creative juices because almost all of my profs are making us write essays every day. not to mention that directing thingy i need to do for that stupid uni short film

tags: fluff, platonic, reader is unhinge if you squint, gn!reader

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Requests are open and welcome

Navigation Masterlist

“...What are you doing here?”

That was the first thing Cale asked you as soon as he saw you.

“And you are..?”

Was your question to respond to his question.

Because why is this random nobleman talking to you as if he knew you? Sure he reminds you a bit of Kim Rok Soo but still.

This guy is essentially a stranger and your big brother Rok Soo has taught you stranger-danger.

You can see the redhead sigh before pushing his hair back with his left hand. There’s a look of fondness and frustration in his eyes, another thing that reminds you of your big brother.

Kim Rok Soo wasn’t actually your big brother biologically speaking. Both of you were orphans who found each other in the middle of a ruined world. Two abandoned people who found solace within each other. 

You quite literally tripped into Rok Soo’s life a few months after he became a team leader.

The same way how you literally tripped into this weird noble’s porch. 

Speaking of which, that said noble is now telling everyone to give the two of you some privacy. He even asked the cute baby dragon to put a soundproof barrier around the room.

“Are you doing that to mask my screams when you kill me?”

You couldn’t help but ask once everyone was out of the room. Rok Soo had always told you about not letting your impulsive thoughts win but you couldn’t help it.

Cale sighed loudly and tiredly, exactly the same reaction your Rok Soo would do when you said something stupid.

“No I’m not gonna kill you, and no I’m not going to eat you either so don’t even ask.”

You clamped your mouth shut after that. The question dying on your tongue before you could even ask it.

“I’m going explain myself and then you’ll do the same okay?”

You nodded seeing as you don’t really have a choice. You’re in this guy’s turf and there’s no way you can outrun a dragon and whatever monster of a people this guy has with him. And so you behaved yourself and settled on the plush couch you were escorted to.

“My name is Cale Henituse, or at least that’s my current name. I used to be Kim Rok Soo back on Earth before I died.”

…okay what?

What now?

He was who?

Kim Rok Soo— well you guess he goes by Cale now — knows you well enough to know that this information would cause your brain to overdrive. And so he has a glass of iced water prepared for your poor self to drink.

“Wha- how- huh?”

You tried to formulate words after gulping the water but your mind is still reeling. There’s simply no comprehending this new information bought upon you.

But it’s fine since Cale is willing to wait for you to come around.

Even after 3 weeks of waiting, his still very patient.

He knows when to give you space, but also knows when to spend time with you. Cale knows exactly when you need him to be there for you and when your mind is confused about him being a stranger but also being the big brother you dearly love.

Of course, this raised some questions with the others. Cale suddenly took in another teen one day and he seemed to have known them all his life even though he just met them 3 weeks ago.

“Young master you seem to really know that kid.”

Hans asked one day. In a short distance, Ron was also listening in while dusting some decorative vases.

"I hope I do, I took care of them for a good 3 years."

Was Cale’s nonchalant answer before leaving the room in order to go to your bedroom. He had promised you that he’ll let you wander around the forest today after all. 

Meanwhile, the two servants are flabbergasted — Ron was just hiding it better than Hans.

“...3 years? How did he hide from us that he took care of a child, an entire human being, for three whole years??”

Hans asked and the only answer he got was the dust from Ron’s feather duster flying towards his face.

[wordsarelife]

pairing: slytherin!group x fem!nott!reader (romantic interest to come…)

summary: mattheo’s sure he’s cracked the case this time, but his “genius” plan drags everyone into a mess. theo’s annoyed, blaise is convinced he'll die, enzo’s just trying to stay out of it and draco’s researching ways to dispose of evidence. what started as a small mystery spirals out of control, and now they’re all in way deeper than they ever imagined. oops.

warnings: mentions of drugs, mentions of murder, but in a funny way (you’ll see lol), swearing, teenagers being teenagers

note: chapter one is finally here!! so excited to hear your opinions in the comments. also: what do we think about the possible love interest hinted at the end? are we in favor??

mattheo riddle was sitting on a couch in the slytherin common room, body bend forward, only the the tip of his arse still on the seat. he was holding a magnifying glass, studying a piece of parchment on the table in front of him.

"huh" theo muttered when he came down the stairs and saw mattheo's weird position. "working on your divination essay? you know we have to submit it in three days, you're about five days too early"

mattheo rolled his eyes at his friends lame joke, but didn't look up from the parchment.

"he's been staring at that for the past twenty minutes" draco added, who was slumped on an armchair across from mattheo, reading the newspaper. "he's acting all mysterious"

"that was awesome" blaise' voice suddenly bounced off the walls of the common room, when he and enzo entered, highfiving each other, before peeling out of their quidditch gear. they threw themselves down on the sofa on either side of mattheo, who frowned in annoyance.

"it was pretty peaceful before you guys came along" he muttered, eyeing theo, blaise and enzo.

"well, what's ruined your day, huh?" blaise puffed out air like he was smoking a cigarette, as he leaned back on the sofa and tried to reach for mattheo's shoulder, who moved out of the way before blaise was able to touch him.

"yeah" enzo agreed. "we missed you on the pitch. blaise learned this really cool—“

"this is serious, okay?" mattheo interrupted, reaching for his parchment, that theo had been studying while mattheo was preoccupied.

"that just looks like random numbers" theo shrugged, a little surprised by mattheo's sudden maturity.

"he believes it's a code" draco exclaimed with a roll of his eyes.

mattheo, completely ignoring draco, put on a knowing look. "i believe it to be a code" he said, matter of factly.

draco pointed a lame hand in mattheo's direction, followed by a very clear facial expression that basically said: 'i told you, he's crazy.'

theo sighed, realizing that he probably wouldn't be able to spend the rest of his day in peace, if he wouldn't indulge further. "a code?" he asked. "what makes you think that?"

"well" mattheo smiled smugly, like he had just been waiting for someone to ask about his investigation. "i spyed on your sister—" he paused at theo's sharp glance and lowering gaze. "not like that, mate, come on." mattheo shook his head, like he couldn't fathom theo jumping to such a conclusion. "well, i heard her talking, to pansy. they were discussing something dangerous, i just immediately knew"

"what did they say?" enzo perked up. "are they in danger?"

"life-threatening danger" mattheo nodded ominiously.

theo crossed his arms. "are you sure?" he exchanged a glance with blaise. "last time you said that, you got us convinced pansy had a stalker. turns out her and y/n had been talking about an episode of 'unsolved mysteries', but by the time we realized that mcgonnagall didn't really care anymore, did she?"

"that was a simple mistake, could've happened to anyone"

"i still have nightmares about that day" enzo muttered.

"i had to step down from my position as a prefect!" draco argued. "i was only allowed to be one the next year for special services, which required me to be filch's little helper for a month"

"i said i was sorry" mattheo crossed his arms in annoyance. "and this time i'm sure, by the way."

"you are?" enzo asked.

"i am" mattheo confirmed. "this message isn't any regular one. i know those numbers. it's part of benny's code"

"benny?" blaise repeated. "you mean blackout benny?" he asked with a worried expression as he leaned forward to try and study theo's reaction.

theo's face had whitened, shortly getting rid of any emotion, before anger crossed his features. "i swear to god, mattheo, if i find out my sister's taking heroin or cocaine, you're gonna die a painful death"

"what?" mattheo asked stunned. "what do i have to do with that?"

"i don't know" theo shrugged sarcastically. "who was the one to buy coke from benny for that ravenclaw party last year?"

"that was one time"

"impossible" blaise shook his head. "either you suddenly have eidetic memory, —what should be impossible after all the weed you smoked— or you used that code often enough to remember it."

"i'm kinda convinced it's the second one" enzo shrugged.

"i'm gonna kill you" theo muttered between clenched teeth, but draco's arm shot forward, before he was able to throw himself at mattheo.

"maybe we should all calm down" draco send a sharp look in theo's direction, who finally nodded.

"yeah, yeah" mattheo nodded, slumping back onto the couch, from which he had risen the second he thought he might have to fight theo.

"let's not jump to conclusions without properly thinking"

"couldn't we just ask black— i mean benny, what y/n and pansy wanted?" enzo suggested.

"and get roped into this?" blaise asked in disbelief. "who knows how deep they're in. it starts with coke and quickly evolves to a cartel level of involvement."

"i think we're still pretty far from that" theo smiled sarcastically.

"you all go ahead and search for benny" draco directed.

"and what about you?" mattheo asked confused.

"i'm gonna stay back and search for legal ways to dispose of evidence." he sent a look in theo's direction, who had started frowning at the mention of evidence. "just in case of course"

"sure" theo nodded. the others were easier to convice as they got up from their position and followed mattheo outside the common room.

"so where do we find benny?" blaise asked as soon as they were out of the dungeon, he looked around suspiciously, as if someone was spying on them.

"the code is the answer" mattheo grinned, pointing at the confusing numbers. “each number stands for a different information.”

"i think i got it", enzo mumbled, studying the parchment, mattheo held in the middle of the four. "ehh, he's waiting behind the witch with the black hat? no, wait next to hagrids— does this even make any sense?" he looked at theo, who quietly shook his head.

"he's in the courtyard" mattheo shrugged. "benny had these complicated codes back when he started, but he always forgot where he was supposed to be, so he started handing out the same over and over again. he's in the courtyard, trust me."

"i'm not so sure we should" theo send mattheo a suspicious glance, before he started walking in the direction of the courtyard, enzo right behind him.

a hand slipped onto mattheo's shoulder. "i'm getting the baddest vibes from this, mattheo" blaise muttered, quiet enough for the others to not hear. "maybe we should start asking ourselves how much we love pansy and y/n"

"yeah" mattheo nodded ominiously. "come on."

the courtyard was empty when the slytherins arrived, but there was a shadow creeping behind a tree and when he heard the approaching steps, benny revealed himself.

"remember, confidence is key" mattheo reminded his friends. "we don't know what's going on, but that doesn't mean benny knows that"

"sayonara, nott!" blackout benny greeted.

"'sayonara' means goodbye, idiot" theo crossed his arms, unamused.

"wow" benny shook his head, pressing a hand against his chest as if he had been wounded by theo's words. "why so hostile?"

"yo, benny," blaise stepped in front of theo, puffing out his chest like he was auditioning for a gangster drama. "we need answers. pronto. and no funny business, alright?"

benny squinted. "funny business? i am funny business. what are you even talking about?"

mattheo stepped forward, his expression dark, dramatic, and entirely too intense for the situation. "we know you know about everything, benny."

benny blinked. "what?"

"you know what," mattheo said cryptically and benny shook his head cluelessly.

"don’t lie to us, benny," blaise jumped in, his voice shaking slightly. "we know the stakes are high, but some of us—" he paused for dramatic effect, swallowing hard, "—some of us might not make it out alive."

"okay, whoa," benny held up his hands. "what in merlin’s saggy socks are you talking about? make it out of what?"

theo sighed, glancing at blaise with an incredulous look in his eyes. "ignore him," he furrowed his brows, stepping closer. "have you talked to my sister today?"

"oh" benny smiled and a smug smirk displayed itself on his features. "depends"

"depends?" blaise repeated with a sudden panic in his voice. "oh god we know too much, right? and now we've seen your face, there's no other way" he sank to his knees in front of benny and closed his eyes, as if he was waiting for an incoming shot or hex. "i mean i always knew i would die this way, i'm sure another way would've been way too boring considering my bright personality, at least i go down like—"

"what the fuck are you doing?" mattheo interrupted, dragging blaise back onto his feet by his arm.

"i'd like to point out that we've known how benny looked for years" enzo added and hid a giggle behind his hand. "also: how long was that final monologue supposed to be?"

"you're not gonna kill us?" blaise questioned, opening one eye and then the other to glance at benny.

"the fuck? of course not, i'm selling coke, i'm not a fucking killer"

"well, matter of interpretation" theo shrugged. "but calm down, blaise"

"so, as i was saying" benny muttered, sending a sharp gaze in blaise's direction as if to try and see how many times he would throw himself down on the ground. "depe—well, how much is it worth to you?" benny smirked.

"worth to us?" enzo repeated confused.

"due to your elaborate spending habits, i know you guys are loaded, don't go stupid on me now" benny held out his hand, moving his fingers, repeatedly opening and closing a fist. "well?"

theo sighed, before he grabbed a few galleons and threw them in benny's waiting hand. the others followed quickly after.

"i do think that might be enough to get me to talk" benny nodded, putting the money away. "pansy and y/n were here this morning and bought something for their, well, let's call it an event"

"event?" enzo repeated with furrowed brows.

"wow, very specific, thank you benny" mattheo rolled his eyes. "what did they buy?"

"supplies" benny shrugged, not even trying to break it down further. "well, the usual, had to bring it to one of those giant abondended classrooms"

"how much?" theo asked between clenched teeth.

"oh" benny laughed. "a lot. the girls spend more than double of what you guys just gave me"

"oh god. this is bad." blaise muttered. "we all know what kind of event need this much of supplies—"

"a party?" enzo suggested.

"a massive smuggle" blaise quickly interrupted before enzo could continue. “drug cartel, mafia, pablo escobar level”

"my sister isn't smuggling drugs," theo shook his head, clearly annoyed at blaise's suggestion.

“how do you know pablo escobar?” enzo muttered confused.

“well, i’ve done my research”

“you mean you’ve watched narcos” mattheo rolled his eyes. “told you muggle shows were stupid. you’ve turned all paranoid.”

"well, whatever your sister is doing, i can’t discuss it further, because i have to go now" benny said, mingling himself back into the conversation. "got places to be"

"very practical, huh?" mattheo called after him. "you're probably involved in this—in this eh— drug scheme! yeah!"

"so what now?" enzo asked, staring at the door benny had just disappeared behind. "i mean we know close to nothing, right?"

"we know enough" blaise disagreed. "enough to keep out of it now"

"keep out of it?" theo repeated. "whatever my sister got herself into, i won't just leave her to deal with it on her own."

"well, she's still got pansy" blaise shrugged, unbothered. "isn't one of us going down with her enough?"

"no one's going down just now" enzo said, surprisingly calm. "what is the plan, theo?"

"well, i think we should find draco, tell him what we know and see how to go from there and maybe also search for that classroom."

"i didn't know your name was theo" theo furrowed his brows and send a look to mattheo, who shrugged like he had simply overheard that enzo hadn't been talking to him.

the slytherins walked back through the door to the castle and into the direction of the common room. before they could walk down the stairs to the dungeon, a frantic draco came running up, a thick book in hand.

"ha!" he called as soon as his eyes fell on his friends. "i got it!! the perfect loophole: we're allowed to get rid of evidence, as long as it doesn't include any illegal substances—" he lowered the book. "no! why are you all looking at me like that? took me an hour to find this"

"well, draco—" enzo muttered, but was interrupted by mattheo.

"they're in deep" he quickly said. "meth, coke, heroin and whatever else comes to mind."

"drama queen" theo muttered with a roll of his eyes. "as long as we make sure it ends now and doesn't escalate further, no one is in deep."

blaise shook his head in disbelief. “we’re already in deep. why can’t we just save ourselves and send a nice postcard to pansy and y/n in azkaban? you know, like, ‘thinking of you—hope the dementors are chill.’”

“stop whining,” theo growled, clapping him on the shoulder. “if they’re going down, we’re going down too. that’s what friends do.”

blaise shook his head, muttering, “friends don’t let friends get killed by drug smuggling”

"so far you're the only one speaking about getting killed" enzo smiled. "so you might be a tad bit paranoid. we just go and find pansy and y/n in that abandoned classroom and everything will turn out to be okay."

the rest of the group nodded, before they fell into easy step, enzo and draco following the group as the last.

"i don't enjoy saying this" draco whispered, so only enzo was able to understand. "but if it's really something to do with smuggle, then we're doomed. no one comes clean from that, not even in the wizarding world."

"i know" enzo nodded, sending a fake smile in blaise's direction, when he turned around and looked at draco and enzo suspiciously. "we just have to hope it's anything but that."

"hey, nott?" a sudden voice behind them made them perk up. hermione granger was standing at the entrance of the library, a stack of books under her arm and a piece of paper in her other hand. she was waving it around frantically.

"granger?" draco and theo said at the same time.

"your sister left this here earlier" she handed the paper to theo. "don't know if it's important, but i'd hate losing stuff i wrote down while studying, so i thought she should have it.“

"ehh, thank you" theo nodded. "i'll pass it on."

hermione send the group a tight-lipped smile, tinged with a little bit of suspicion, before she turned around and started walking in the direction of the gryffindor common room.

"well, are you gonna read it?" mattheo questioned, as the five of them stood leaning over the paper in theo's hand.

"i don't know" theo mumbled unsure. "what if it's private?"

"i think private went flying out the window about an hour ago" draco remarked, crossing his arms.

theo sighed, but nodded and unfolded the parchment. this one was a little simpler than the last, a list with names. it took them all a moment to comprehend that their own ones were written on it.

"i'm the only one talking about killing, huh?" blaise screeched at enzo, before he ripped the paper from theo's hands, holding it up and pointing at it like a madman. "this is a fucking HITLIST!"

enzo shrugged. "it could very well just be a guest—“

"AND LOOK WHO'S NAME IS RIGHT AT THE TOP!" blaise continued screaming. "WELL, YOU GUESSED IT! MINE!!!"

"woah" mattheo muttered, his eyes scanning the names. "if anything i should be worried. my name is the first one, yours is only the third."

"technically you just have to be faster than mattheo and draco," theo shrugged sarcastically.

"well, that's really comforting, theo" blaise' eye seemed to be twitching in an unusual rhythm. "especially knowing your name comes last between all of us. i bet you're just waiting to throw us under the bus and save yourself."

"don't be ridiculous, blaise" enzo shook his head, trying to reach for the list, but blaise moved his hand before he was able to.

"enzo is right" draco nodded. "theo would never do something like that, come on."

"he doesn't have to" blaise nodded as if he was seeing through everything. "i mean he's got his killer sister to take care of it, am i right?"

"wait when did we establish y/n was a killer?" mattheo asked confused, exchanging glances with theo. "thought she was just a coke whore or whatever that kind of job is called nowadays."

"you've all gone way too far with your disrespect" theo muttered between clenched teeth. "my sister is neither a killer nor a fucking coke whore, what the actual fuck mattheo?"

"i'm just the messenger" mattheo held up his hands in surrender.

"yeah! he's right!" blaise nodded frantically. "and you know what they say about the messenger? DON'T KILL HIM!!"

"let's just all calm down, eh?" enzo suggested in a soft voice, one of his hands each on blaise's and theo's shoulders. "we just have to find out what's going on. and that abandoned classroom seems to be the best way to do that, right?"

the group all collectively nodded, while mumbling a few inaudible sentences.

the slytherins continued to walk through the giant hallways of the castle, following noise around corners, until they arrived in front of a door, which was probably the one you and pansy were behind.

mattheo outstretched his hand to twist the knob, when a person quickly slid between him and the still closed door.

the group made similar noises of surprise.

blaise screamed loudly.

"you can't go in there" pansy smiled sweetly, "not yet anyway"

"what are you hiding?" mattheo narrowed his eyes, watching the girls expression closely.

pansy furrowed her brows and crossed her arms. "why are you so eager? i thought today was firewhiskey friday. shouldn't you be slurring your words by now?"

"this isn't funny, pansy" theo interrupted from behind. "we're worried."

"worried?" pansy repeated with a hint of surprise. "unusually caring for you guys, huh? and you, blaise? been through it, what?"

blaise exchanged a nervous glance with draco. "for the protocol: i know nothing, about nothing and have no idea who's involved in anything. that should do it, yeah" he nodded, quite proud about saving himself from a seemingly dangerous situation.

"involved in what?" pansy smiled as she shook her head. "is it possible y'all watched too many muggle films about cartels or something?"

"there!" blaise screeched, pointing an accusing finger at pansy, who raised her brows impossibly higher. "she said the c-word. oh god, this is it."

"relax, blaise" enzo clamped a hand around blaise's shoulder. "that was obviously a joke. where's y/n?" he asked, with a little hope to break up the situation before it could escalate.

pansy's eyes wandered to the door. "she's busy"

"pansy" theo muttered in a warning tone. "i want to see my sister. now"

"oh god, she's probably already dead" blaise shook his head, the panic temporarily returning.

"she's not dead, idiot" pansy rolled her eyes. "she's just doing something at the moment."

"doing what? coke?" mattheo snorted, but his laughter quickly died down at the expression on pansy's face.

"you're gonna let us through the door, pansy" theo demanded.

"yeah, he's right" draco nodded with slumped down shoulders, already accepting his fate. "there's no point in hiding it any longer."

"hm" pansy nodded. "i guess you're right"

faster than any of them could react, she had thrown the door open. blaise winced, throwing his hands up in front of his face.

"surprise!" the room was filled with party decor in every possible corner. there was a huge banner that read 'happy birthday', drinks and food had been organized on a table and various guests were smiling at the clueless group of slytherins, who all seemed to sigh in relief at the sight in front of them.

"what—?" blaise let his hands sink down as his eyes flew around the room, almost passing out from the shock of well, nothing threatening ahead of him.

"hey guys" you smiled, walking through the crowd of people. "happy birthday, mattheo" you grinned, hugging the boy, who reluctantly returned the gesture.

"eh thank you" he muttered with a nod, before turning in draco's direction. "that was today?"

draco just shrugged.

mattheo had been so busy with this whole conspiracy theory, he had completely forgotten what day it was, not that he was normally very excited to remember his birthday. this was probably the first party he had gotten since he had been a kid.

that realisation made him unfreeze, as he broke into a smile. "thank you!" he repeated, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek before walking into the room and greeting the other guests.

"what's gotten into you?" you still smiled, but looked a little confused as you looked from one boy to the next. they still hadn't walked into the room, the same confusion on their faces as on yours.

"oh god" theo finally mumbled, walking through the group until he reached you, pressing you close to his chest and hugging you. "i'm so glad you're not a coke-whore"

"huh?" you mumbled against your brother's chest.

"long story" draco shrugged, when you found his eyes.

"oh" you suddenly remembered. "so i guess you guys found the clue pansy and i left behind?"

"clue?" enzo repeated.

"well, we thought the best way to keep mattheo from finding everything out was to keep him busy with thinking he's finding everything out." you smiled. "seems like it worked better than we thought" you chuckled nervously.

"benny said you bought a lot of supplies" theo added.

"yeah, party supplies" you nodded. "benny has a side hustle, he's pretty good with the decor and stuff"

"fuck" blaise suddenly said, breaking out in obnoxious laughter.

"oh yeah" enzo said at that. "blaise was sure he was going to die."

"—die for you, y/n" blaise interrupted. "i was ready to sacrifice my own life, so that the bad guys would spare yours"

"aww blaise" you smiled after him as he walked around you and into the party.

"ladies, who's ready for some blaise?"

"don't believe a word of that" draco chuckled, clasping a hand around your shoulder and squeezing it, before he followed after blaise.

"well, now that we've discussed that, are you gonna come inside or what?" you asked, pointing behind you.

enzo and theo answered at the same time: "yeah."

sometime later, you were standing near the table with the drinks, watching mattheo cut the huge birthday cake in the middle of the crowd, when enzo stepped next to you, holding a cup filled with your favorite drink in your direction.

"oh, thanks" you smiled surprised, taking the cup from his hand.

"that was a crazy afternoon" enzo giggled. "but i have to pay pansy and you my respect, you guys got us pretty good. mattheo was busy the whole time, so i guess it was pretty successful. i think the code for benny was enough for all of us to start panicking."

"you really did?"

"well, mostly blaise, but yeah" he nodded, taking a sip from his cup. "i had a feeling it was something like this in reality, although i have to admit i was unsure from time to time too."

"you knew?"

enzo shrugged. "you have a lot of qualities but dealing or smuggling drugs isn't one of them, no offense"

you laughed at that and enzo felt a sudden warmth spread in his chest at the sound.

you opened your mouth to say something else, when enzo and you both saw pansy standing across the room, eagerly waving you over. "oh, seems like i'm needed."

"yeah" enzo nodded with a sigh of disappointment. "it's probably important."

"probably" you nodded, before you glanced back at him. "well, thanks for the drink and everything else" you smiled, before you went off, helping pansy to reorganize a few rogue balloons.

enzo wasn't able to take his eyes off of you.

your smile was enchanting and he was sure he had been under the influence of your special magic longer than he realized.

TAGLIST !

@mehrsdigitaldiary @swaysister @shyamanuensis @mattiesgf @shari-berri @the-lurking-await-you @marikajhaha @livia7137 @idiotussupremus @catiwinky

let me know if you want to be added!!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A huge THANK YOU for the fantastic writing advice and resources you are creating and sharing. I'm reblogging almost all of your posta on my side blog, which is for storing writing advice, so I can easily come back to your wonderful pieces of advice whenever I need them. I can't begin to tell you how helpful your posts have been for me!

May I ask if you happen to have any tips on writing dialogue, where the POV character is not taking part in the exchange?

For example, Kali, the POV character, is in the room when Brim and Sheila have a conversation. Or maybe all three of them are having a conversation, which at one point becomes a conversation between Brim and Sheila, while the POV character is sort of left out of whatever affairs they have to discuss.

Do you have any advice or good practice examples on how to build such dialogue scenes so that it doesn't feel as if the POV character is too passive and in simply in the scene for the reader's convenience (so that the reader may listen in to what is being said).

Totally understandable if you don't have time for this and decide to disregard the ask. :)

Again, a million thanks for your wonderful blog!

Additional detail from your private message: "The POV character is narrating in third person. It's a close third person POV."

Close Third Person POV Dialogue

Third-Person Limited Point of View

(Often called a “close third”) When an author sticks closely to a single character but remains in third-person.

The narrator can do this for the entire novel or switch between different characters for different chapters or sections.

Allows the author to limit a reader’s perspective and control what information the reader knows.

Used to build interest and heighten suspense.

It is the most common POV choice in modern literature.

This narration adheres to a Sympathetic POV the way first person does, getting the reader inside that character's head but also allowing the depiction of reactions or other things the character isn't aware of.

If the pronouns could be changed to first person without losing any comprehension, this is the POV you're in.

Learning from The Classics. E.g., George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four:

The dialogue that follows between two men, and later, a third, does not include the POV character, who is reduced to a spectator:

After the altercation, we return to the POV character, Winston, then the narration provides more context on what just transpired:

Another Example: Lois Lowry's The Giver

The dialogue that follows among Lily, Father, and Mother, without the POV character's involvement, but we are aware that he is in the room, listening to the exchange:

After the dialogue, we return to the POV character, Jonas:

Examples from George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire:

Daenerys is an interesting example. Reading about descriptions of her from some other characters (who have mostly only seen her from afar or heard rumors and second-hand accounts about her), she gets painted as a bloodthirsty tyrant who has left Slaver's Bay in ruins and is possibly as mad as her father. Reading her POV, we see she's sane, albeit naïve, and is truly compassionate and well-intentioned in her actions; unfortunately, her good intentions tend to horribly backfire due to mistakes or sheer bad luck.

Cersei is actually something of an aversion; while the audience finally gets a look at the childhood prophecy which has shaped her entire life through fear, we also get a look at her utter hostility — such as her silent fury during the marriage of Tommen and Margaery and her paranoid beliefs that anyone who opposes her is working with her enemies. Even in her own POV, she comes across as petty and selfish at best, and outright psychopathic at worst. Even as a child of ten, she was capable of arranging the murder of one of her best friends.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

With these examples, we see how some writers utilise similar techniques. Even though the POV character is not taking part of the interaction, they don't feel passive to the reader. We still feel their presence as an observer (like Winston in 1984 and Jonas in The Giver). In that moment, the POV character and the reader seem to merge. The authors simply allow the conversation/interaction to flow, thus writing the dialogue as normal, including more context either before or after (or both) the dialogue/interaction.

More: Writing Tips & References on Dialogue

Thank you so much for your kind words, really warmed my heart! You are so lovely. In addition to these examples, you can also look for sample dialogues in this POV in your favourite novels, or the ones you wish to emulate, for further inspiration. Hope this helps with your writing :)