#this is all stuff that takes a long time to process and a long time to master

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Reply All (H.S. Fic) | Chapter 5

General Masterlist

uni!harry x fem!reader PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Summary: Y/N and Harry were childhood best friends, inseparable through every laugh, secret, and growing pain. But high school brought unspoken feelings and decisions that tore them apart, leaving both with unanswered questions. Years later, a class project challenges them to face their shared past and uncover the truths they’ve both been running from. And a wrong click unveils the past and what will be the future.

Word count: 4.3k

A/n: Hey! i'm sorry i said i was putting this up yesterday! but i got caught up with more stuff than i had planned! but here it is!

Warnings: No warnings this time! all happy things.

Juliet sat cross-legged on her chair, her phone abandoned on the desk. She was looking at you with that expression she reserved for serious conversations—the one where her brow furrowed slightly, and her lips pressed into a thin line of concern.

“Alright,” she said, breaking the silence. “Let’s talk about Harry.”

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against your headboard. “I don’t even know where to start, J. It’s… complicated.”

“It’s only complicated if you let it be,” Juliet replied, her voice calm but firm. “What do you want, Y/N? Deep down, what do you really want from all of this?”

The question lingered in the air, heavy with implications. You fiddled with the hem of your sweater, avoiding her gaze. “I think… I want to try. I want to give him a chance, but…” You paused, struggling to find the words. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just erase everything that happened. He hurt me. A lot. And it’s going to take time for me to trust him again.”

Juliet leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “That’s fair. And honestly? That’s smart. But if you’re even thinking about giving him a chance, you need to be honest with him. You can’t keep him in the dark about how you feel, even if you’re unsure. It’s not fair to string him along if you just want to be friends—or if you can’t see yourself trusting him fully again.”

Your chest tightened. “What if I don’t know yet? What if I tell him I’m open to something, and then I change my mind? Or what if I realize I can’t move past what he did?”

“What if a spaceship crashes into this dorm right now?” Juliet shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’ll never know, What if you just tell him the truth when you get there. But here’s the thing: he seems willing to work for it. If you’re willing to meet him halfway—even if it’s just a little—you owe it to yourself to see where it goes. Set your boundaries, Y/N. Make it clear that this isn’t some instant redemption arc for him. But don’t shut the door entirely if you’re curious about what could be.”

You sank deeper into the pillows, Juliet’s words circling in your mind. There was a flicker of hope in her tone, but it wasn’t blind optimism. She believed in you—believed you were capable of navigating this messy, confusing situation.

“So, you’re saying I should talk to him,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Juliet nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Not just talk. Be honest. Be clear. And most importantly, be kind to yourself in the process. You’ve been through a lot, Y/N, but you’re stronger than you think. You’ve got this.” 

You smiled at her, even if she was a hopeless romantic, she was a real and a good friend.

🌷

You slid into your usual seat, the professor’s voice droned on as they explained the day’s agenda: more project readings. You focused on steadying your breathing. After all, this was just a class, not a lion chasing you—or so you told yourself.

Then, the professor called Harry’s name.

He stood slowly, clutching his notebook. For a split second, his eyes darted to you before moving to the front of the room. That brief glance sent a flutter through your chest.

Harry began, his voice soft but steady. “I talked about guilt—the kind that wraps around you and doesn’t let go. But guilt, I’ve learned, isn’t just about the past. It’s about what you do with it. It’s about whether you let it crush you or whether you use it to build something better.”

He took a breath, his gaze flickering to you for just a heartbeat before looking back at the class.

“I hurt someone. Someone who believed in me, who trusted me more than anyone else ever had. And I let them down. I don’t think I realized, at first, just how deeply I’d cut them. It wasn’t just about losing their trust—it was about losing... them. Completely.”

His words hung in the air, and you could feel every student in the room hanging onto them.

“For a while, I let that loss define me. I thought maybe that was it—that I’d written my final chapter with this person, and all that was left was regret. But then, I realized something. Regret isn’t the ending—it’s the starting line.”

Harry’s hand tightened slightly around the notebook as he continued. “So if life gave me even the smallest opening—I wouldn’t just take it. I’d prove, every single day, that I could be better. Not just for me, but for them.”

His voice softened, and this time, when his eyes met yours, they stayed there for a moment longer. “Because some people are worth more than your fear, your pride, or your mistakes. And when you’ve been given the gift of their time, their laughter, their trust... you don’t waste it. Not again.”

The silence in the room was heavy but warm, like everyone had just witnessed something profound. The professor finally broke it with a quiet nod. “Thank you, Harry. That was deeply moving.”

Harry nodded back and made his way to his seat, but as he passed by, you caught the faintest hint of a smile—a nervous, hopeful one.

You sat frozen, his words swirling in your mind like a melody you couldn’t quite shake. His regret, his determination, his... hope. It was all there, laid bare, and it felt like it was meant for you and no one else. 

When the class ended, you stayed behind, unable to move as the rest of the students filtered out. Juliet leaned over, whispering with a smirk, “So, still think he doesn’t deserve a chance?”

You didn’t answer—because maybe, just maybe, you were willing to give him one.

🌷

The library was quieter than usual, the faint hum of fluorescent lights blending with the soft rustle of turning pages. Harry sat at a corner table, surrounded by textbooks and loose sheets of paper. His pen moved steadily across a notebook, but when he saw you approaching, his hand froze mid-word.

“Hey,” you said, sliding into the seat across from him.

His lips quirked into a hesitant smile. “Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You busied yourself with your bag, pretending to look for something while your mind scrambled to piece together the words you’d rehearsed. Finally, you looked up, meeting his expectant gaze.

“I’ve been thinking…” you began, your voice steady despite the nerves bubbling “About everything you said, and everything that’s happened.”

Harry set his pen down, giving you his full attention. “Okay.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. “I want to be honest with you. I don’t have everything figured out yet, but I know this much: I’m open to… seeing where this goes. To trying. But I need you to understand something.”

He nodded, his expression serious. “Anything.”

“This isn’t going to be easy,” you said, your words firm but not unkind. “You hurt me, Harry. And trust—real trust—takes time. If we’re going to try this, you need to be patient. You need to show me, not just tell me, that I can trust you again.”

“I will,” he said immediately, his voice soft but resolute. “I know I have a lot to make up for, Y/N, but I’m ready. Whatever it takes, I’m ready to do it.”

You studied his face, searching for any hint of hesitation or insincerity. But all you saw was determination.

“I believe you,” you said finally. “But I need you to know that if, at any point, I feel like this isn’t working, I’m going to be honest about it. And I need you to promise me you’ll do the same.”

“Always,” he said, his eyes holding yours.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sliver of peace. It wasn’t the end of the journey—far from it—but it was a start.

🌷

Yellow post-its

The Apology.

Rifling through your bag after class, you noticed a yellow post-it, folded in half. Pulling it out, you immediately recognized the pink crayon lettering:

“I know I keep saying it, but I’m sorry. I mean it, every time. Even if you never respond, I’ll keep saying it because you deserve to hear it.”

The note wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. You traced the edges of the paper with your fingers before carefully tucking it into your journal. A smile appeared on your face, unannounced

🖍️

You opened your notebook during a particularly dull lecture and found another yellow post-it stuck between the pages. The handwriting was unmistakably Harry’s, bold and messy, written in bright pink crayon:

“Good luck surviving this lecture. I think the professor’s voice might actually put us in a coma.”

You glanced over your shoulder to where he sat a few rows back. He wasn’t looking at you, but there was a faint smirk playing on his lips. You bit back a smile, tucking the note into your pencil case.

🖍️

You’d been staring blankly at your open notebook, trying to will yourself to start your assignment, when you noticed a post-it stuck to your laptop.

“You’ve got this. I know you do.”

The simplicity of the words, paired with the bright pink crayon, made you smile despite yourself. It was like he knew you needed a little push, even without being told.

🖍️

One morning, you found a post-it tucked under your coffee cup at the campus café.

“Sometimes I wish I could go back to the beginning. But since I can’t, I’ll just keep trying to make this new version of us something you can believe in.”

You held the note in your hands for a long time, the words sinking into you.

🖍️

During a particularly rainy day, you opened your umbrella and noticed something yellow flutter to the ground. A post-it, now slightly damp, written in that familiar pink crayon:

“Rain or shine, you’re still the brightest thing in the room.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as you tucked the note into your pocket, shielding it from the rain. You felt your cheeks grow hot—you were actually blushing. The butterflies, those persistent little creatures, were going crazy inside you now.

Harry was making you smile, laugh, feel at ease. He made you feel comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected, and this—this shy, tentative way of flirting—was exactly what you needed. It wasn’t pushy or overwhelming. It didn’t demand an answer from you, didn’t insist on a conversation you weren’t ready for.

Instead, it was patient.

It was thoughtful.

It was him, giving you the time and space to figure out your feelings, while still making it clear that he was there. Always there, in the best way possible.

You exhaled, the sound lost beneath the patter of rain against the pavement. For the first time, the thought of giving this a chance—giving him a chance—didn’t seem so terrifying. It felt... warm.

You didn’t let yourself linger on the thought too long, though. You couldn’t—not yet. But as you walked back to your dorm, your fingers brushing over the note in your pocket, you couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. Maybe, just maybe, you were finally ready to let those butterflies take flight.

The door to your dorm clicked shut behind you as you stepped inside, shaking the light rain from your jacket. Your fingers lingered in your pocket, brushing over the yellow Post-it note tucked safely inside. You could feel the smile pulling at your lips, no matter how hard you tried to suppress it.

“Alright, spill,” Juliet’s voice rang out from her bed. She was lounging with her laptop balanced on her knees, but the moment she saw your face, her eyes lit up. “Why do you look like you just walked out of a rom-com?”

“What?” you asked, your tone pitched just a little too high. You busied yourself with hanging your jacket on the back of a chair, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Juliet’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, please. You’re grinning like a lovesick puppy. Something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” you replied, failing miserably to sound nonchalant. “I’m just... happy. Can’t a person just be in a good mood?”

Juliet shut her laptop with a knowing smirk and set it aside. “Sure, a person can. But you’re not just a person, Y/N. You’re you. And you don’t do ‘just happy’ without a reason. Now, tell me—does this have anything to do with a certain boy with a pink crayon?”

Your face betrayed you immediately, heating up in an unmistakable blush. “It’s nothing like that,” you said, waving your hand as though dismissing the idea. “He’s just... being nice. That’s all.”

Juliet’s smirk widened into a full grin. She crossed her arms, leaning back against her headboard. “Nice? Y/N, you’ve been giggling under your breath for the past five minutes. You don’t giggle. You hate giggling. You’re in love, and it’s adorable.”

“I’m not in love!” you shot back, flustered. You dropped onto your bed, pressing a pillow over your face. “He’s just... trying. He’s making up for everything. It’s nothing. I’m just... adjusting, okay?”

“Adjusting,” Juliet echoed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. You’re just ‘adjusting.’ That’s why you came in here lookin like you just got handed a love letter.”

You groaned, still hiding behind the pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re in denial” she shot back, nudging your leg with her foot. “But it’s okay. I’ll let you live in denial for now. Just know that when you’re ready to admit you’re falling for him, I’ll be here. And I’ll be so smug about it.”

Despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but laugh. Pulling the pillow away, you peeked at her, your smile betraying you once again. “Fine. Maybe there’s... something. But don’t make it a big deal, okay?”

Juliet’s grin softened into something warmer. “Deal. But for the record, I think it’s a big deal in the best way. You deserve this, Y/N. You really do.”

Her words settled in your chest, comforting and terrifying all at once. And as much as you hated to admit it, maybe—just maybe—Juliet was right.

🌷

The blanket was spread out over the soft grass, and the sky above you was painted in hues of orange, pink, and gold. The air was cool but not cold, and the scent of fresh grass mingled with the faint sweetness of the strawberries in the bowl between you and Harry. It was quiet except for the occasional chirp of birds and the distant hum of campus life.

“I can’t believe you still do this,” you said, gesturing to the array of snacks Harry had brought—sandwiches, chips, and your favorite chocolate bars. “You always overpack for picnics.”

He grinned, leaning back on his elbows. “I like being prepared”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “For the apocalypse?”

Harry chuckled, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “You never complained when I brought extra chocolate, though.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, reaching for one of the bars. “Fair point.”

For a while, you both sat in comfortable silence, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. The oranges and pinks deepened, and a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. You glanced at Harry, who was absently picking at the edge of the blanket, his expression calm but thoughtful.

“Do you remember that time we tried to have a picnic in the rain?” you asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Harry looked at you, a grin spreading across his face. “How could I forget? You insisted the rain would stop, and we ended up soaked.”

“And you still shared your hoodie with me,” you added, laughing. “Even though I was the one who made us stay.”

He shrugged, his smile softening. “You were freezing. What was I supposed to do?”

The memory hung between you, warm and unspoken. You leaned back on your hands, letting out a content sigh. “This feels... nice.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, his voice quieter now. “It does.”

You turned to him, and for the first time in a long time, the weight of everything between you felt lighter. The tension that had lingered for so long was replaced by something calmer, something easier.

“I missed this,” you admitted softly. “Not just... us being friends. But this. Talking like this.”

Harry’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, he nodded. “Me too.”

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon when you reached for a strawberry, but your fingers brushed his instead. The contact was brief, but it sent a ripple through you. You looked up, your eyes locked with his. He didn’t move his hand away, and neither did you.

Slowly, tentatively, he turned his hand over, his palm open. You hesitated for a second before placing your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and steady.

The breeze picked up, ruffling your hair, and you glanced away, focusing on the horizon. But the butterflies in your stomach were impossible to ignore.

“I like this,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I like... us.”

Harry’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, and you could feel the sincerity in his voice when he responded. “I like you”

“You do? why don’t you tell that to the whole class in an email?” you teased him, it didn’t hurt anymore, instead you knew you were going to remind him that for a long time.

“C’mon!” he said a bit embarrassed but laughing softly

For the first time, it felt like maybe—just maybe—this could be the start of something new.

🌷 As the days passed, Harry remained steady in his carefulness. Whether it was having your coffee ready with the exact amount of sugar you liked, cracking a joke that made you laugh despite yourself, or even just meeting your gaze with a look so genuine it made your heart skip—it was as though he instinctively knew how to make you forget the pain, if only for a moment.

Yet, there was a subtle resistance in you, a reflex you weren’t even aware of. You had grown so accustomed to the act of pushing him away that it became second nature, even when you didn’t mean it. Each time he reached out, whether through a small gesture or a tentative comment, a part of you held back. It wasn’t distrust, exactly, but a lingering fear that clung to the edges of your heart.

Juliet noticed before you did.

It started with her pointed looks during your conversations, her eyes narrowing slightly whenever you brushed off one of Harry’s efforts. At first, you thought nothing of it, assuming she was simply amused by the dynamic. But one evening, as you both lounged on her bed eating chips and scrolling through social media, she spoke up.

“You know,” she said casually, crunching a chip between her teeth, “you’re kind of an idiot.”

You blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said, smirking but not unkindly. “Harry. You’re still pushing him away, even when you don’t want to. It’s like your brain is stuck in fight mode while your heart is ready to wave the white flag.”

You frowned, her words unsettlingly accurate. “I’m not... I’m not pushing him away on purpose”

Juliet tilted her head, studying you with a mix of sympathy and exasperation. “Look, I get it. He hurt you—badly. But you’re different now. He’s different now. And it’s not like he’s rushing you or demanding anything. He’s just... there. Trying. If you keep shutting him out, you’re going to miss the chance to figure out what this could be.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. Instead, you let out a sigh and flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m scared,” you admitted softly.

“I know,” Juliet replied, her tone gentler now. “But you don’t have to figure it all out at once. Just... notice when you’re pulling away. Let yourself lean in every once in a while. You might be surprised by how good it feels.”

Her words settled over you like a warm blanket, comforting yet challenging. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to stop letting fear dictate your actions. You didn’t have to have all the answers—but you owed it to yourself, and to Harry, to at least try. And that was the turning point for all this.

“But how do i let him know that without just saying it straight to his face, that’s lame” you said

Juliet raised an eyebrow “Oh, so now honesty is lame? The great Y/N, master of subtlety, can’t just tell him how she feels?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pillow and smacking her with it lightly. “I’m serious, Jules. I don’t want to just blurt it out like, ‘Hey, Harry, guess what? I think I’m falling for you.’ That’s... weird.”

Juliet laughed, catching the pillow mid-swing. “Okay, okay. No grand declarations. But you don’t have to spell it out. Show him. Let your actions speak for you.”

You frowned, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Like what?”

“Like...Let him see that you’re not pushing him away anymore. Be more open. Let him catch you looking at him when he’s not paying attention. Laugh a little louder at his jokes. Maybe even let him win at rock-paper-scissors once in a while.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I’m not letting him win. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Fine, keep your pride,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully. “But seriously, Y/N, the way you two are around each other, he’ll pick up on it. He’s not as clueless as you think.”

“So... just let it happen? No grand plan?”

Juliet nodded. “Exactly. Trust the process. Trust him. And trust yourself. You’ve already come this far—don’t overthink it.”

You sighed, letting her words sink in. “Fine. But if this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Juliet grinned, throwing her arms up in mock surrender. “Deal. But when it goes horribly right, I expect full credit.”

You laughed, a lightness settling over you that hadn’t been there before. Maybe Juliet was right. Maybe this didn’t have to be complicated. Maybe all you had to do was let go of the fear and lean into the moments—whatever they might lead to.

🌷

You and Harry were sitting cross-legged on the floor of your dorm, textbooks and notes spread out around you. He had insisted on helping you prepare for an upcoming exam, even though it wasn’t a subject he was taking. Juliet walked in, balancing a mug of tea in one hand and her phone in the other, pausing in the doorway when she saw the two of you.

“Am I interrupting something?” she teased, her eyes darting between you and Harry.

“Nope,” Harry said, leaning over to point something out in your notes. “Just helping Y/N understand some stuff”

You groaned, swatting his arm lightly. “Ignore him, J. He’s been making terrible puns for the past half hour.”

Juliet smirked, setting her tea down on the desk. “Oh, I don’t want to interrupt this play date, pretend i’m not here”

You shot her a look, but your cheeks betrayed you, heating up instantly. Harry just chuckled, unfazed, and continued explaining the concept like nothing had happened. Juliet caught your flustered expression and raised an eyebrow as if to say “Told you so.”

🌷

It was late afternoon, and you and Harry were walking back from the coffee shop. The air was crisp, and the golden hues of the setting sun made everything feel warm and surreal. Harry was quieter than usual, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets as you talked about your plans for the weekend.

“So, what are you doing Saturday?” he asked suddenly, his voice casual but his posture stiff.

You glanced at him, shrugging. “Not much. Probably catching up on homework or binge-watching something mindless. Why?”

“Oh,” he said quickly, as if he hadn’t expected you to ask. “No reason. Just... you know, thought maybe you’d want to do something. Together. If you’re free, I mean.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “Like what?”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, a shy smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know. There’s this... thing. A new art exhibit. Or, uh, we could grab dinner? Not that it’s a date or anything! Unless... I mean, it could be. If you wanted it to be. Or not. Totally up to you.”

He was rambling now, his cheeks flushed, and it was honestly adorable.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“Dinner sounds nice.”

His eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say yes. “Really?”

“Really,” you replied, smiling at him.

For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you like you’d just agreed to move mountains. Then, a grin spread across his face, so genuine and wide it made your heart skip.

“Okay,” he said, his voice a little breathless. “Great. Saturday then.”

“It’s a date” you repeated, starting to walk again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him fist-pump the air, thinking you didn’t notice. You laughed under your breath, pretending not to see, but inside, the butterflies were in full flight.

Tag list: @hermionelove @mads3502 @cherryloveshs @harrystyleshotwife @familyshow-orisit @fadingcherryblossomblaze @lunaharrygurl @gem1712 @millsadoresyou @prettydelilah @sassamanda77 @maddiesalvatore1839 @wheredidmyeyesgo

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Listen you can't just give me new lore and expect me not to ask ESPECIALLY if it involved magic system

Does the rune you clicked with matched the kind of person you are? Like someone who is caring will click with a protection rune or a healing rune or is it based on how willing the person is to learn it?

In the ye olden days how does one know which rune they would click with like do they just try different runes and if they don't click with they moved on to a different rune? Imagine an expert just throws a bunch of runes to a baby sorcerer and be like “here try this runes and tell me how you feel about it”

If someone who studies history found that Stan's a sorcerer, what would be their reaction? And is it a shock Pikachu face?

Is magic reserve something you're born with? Or can you expand it?

Tldr : more lore! More lore! More lore! More lore! ✊✊✊

You've fallen into my trap of asking me to elaborate so i can talk more about my magic world building >:)

The first initial click will always match the type of person a sorcerer is. Stan views himself as someone who breaks things and messes stuff up, so he was drawn to the break rune (plus all the writing it over and over. Its not a necessary step but it does make it easier and speed up the process) in different circumstances he could have also clicked with the sneak, protect, illusion, or anything else that fits Stan. After that a sorcerer can technically click with any rune, as long as they work to understand it. Stan doesn't care about plants or growing things in a garden, so he's struggling.

In ye olden days as long as they knew someone had the chance to become a sorcerer they could guess which runes they'd click with. Unfortunately there wasn't a guarantee someone would click at all, even if they did have a larger magic reserve. Potential sorcerers could go to specilized schools to try and click through rune writing and doing rune activities (such as going around a castle and breaking everything they came across *coughStancough*) but its not something that can be forced (without messing the person up). There was also the chance that people would randomly become sorcerers going about their day to day lives, like how the woman Fiddleford knew clicked with the dance rune and started using it on everyone. People were taught to look for certain signs (doing a certain action over and over again, looking exhausted, zoning out, etc (which can be written off as truama)) so that if they saw their neighbor or someone they knew they could take steps in case it was a potential sorcerer clicking.

Once the first click happened baby sorcerers were taken to isolated facilities and thrown a bunch of runes and pushed through rune activities until they clicked with at least three more, after which they were free to go home or continue rune learning. They'd interview loved ones and the sorcerer to figure out what would work best, and go from there. If something didnt click after three days they'd move on (Due to rushing the process to stabilize the baby sorcerer. If Stan had been shoved writing the rune he's about to click with over and he'd click with it faster than he has been.) Stan's learning his runes in the classic fashion of doing activities and watching the world around him, which works but is very slow.

If someone who studied history and knew about sorcerers as a concept seperate from wizards learned about Stan there would be a new person living in the castle becoming Stans #1 pest. You know the type, eager to learn and watch and the exact type of person that would creep Stan out, even if they were doing it for purly academic reasons. Stan's a living relic of a long forgotten magic art, and they're going to rediscover the limits of his capabilities together :) (Stan would rather not. Please leave? He has enough problems with the dragon, demon, and McGuckets health worries)

Magic reserves are something people are born with and something that can grow over time. Everyone has a little bit of magic in them that keeps them alive and naturally connects them to magic in a non sorcerer fashion, and some are born with larger magic reserves due to blood line factors. Its similar to a muscle, the more its used the bigger it is, so weak sorcerers can get stronger the more they cast spells and push their limits. Or it can artificially grow, like if someone carries an arcane battery in their pocket and rolls it around with their bare hands while it leaks magic straight into them (but who'd be crazy enough to do that! There's all kinds of side effects from non controlled magic exposure!)

There's also a hierarchy of runes. The lowest tier is grammar and filler runes, that don't have any special innate ability to shape reality. Like how shouting the word 'the!' at someone doesnt really convey meaning. After that it goes from very specific runes, like water, to more complex ones, like liquid. Stan's first one was a complex one, as 'break' covers a whole lot more than just learning 'snap'. There's lots of ways to break something, but only so many ways you can snap. The limits of a sorcerer's ability is their magic reserve and their imagination, so Stan, who's mental ability is so strong he's a natural mindscape manipulator, has a lot of potential for being very powerful, even if by ye olden days standards he'd have a less than average sorcerer's reserve (another good thing for Fiddlefords arm). A sorcerer can 'upgrade' their clicked rune into a higher tier by doing it a lot and deepening their understanding.

[talshiargirlfriend]

Day Twenty-Five of the 30 Day Writing Challenge!

I’m actually amazed I made it this far! I went all out, pedal to the metal with the sap on this one, so I’m afraid I must hibernate now. okthanksloveyoubye

Turning the pages backwards

“Good night, sweet girl,” Trip whispered.

Elizabeth looked up at him sleepily. Her hair was long enough for little plaits now; it made her look more child than baby.

She reached up to pat his cheek gently in a slightly clumsy imitation of the way her mother demonstrated affection. “Ni-night, Daddy,” she yawned before turning over and pulling her blanket up to rub it against her cheek.

It was a moment for the mental scrapbook.

Trip closed the door quietly and went out to the kitchen. T’Pol was just closing the plate cupboard, so he took the opportunity to hug her from behind, pulling her against his chest and resting his chin on her shoulder. “She’s not really a baby anymore,” he murmured into her neck. “It’s almost two years since we brought her home.”

T’Pol turned to face him and rested her hand on his jaw, “She is growing well.”

“Do you ever wish you could go back to a moment in your life and revisit it?” Trip asked.

T’Pol hesitated, and there was a moment where they each considered the other’s thought processes. She didn’t want to insult his emotional sensibilities by being too blunt.

He shook his head. “I don’t mean like Daniels and his timey wimey stuff. Not to go back and change things. I just mean like re-reading a favourite scene in a book. Like the day we brought her home from the hospital.”

T’Pol gave him a subtle smile. “That was a good day.”

“I was terrified. And after reassuring us and reviewing everything about fifty times, Phlox finally just bellowed ‘Take your daughter home, Commanders!’”

A delicate eyebrow lifted in amusement. “It was an enormous change in circumstances. I think some trepidation was to be expected.”

Trip nodded. “So, if our life was a book, what pages would you flip back to?”

T’Pol gave him an unimpressed look that turned a bit shy as she chose to engage with his game. “The first time you kissed me,” she said softly.

His eyebrows shot up in intrigue, “Our first kiss?”

“No,” she clarified seriously, “the first time you initiated a kiss with me. It marked an important shift in our relationship.”

“Yeah, it did,” he smiled at the memory. “I’d go back to the first time we met just so I could laugh at how pissy we were with each other. Who knew we’d end up like this?” he asked as he trailed his hands down to rest loosely at her waist.

“We did have a rather contentious start,” she acknowledged.

“There’s that Vulcan subtlety I learned to love,” he teased. “Come on, one more. There must be something else you’d want to see again.”

T’Pol looked thoughtful. “I believe I’d like to see the expression on your face when I asked you to marry me.”

Trip scoffed out a bewildered laugh. “Was I awake for that?”

Their faces conversed silently for a moment. Her eyebrows raised meaningfully as first confusion, then skepticism and finally startled recognition painted themselves across his features.

“I was correct. It’s an excellent expression.”

He glared playfully, feeling vulnerable. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging here, T’Pol.”

Her beautiful eyes were suddenly serious. “Trip, to the best of my ability, I will never ‘leave you hanging.’ It is not necessary to formalise our relationship…”

Trip smiled wryly at that. Everything else in their lives was carefully detailed, in triplicate, in two languages, for Elizabeth’s benefit.

T’Pol touched the back of his hand with her fingers as she went on, “But I would like to call you my husband if that would please you as well.”

Trip reached his right hand up to cup her jaw. “I would love to call you my wife,” he said as he moved in to kiss her tenderly before pulling back and looking down with a sigh.

His newly-minted fiancée looked at him in concern.

He shook his head, “I can’t believe you beat me to it.”

T’Pol blinked.

“I’ve been trying to figure out just the right way to approach the subject — nothing over the top, but you do appreciate a certain subtle romance.” His look dared her to deny it.

She tilted her head in acknowledgment.

“I made a whole list of logical reasons!” he laughed. “And you’re still a step ahead of me.”

T’Pol gave him the slightest smile. “I don’t think I’m ahead. I believe we’re in sync.”

“Yeah...” he grinned. “You want to see the list, don’t you?”

“I do.”

[librarycards]

do you have words of wisdom on how not to feel bad and defensive when you see ppl being mean abt self diagnosis online.... i think u said u were self dxed for a while before getting formally dxed. i'm in the process of figuring out how to get a formal dx while still staying safe in the world. but i keep feeling like i need to rush into it so i stop feeling bad when i see ppl making fun of "fakers" and stuff

big hugs anon, it's really hard. yes, i was self-dx'd (with autism) for almost a decade before professional dx, as one of my childhood special interests was autism/psychiatric diagnosis/the dsm. so i realized i was autistic when i was like...9? 10? and didn't get the professional one until i was 18 and in charge of my own medical care. it was a long, difficult decade-ish and the autistic blogosphere - here, and on wordpress/blogspot - was a necessary balm.

i need you to keep in mind that the people who shit on imagined 'fakers' or police the bounds of a stranger's identity are very very stupid. deeply misinformed. they have very plainly not Done The Readings, which would inform them of longstanding traditions of self- and community- diagnosis for autistics for whom it isn't safe, affordable, or otherwise possible to be professionally assessed. particularly in an age of increased, mask-off eugenic sentiment toward us, looming threats of camps and more, the idea that one needs a psychologist's go-ahead to be a part of the very communities required to survive a murderous medical establishment is absurd. these are not serious people. they do not care about you, or about any autistic people/autistic futurity other than, perhaps, their own.

do you normally trust selfish people who see you as inadequate and worth sacrificing to tell you when, how, and what to do? the answer might be yes, and that's not your fault - as disabled people, we're often forced to accept the "help" of people who hate us for lack of other options. but this is not what autistic community should be. this is not what disabled/Mad community should be. and there are myriad well-informed, plugged-in, and culturally and historically conscious autistics out there who will deeply empathize with your struggle - many of us have gone through it or are going through it ourselves. the autistic people who matter, who know better than to perpetuate hate and exclusionism, will always be here for you. i am one of them- i'm here for you!

tl:dr: no matter how passionately an ignorant child argues that the sky is green or 2+2=5, it's, well, not. bad faith actors invested in mocking and devaluing people they imagine as fakers will always take the opportunity to undermine your knowledge of your experience, but that doesn't mean you should give them the time of day (imagine how insecure someone needs to be to have to do that!). take heart and remember that you belong regardless of access to diagnosis, and that your survival outweighs any and all need for institutional approval. take care. <3

[astoopidfool]

👨‍👨‍👦 is really speaking to me!

Thank you so much for the ask. It means so much to me to get these, you don't even know.

I'm not very far into this story yet so it's still kind of the nitty-gritty "in the beginning" type stuff, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I'm sorry I can't write more today, I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow and got way sidetracked doing other things to prepare.

------

Months and months pass. They spend endless hours talking with Hen and Karen about the process; Karen was so patient explaining the ins and outs of the ordeals, and Hen gave so many details about what agency they used and the different options they had.

Evan spent hour after hour after hour online, researching. He discussed each option endlessly with Tommy, and even though Tommy thought Evan was overthinking it, he listened with rapt attention because… Well.. He wanted this to be perfect for them. For his husband. When they eventually settle on an agency, they get to work finding a birth mother.

They discussed whether they preferred a boy or a girl, but decided it didn’t matter. Evan wanted a baby, though, and Tommy would have rather had a toddler to start with. After talking it over, with plenty of reassurances from Evan, they decide to go the infant route. The giddiness sets in.

A few weeks into the process, their agent mentions a home visit. “Evan and Tommy, I’m so glad that you’ve decided on adoption. There’s so many kids out there that deserve loving homes and you two seem like an amazing opportunity.”

Evan smiles so broadly at the phone that his cheeks look like they’re about to split. Tommy takes one of his hands and brings it to his mouth kissing his knuckles before settling it back on the table. “We’re so excited, Emira. This… I… We’ve been waiting a long time.”

There’s softness in her voice when she replies, “Yes, I can imagine. I know you two have already started searching out potential mothers, but before we get too far, we need to discuss a home inspection.”

“Home inspection?” Tommy asks, raising his brows. He knew that was something that happened, but he thought that was only for those who planned to strictly foster. “Why do we need one of those?”

She laughs brightly. “No need to sound so alarmed, Mr. Buckley-Kinard. We’re not there to white glove your home and inspect every single nook and cranny of your space. No. What we’re there for is to ensure that you two have the proper environment for raising children. Obviously we’ll do a walk through of the home, but there’s no need to do any extra cleaning before we come - we want to see what the child’s environment will be like day to day - and then we’ll sit down and have a conversation about the two of you; mostly what you do for work, what your relationship health is like, do you have a support system, and things of that nature. The day of the in-home visit, you’ll need to block off a minimum of two hours, though depending on the size of your home, it may take significantly longer. I, personally, would suggest taking the day off since the home visit can’t be split into separate days. You’ll also need copies of some personal data, such as your birth certificates, but we can discuss that close to the day of the event. Does that all make sense?” She pauses, a bit breathless but still cheerful.

Evan huffs an overwhelmed laugh. “Wow, um… That’s a lot.” Tommy rubs his back. “So we can’t pick a mom until after these visits? How many do we have to go through?” The conversation continues as Tommy continues to be a reassuring presence at Evan’s side. A few more months pass, and Tommy can tell that his husband is losing steam. He wants a child so badly, but there’s so many hoops to jump through. They survived the home visit, though they were questioned extensively about their jobs. Both of them being in high risk professions put up red flags for the interviewer, but once Tommy explained that he mostly flew air transports, she seemed to be assuaged and passed them. Flying colors they were not, but at least they weren’t blocked before they even truly began.

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[bowsbar]

pillowbook thoughts because ive been thinking about them all day!

[riddlemearose]

Posted a new fic yesterday in my Despite Everything series, that can be read on AO3 here.

got your heart in a headlock Summary: She's tired. A century of magical extertion to keep herself and the Calamity in stasis while she prayed for Link to awaken has taken its toll on her. Zelda just wants to be a teenager with no responsibilities, even if it's only for a little while. A.K.A. Flora, Twilight and Wild take a vacation in the aftermath of the Calamity's defeat.

Relationships:

Flora & Twilight & Wild

General Tags:

Fluff and Angst

Post-Breath of the Wild and Pre-Linked Universe

A ridiculous amount of teasing banter

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

I think I need that "Wow, I haven't stubbed my toe in five months! I was then shot fifty-seven times." Audio again

[the-daydream-archives]

i decided to check when i first started the current project I'm doing and apparently, it was on June 2024 and it was originally going to be a single item but it instead spawned several large sets one after another💀💀 and since my perfectionist side is not letting go any time soon, who knows when this will get finished soon 🤡🤡 lmao im such a clown

[comfortlesshurt]

OKAY, IT'S FINALLY HITTING

(will you guys hate me if I post this longfic a month later than planned?)

[wereh0gz]

I keep flip-flopping between loving my current art style and wanting to go back to how I used to draw things and I haaaaate it

[reitziluz]

this september has been absolutely cursed so far. back to back misfortunes and setbacks.

the funniest one (or well, the one i can't help but laugh about) is how my new doc at the health center was gravely worried over my hemoglobin count. surely it is a sign my hrt dose is too high and all my organs are going to melt!

i have just recently graduated from the trans hrt specialty clinic after a long time of monitoring my hemoglobin and figuring out a dose that actually keeps me just above the lower threshold of the clinical range i'm aiming for. they figured my blood is just Like That as a genetic thing. the only time in my life i've had a hemoglobin count within the reference ranges is the few years when i ate mostly vegan and donated blood regularly. i was told by a school nurse at fifteen that i should donate blood when i turn 18 because my blood is so thick.

like it's p likely i was a bit dehydrated during that latest blood draw too. the doc needs to chill. there were much more worrying things in the results than the hemoglobin. stuff that's the actual reason i went to get the tests done.

but my blood being thick and rich like a luxurious vampire delicacy never fails to make me laugh

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

..

[corovera]

One of these days, I need to write out all the backstory and headcanons and stuff that I’ve come up with for my WoL. There’s quite a bit of it!