#this is exactly why i care so much about working in the archives

[astriiformes]

Happy Pride specifially to the incredibly sweet older gay man who started chatting with me at the history pavilion, saying it was so good to see a young person interested in studying our history and then started telling me stories for a good half hour about the queer scene in the Twin Cities in the 70s and a dear friend of his who died from AIDs who he sewed a memorial quilt square for 😭

[commodorez]

Zoomer here, and I do indeed have questions about computers- how do filesystems work, and why should we care (I know we should, but I'm not exactly sure why)?

So why should we care?

You need to know where your own files are.

I've got a file on a flash drive that's been handed to me, or an archival data CD/DVD/Bluray, or maybe it's a big heavy USB external hard drive and I need to make a copy of it on my local machine.

Do I know how to navigate to that portable media device within a file browser?

Where will I put that data on my permanent media (e.i. my laptop's hard drive)?

How will I be able to reliably find it again?

We'll cover more of the Why and How, but this will take some time, and a few addendum posts because I'm actively hitting the character limit and I've rewritten this like 3 times.

Let's start with file structure

Files live on drives: big heavy spinning rust hard drives, solid state m.2 drives, USB flash drives, network drives, etc. Think of a drive like a filing cabinet in an office.

You open the drawer, it's full of folders. Maybe some folders have other folders inside of them. The folders have a little tab with a name on it showing what's supposed to be in them. You look inside the folders, there are files. Pieces of paper. Documents you wrote. Photographs. Copies of pages from a book. Maybe even the instruction booklet that came with your dishwasher.

We have all of that here, but virtualized! Here's a helpful tree structure that Windows provides to navigate through all of that. In the case of Windows, it's called Explorer. On OSX MacOS, the equivalent is called Finder.

I don't have to know where exactly everything is, but I have a good idea where thing *should* based on how I organize them. Even things that don't always expose the file structure to you have one (like my cellphone on the right). I regularly manually copy my files off of my cellphone by going to the Camera folder so I can sift through them on a much bigger screen and find the best ones to share. There are other reasons I prefer to do it that way, but we won't go into that here. Some people prefer to drag and drop, but that doesn't always work the same between operating systems. I prefer cut and paste.

Standby for Part 2!

[paceprompting]

Need a Ride?

written for ‘snowfall’ wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: g | cw: non archive warnings apply | tags: alternate first meeting, pre-season four, feat. steve harrington's beemer

@steddieholidaydrabbles

He was sending his van right to the dump this time. He meant it.

Stupid engine he’d had to drop all his profits on for the third time crapping out right in the middle of the road. Leaving him to hoof it back to the gas station and hope that Wayne was home from his shift to get the call.

And of course, the snow season had to start today.

Head ducked against the wind, with only his battle vest and leather jacket against the bracing cold and snowflakes that stung his cheeks and nose where it wasn’t covered by his hair. He was just glad that there were streetlights so he wasn’t veering off into nowhere in the dark.

He could barely feel his fingers in his pockets by the time he made it to the station. He was still shivering, so he wasn’t quite at the point of hypothermia, but even dialing the numbers on the pay phone was a bit of a feat in itself.

Eddie put his back to the wind as the phone rang. And rang. Eventually, it rang out.

Wayne must have picked up a double shift. Not unusual, especially this time of year. Honestly, Eddie should have guessed that in the first place and called the plant instead of the trailer.

And he didn’t have enough change for another call. Guess he shouldn’t have stopped to buy that pack of cigarettes. That he’d already opened and smoked one from before his shitty van broke down.

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed, smacking the receiver into the hook.

He could trudge back to the van and settle in for the night. But without heat, he’d be just as well off trying to walk home in the wind and snow. And he wasn’t going to be getting sympathy with how he was dressed for spare change, much less did he have anything to deal to someone who would give him the time of day.

If he didn’t figure this out quick, he was going to get arrested for loitering.

Although…

“Munson?”

He perked up despite himself, recognizing the voice. Even if it wasn’t exactly someone he was elated to have run into at a pretty low point in his day.

Standing there under cover from the wind, the snow fell gently onto Steve Harrington. Of course it did. Settled on his hair and his jacket like powdered sugar on an overly-sweet dessert.

He wasn’t getting gas, pulled over and stood with the driver’s door open. One hand braced on the door and the other on the hood of his car, Steve stared curiously at Eddie. He was actually dressed for the weather, a puffy white and pale blue-striped monstrosity with fur around the hood.

Steve glanced at the rest of the gas station, noticing that his was the only car around.

“What are you doing here?”

Eddie stayed beside the payphone, in the wind and snow, but the farthest he could be from Steve. He’d dealt to him a few times, just weed, really, and only knew Steve by reputation. Last he’d heard, Steve had just dumped his two lackeys, Tommy and Carol and had slung ice cream at the Starcourt Mall until it burst into flames.

Why Harrington could care about him, Eddie had no idea.

“Van broke down,” he answered shortly, shoving his hands in his pockets even though the leather was nearly as cold as the wind. He gave a strained smile. “Stuck here.”

“Phone busted?”

“Out of money.” Eddie cocked his head, feeling bold. “Got fifty cents?”

It’d be enough for another call to the trailer and one to Wayne’s work for safety.

Steve raised both brows, and Eddie blanched. He and Steve were practically strangers, and he’d immediately hit Steve up for money. Even if he was known as the rich kid with parties every week because his parents were never home—Eddie was so far off his radar, he might as well have been gum under his shoe.

“I could give you a ride,” Steve said instead. “Forest Hills, right?”

A ride in the Steve Harrington’s Beemer. Sleek and maroon and drool-worthy.

The girls at school that would have literally slit his throat to be in Eddie’s place.

Eddie’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but he managed to find words and point back at the payphone with his thumb.

“I really just need to call my uncle. He’ll come get me.”

Steve leveled a gaze at him. “And you’ll spend an hour in the snow waiting. I’m not going to leave you out here to freeze.”

Eddie sucked his teeth, staring Steve down. He hated to give Steve the point of being right, but he was starting to lose feeling in his hands and his cheeks were stinging from the wind across his face.

He sighed, wetting his bottom lip. Or tried to, since the wet from his tongue only made his face freeze more.

“Fine,” he said, ducking his head as he trudged toward the Beemer. He didn’t dare stop to double-check with Steve, wincing as he pulled his hand from his pocket to open the door and slide inside.

The inside was immediately ten times warmer, blasting from the fans and Eddie nearly moaned. Until Steve’s door slammed closed and suddenly Eddie was inside Steve Harrington’s car. With Steve Harrington.

“You good, Munson?”

He was staring, he realized only after Steve spoke. If Steve wasn’t apprehensive about letting the school freak into his car, he was sure to be when Eddie acted as though he’d been raised far from civilization.

He forced a hard swallow. “Just surprised this isn’t all some trick. My type doesn’t exactly mesh with your type.”

Steve gave this chuckle, like an inside joke only he had any idea of.

“Right,” he said softly, and Eddie definitely felt as though he was way out of the loop on a new kind of Steve Harrington.

A kind he had a single car ride to figure out.

Part Two

[cattlemons]

hi, if you're okay with writing for him, wanderer x reader hcs? (it can be short and brief!!) /nf

The Archivist and The Stubborn Scholar

TW: Not proofread and the punctuations on this might be kinda yikes (tried my best tho), this particular big boy is 1,7k words big (very short and super brief (❁´◡`❁))

Hope you like this, my first ever nonnie! (I wanna frame you like a first dollar)

I feel like the Wanderer is kind of a tough nut to crack because his trauma wall is 100 inches thick.

At the beginning, he’s really just huffing and puffing and being a total jerk to you (and everyone else). To be honest, you’re just trying your best to tough it out and not cuss him out every chance you get.

Technically, he isn’t a permanent student of the Vahumana; he only comes in to borrow research papers he needs for his own paper and then he’s off again. So, there's no reason for you to see him all that much.

But aside from being a student, you’re also the Akedemiya’s archivist, so you do meet him fairly often. Not that you enjoyed his prickly presence at first. It was quite the nuisance, if anything.

Every time he comes in to borrow something, it feels like he’s purposefully trying to get a rise out of you.

He’s also frustratingly accurate in pressing your buttons; like he knows exactly what makes you tick and explode.

You want to chop his head off.

Luckily for him, you’re closer to Celestia than he is because your patience for him is on par with that of a saint.

“I need a paper on Tatarasuna, but I want it as recent as possible. The closer to ‘yesterday’ it is published, the better.”

Looking away from your own paper, you looked at him like he grew five heads, each wearing a big ‘ol hat. To your defense, you’re only four beats off.

“Look, I know you’re an honored guest of the Archon and only recently started joining in on this research writing business, but you’ve got to learn how we do things here,” you huffed as you searched for a written guideline you have not needed for a while now.

Pulling the paper out of your bag, you pointed and explained the graphic drawn on it.

“First, you go and find out which collection of research papers you need and ask me politely if we have it here in the archives. Then, I tell you if we have it or not before asking if you want it copied and if you need more assistance—”

“Okay, fine. I want Tatarasuna papers and assistance.”

“Please let me finish.”

“Why’d you stop talking if you weren’t finished?”

“You interrupted me?!”

That’s basically how an average conversation with him goes.

But as time goes on, the hate turns into dislike and then into pretend hate and finally into secret like.

At the start of his research, the visits are few and far between, but as the research starts getting heavier, his visits get more frequent too.

He also likes to work on the tables right outside the archival building for “quicker access to papers.”

This is not for the public, but he also kind of maybe perhaps secretly likes looking at the archivist.

He just likes looking at you when you’re confused about why the journal you’re reading is spewing lies. He also likes looking at you when you huff at your paper because the wording is all messed up.

Yeah, his sadistic tendencies were not wiped away when he pulled his stunt on the Irminsul. You can’t win them all, I guess.

Anyway, it’s all totally because he likes seeing you suffer. You’re on top of his “pain in the ass” list, after all!

Not because you look adorable when you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

Definitely not because he knows you didn’t get enough sleep last night (he heard your friend chastise you about it) and you made a bunch of mistake on your paper.

He DEFINITELY DOES NOT find your tired eyes and sleepy yawns cute (like a very angry cat he DOES NOT want to take care of).

But really, he actually believes in this reasoning. He simply thinks it's schadenfreude.

Man’s smart when scheming but dumb bum when anything else.

He does not catch on to his feelings all that quick. In fact, it took him embarrassingly long.

He had to do a lot of soul searching and experience a ton of jealousy to finally realize that maybe he likes you more than he hates you.

Or rather, he likes you more than he originally allowed himself to like you.

Oh no! It’s the consequences of having a heart because a heart isn’t an object but the accumulation of interactions that build the psyche and emotion! Darn, life lesson! (Wanderer, probably)

The Wanderer decided that he’s going to work on his paper in the archive building today. He’s not in the mood to sit in some shitty cafe and listen to incessant chatter.

Wow, he wished he had chosen the cafe instead.

“Hey! Who told you, you can just take a paper out of the archive and waltz your merry way home? Give that back. Right now!”

“I thought we were friends,” Kaveh mumbled in faux hurt as he stretched his hands out to return the paper to you.

“Archivist first. Friend second,” you huffed out, snatching the scroll of paper out of his hands.

The blond proceeded to clutch his chest and make a scene.

Sometimes you wish you weren’t such good friends with the man. At least then, he’d act civil.

Meanwhile, the Wanderer was watching all this from the front row seat; absolutely soaked with friendly-banter-that-he-misunderstood-as-lovey-dovey-affection. Your interaction with Kaveh spilled over into the splash zone of his seat in the archival building and he hated it.

In his mind, he came up with the conclusion that the heat in his heart is coming from a place of annoyance.

Why are you so loud at 7 in the fucking morning?

Why is the blond one also so loud at 7 in the fucking morning?

Why are you even entertaining guests this early in the morning? Didn’t you refuse him any service when he came this early a few weeks ago?

Why is this guy any special?

Somewhere much deeper in his mind, he thought differently.

I thought you were only grumpy with me.

You said ‘friend’ to him, right?

Why does that ease me slightly?

But you treat me like that too… Am I a ‘friend’ as well?

Why does that hurt even more?

After that moment, his visits get less frequent. When he does visit, though, he keeps things brief and… polite?

You even tried to start up a banter; mentioning something you know (on a normal day) would get his veins popping and kick-start a back-and-forth and then some.

To no avail, he stayed silent and just looked mildly inconvenienced.

This confused you to Celestia and back and then to Celestia again and then back again.

He’s honestly not too sure why he distanced himself from you in the first place.

But hindsight is 20/20 because after a much-needed self-evaluation session (by ‘self’ I mean himself and Nahida) he knows it’s because he doesn’t want a fourth addition to his list of major betrayals.

Not that he’ll actually agree with that statement out loud. But inside, he gets it.

Of course, this understanding is between his own person. You, unfortunately, were completely out of the loop.

You thought you had somehow pissed him off beyond forgiveness or crossed some kind of line.

At one point, you thought that the banter was, in a very weird way, flirting.

But maybe you got it wrong. What if he never saw you as a friend at all, let alone someone he might like.

You decided that if a relationship(?) friendship(?) has to die, then it’s going out with a bang.

*(bang = mutual understanding on what went wrong and peacefully going back to being strangers).

So, you visited him one day. Out of work hours too (mmmm how bold).

The knock on his door broke the puppet out of his cluttered thoughts; thoughts of a certain archivist he misses. Grunting as he stood, he closed the book he pretended to read in favor of opening the door.

“Who is it?”

He opened the door just as the ‘intruder’ reached to knock on the door again. He doesn’t know why you thought that knocking needed that much force but he’s certain it’s way too much.

Anger poked at him as he yelled, “That’s going to bruise, idiot.”

It won’t.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“You should be! That hurts.”

It did not.

“Not about that! I’m sorry for whatever happened between you and me to make you hate me…”

The fuck?

“You don’t have to forgive me or anything. I get that you have some sort of past to make you that way and I probably overstepped somewhere but… I thought we were friends. I thought if you were to revert back to us being enemies again, at least you’d tell me why…”

The Fuck?

“Is it because you know I like you? If that’s the case, you’re not fully wrong but I can just throw that away because I know you’re probably not looking for something like that and that’s probably the bit where I overstepped and you know I’m not even fully invested in it so really I can just stop!”

The FUCK?

So much for mutual understanding. With how things are going, it’s more of an individual understanding.

You got way too nervous and now things are spilling left and right and he’s not even saying anything?! He’s just staring at you like you grew five heads, each wearing a big ol' hat. You took a breath to continue your long-winded mess of a rant when he clutched your shoulders.

“Stop for a second, will you, motor-mouth.”

You clammed up right away, tears leaking out of your eyes.

“Listen, I’m not going to ever say this again but I like you too. It’s shit and I hate feeling it because… because I’ve never felt before, okay? So, stop talking all that crap about throwing important things away, it's pissing me off.”

You fully started sobbing now. He panicked and pulled you in for a very awkward, very stiff, but very loving hug. Snot got on his robe and cape as you cried your emotions out on him.

He found he didn’t quite mind. He could use less snot, sure, but he was glad you cared this much over him. He's never had anyone worry over him, let alone to the point of crying.

Soon, tears prickled his eyes but it's alright because relief found his heart.

By the way, he did say it again. He said it 1,000 times before your eventual marriage and 5,000 more times but with ‘love’ as a substitute for ‘like’.

What a liar.

a.n. My first ever request and I’m so incredibly chill about it (lies I jumped and screamed slightly). Anyway, I’m not sure what you’d like to see so I made this about how you came to be the wanderer's partner. Send in another one if you want something more specific (I’ll literally smile and break my cheek muscles if you do).

[slayfk]

does having my horse descriptions stolen by a big horse twitter account mean i’ve made it big …

sigh … i got them to take these two down at least, but i had to call each one out individually to them for them to do it and they said it was just an accident that they were extremely similar and that a conscious effort had been made to NOT make them similar… i feel bad making like an actual “callout” since they took the posts down and said they felt bad but when i contacted them about it they only took one post down until i specifically asked them about another so they seemed to be trying to just get away with what they could...unsure

i'm not upset about the images because the purpose of the horseimagebarn (aside from funny descriptions) is to sort and archive horse images so people can find the exact kind of horse image they're looking for with ease...what bothers me (as i am not exactly "upset" as that's a bit intense, more just annoyed and disappointed) is the use of my descriptions

i surprisingly put a lot of effort into my posts so it sucks to see someone with one of the biggest horse image/meme accounts on twitter that i previously really enjoyed and looked up to all of a sudden start stealing my posts and even when they don’t, they use really similar tone and phrasing to mine which would be fine on its own but combined with the stealing it makes me feel very strange like someone is just trying to be me somewhere else and getting a lot more attention for it (attention is not why i do this, but it's just like an extra kick to the penis to see them have so much of it for my work!!)

p.s. to combat this i did make a horseimagebarn twitter just to repost screenshots of my posts as it feels wrong to be upset about plagiarism on a platform i am not on, and maybe if that account sees that i am active there they'll stop rewording my posts … so i’ll just be reposting my stuff there to hopefully prevent something like this from happening again :,) there won't be any new content on twitter as tumblr is my home and i care about it one horsillion times more so don't worry, this is literally just to repost my tumblr posts to discourage further plagiarism

not telling you to follow that because i really don't care about that and it's the same content as here but i wanted to inform you in case you see someone with the @ horseimagebarn on twitter that's me don't worry

edit: this is not active bc fuck elon musk

anyway yeah... if you know which account i am talking about don't harass them because i do NOT want to be the one to start horse image community drama (dischorse as we have coined it), hopefully they'll go back to their original style of post and it'll all be okay!! shoutout to my wonderful friends in the horseblr discord for helping me check the account and figure out the plagiarized posts i love you fellows

[avengers--assembly]

Hoodie thief

Summary: Y/n is sick (although she won't admit it) and steals Bucky’s hoodie. He wants it back. No can do. Let's argue about breakfast food instead?

Prompts used:

7. Borrowed Hoodie

15.” Who decided __is ‘sick person food?”

25. Summer flu

Word count: 1028

Warnings: none

●◇●◇●◇●◇●◇

Sweltering hot temperatures all week long. That’s what the weather app said. That’s what everyone was warning against. Drink plenty of fluids. Sunscreen. Stay inside. All the usual warnings for a normal temperature spike. So why exactly was Y/n shivering like crazy wrapped in one of her thickest blankets?

She wasn’t completely sure, just that the sun was shining through her bedroom window in greeting, and she was in no mood to stand up. Or get out of her blanket burrito. But all that said, her stomach had a dull ache that she was blaming on hunger, meaning she had to eat something.

Her body gave one more shiver as she placed her feet on the floor and hauled herself up. She wasn’t sick. Really, she wasn’t. She had too much stuff to do, like enjoying the nice weather outside. Because it was nice, and her body was just late on getting the memo. She glared at the blanket that dropped on the ground. Her lazy ass decided it was too much effort to pick it up again, so she left it. Stupid blanket.

Walking down the hallway, her summer pyjamas did nothing to help her mismatched body temperature, leaving goosebumps prickling her skin. Scowling, she stomped only slightly into the living room, gaze tracking for any movement.

No one.

Good.

Her gaze landed on an oversized hoodie that was thrown over one of the couches, and she inched closer for a better inspection. Definitely not hers... but big, black, and warm. It met all her requirements. Who cared who it belonged to?

She slipped it on, hands disappearing in the too-long sleeves. The oversized hoodie hung far enough to completely cover her shorts. She allowed a smile to cross her face. Perfect.

Except for a certain super soldier who didn’t share her feelings. Bucky glowered at her, arms crossed, “Cute. 10, 9, 8.” His voice was calm, but his eyes were narrowing in warning. Y/n knew Bucky hated when people touched his things, but by the time she realized it was his, she was already too comfortable to care.

“You’re really going to count down?”

“Take it off.” Was his only response, his irritation obvious. Y/n let out a huff, folding her arms right back at him, “No.”

“Y/n” He warned, taking a step forward. She narrowed her eyes at him, “I’m not scared.”

“My hoodie. You have your own, don’t you?”

“They’re not as comfortable! And they’re all the way in my room!” Y/n complained, pouting at him. He muttered something to himself, rubbing a finger across his brow, eyes closed, “Stop that” He snapped.

“What?”

“Pouting. Makes you too damn cute.” She smiled slightly, but before saying anything, he continued, “Why do you need a hoodie anyway? Isn’t it like 30° or something?”

"I’m cold. No, leave me alone. I want to make breakfast.”

“You’re cold?” His frown deepened, concern flickering in his eyes, only to be replaced by frustration, “And I’ll leave you alone as soon as you return my hoodie.”

“Make me.”

He lifted a surprised eyebrow at her, but there was a playful glint in his eyes now.

“You sure you want that, doll?”

“I could take you,” Y/n said, still defiant.

He walked towards her, slowly at first, and the pace made a brief flash of fear settle in her stomach. Oh, shit. She was still shivering, albeit less, and her muscles were sore. He was a super soldier with decades of training—and a metal arm to back it up.

“Wait, I didn’t mean right now,” she blurted, trying to keep the nervousness out of her tone. She forced herself not to step backwards. It would be ridiculous if she couldn’t meet her own stubbornness.

“I think now is perfect. You still have something that belongs to me.” Before she could react, he scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder with ease. Y/n shrieked in surprise, hands scrambling to find balance as the world tilted beneath her.

“Bucky! Put me down!” He ignored her protests, walking towards the kitchen counter. Only then did he lightly place her on the marble surface, hands hovering a few inches from her waist until she caught her balance. The sudden shift upwards again made her head spin, black spots dancing in the corners of her eyes.

“Nop,” she muttered, closing her eyes, leaning her head against Bucky’s chest.

“Doll?” Concern was evident in his tone. He placed a kiss on the top of her head, hands wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer. “Yeah?” She hummed back.

“Why are you cold?”

“Flu?” she said back, almost too quiet for him to catch. He nodded along, “You planning on ignoring it?”

“I’m not sick.”

“Fine. Let me make you breakfast.”

“Just cereal.”

“Oats.” He argued, shaking his head at her choice, “You need better nutrition than that sugary stuff.”

“Yuck.” She leaned back from him, her nose scrunched up in distaste, “Who decided oats were good for sick people?”

“It’s nutrition values.”

“Could be fake,” she reasoned.

“Could be. Toast then?” He bopped her nose playfully, smiling as she swatted away his hand.

“Why do you hate me so much? I need sugar to survive,” she said dramatically.

“I mean, you did steal my hoodie.” He answered back, raising an accusing eyebrow.

“If I give it back, will you love me again?”

“Mmm no.”

“What? Why?” She gaped at him, a brief look of confusion on her face. He smiled, “It’s full of your germs now. Don’t want it anymore.”

“Hypocrite. You just hugged me.”

**

They settled on toast with jam in the end. On the couch, they watched some silly comedy, Y/n still wearing his hoodie, an extra blanket lying nearby. The water and medicine were only a precaution for when she stopped ignoring the facts.

Bucky chose to stay indoors today, and Y/n simply joined him to keep him company. No other reason. The other Avengers didn’t need extra information, even when pool day turned into movie watching instead. Nat had joined them later, settling comfortably next to Y/n and only stealing her food when she thought Y/n wasn’t looking.

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 6 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 25k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: hello! it's been a second but i promise tdag is still my favorite child so this is continuing slowly but surely (i'm currently just distracted by pedro pascal as slutty gladiator).

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 6 – The Ceremony Part 1

‘I didn't exactly miss it or want to live there again- I just wondered where it had gone.’

— Alice Munro, Dear Life

What the fuck does he think he’s doing?

If there is one person in Jackson who is least equipped to handle a grieving person who’s just lost someone to suicide, it’s him. Joel is sure of that. He should just tell you that he can’t do this, hand you over to Tommy or Maria or anyone else who doesn’t mess up whatever or whoever they touch.

It would be better for you, to have someone who actually knows how to work through grief. Not someone who sneaks out of bed before dawn to get a glass of whiskey and sit in their dark living room to ponder over things years and years past. The way he currently is.

But Joel is also sure that he can’t let you go. He can’t recall how or why but he does understand that you have found a way to get under his skin, one no one else has quite figured out, carved a path that only you may tread, that causes something to tug at his heart every time he sees you curled up in his bed or smells the soap that sits on his bathroom shelf. Somewhere along the road, he has started to care.

Not that anything good ever happens to the people he cares about.

A small groan leaves his throat as he leans back into the cushions, his free hand reaching over to produce a small notebook from below the couch table. He stares down at it for a few moments, weighing it in his hand. Then, he downs his whiskey in one go, sets the glass down onto the table and begins flipping through the small pages, seemingly endless notes, many of them jotted down rather hurriedly, a few written with much more care.

A thud upstairs makes his head jerk up. He freezes, listening intently. And then, he hears the unmistakable sound of someone running over the wooden floor upstairs. He’s up in an instant, cursing under his breath as he moves through the dimly lit room, using his foot to nudge a box aside that’s still sitting in the hallway, blocking his path towards the sound of bare feet thundering down the stairs.

***

For a split moment, you think it’s morning. The warmth beside you is gone. Maybe Joel has gotten another early start, doing whatever he does in the mornings while he lets you sleep.

And then, while you’re still floating in the comfortable state between dreaming and reality, you think you hear a door close somewhere downstairs.

Your body moves before your brain has a chance to catch up. Your legs, still tangled in the sheets, get caught in them and send you flying off the bed and onto the hard floor with a thud. It doesn’t slow you down. You force your trembling legs to push your body back onto your feet and rush through the bedroom door, taking the stairs three steps at a time. You have half a mind that you should shout, alert someone to what is happening, but your throat feels like it’s closed up.

Someone needs to stop him. To keep him from going out into the woods, to some hidden cabin. He always has the revolver on him. At that thought, you jump down the last few steps.

For the second time, your run towards the front door is interrupted and you collide with something solid just as you reach the corner that turns toward the front door. Again, it sends you stumbling and you prepare yourself for another hard fall. But it never comes. Instead, two strong arms catch you and Joel’s face above you finally comes into focus.

“You—” Again, your throat fails you. You simply press yourself into Joel’s chest, seemingly the only place that will swallow your sobs these days.

“Hey, it’s okay. Calm down, I’m right here,” Joel coos above you, his chest vibrating as he hums and brings one hand up to the back of your head, stroking your still slightly damp hair.

It takes him a solid five minutes to get you over onto the couch and calm you enough for him to let go for a moment. “I’ll be right here, hold on. Give me one second.”

He steps back into the hallway, shuffling something around. And as your panic recedes, the tide sinking, you glance around. A single glass sits on the coffee table in front of you, holding a few leftover drops of what you’re quite sure is whiskey. Beside it is a small notebook, the pages already slightly rippled.

You suddenly realize you’re not the only one in the old house who seems to have trouble sleeping.

Eventually, Joel returns with a woolen blanket that he drapes over your form, nodding to himself. “There we are.”

He doesn’t sit down, instead stepping over to the window and casting a glance outside. As if there is anything worth seeing on a street that never changes, one that hasn’t had cars passing on it in over twenty years.

“I’m sorry, I just—I panicked,” you whisper, keeping your head just low enough that you can still see Joel’s outline against the dim light of the street lamp outside. His shoulders seem to hang a tad lower than usual, still broad but not as intimidating as they once seemed, especially with him dressed in his usual pajamas consisting of soft plaid pants and a worn shirt.

“Don’t apologize. You’re bound to have some triggers after everything. It’s good if we figure them out as early as possible.” He pauses for a moment, turning around to study your face. “Was it being by yourself?”

You gently shake your head. “No. Not really. It was more—I thought I heard a door close. Like you were leaving.”

You can see the exact moment he understands what you are implying and his face falls slightly. “Oh, darlin’, you know I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t leave you. You know that, right?” 

The only response you can manage is a shaky nod.

Joel sighs as he sits down next to you, rubbing his thumb over the small bald spot in his beard. To both your surprise, it’s you who starts the conversation back up.

“What about you?”

A frown appears between Joel's brows at the question and he turns towards you, studying your face as if the answers to whatever questions he has are written there. “What about me?”

“You were up too, weren’t you?” you ask quietly, turning your body towards him and leaning into the couch, the plush cushions and the blanket comfortable against your skin.

“Yeah but I was just—I wanted to get some things done for tomorrow—”

“Joel,” you stop him, raising your brow a tiny bit. It’s not meant to be hurtful, you’re sure of that. But if he believes you will swallow such a blatantly obvious lie, he may not be as good at this as you thought he was. “It’s not fair if you’re not honest with me.”

You can see his facade crumble as his expression falters and he nods quietly. “Yeah, I reckon you’re right about that.” Still, he seems to consider his words very carefully. “I don’t sleep well, sometimes. So I figured I may as well do some work. Didn’t wanna wake you with my tossing ‘n turning.”

Your heart aches at how casually he mentions this. It makes sense that he’d have nightmares. And you’re sure you barely know half of what they’re about. Joel cares so much when it comes to you that it genuinely baffles you how easily he brushes it off when he is the one suffering.

And then, a very quiet voice reminds you that this may be, like so many things, your fault. That you are so messed up that even big bad Joel Miller begins to struggle if he keeps you around for too long.

“Was it about—” You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. It suddenly appears to you how difficult that is and you silently vow to thank Joel for having found them all throughout the last few days. “Was it about what we were talking about earlier?”

You have to be a horrible person. Because you know that deep inside, you want him to say yes. To assure you that this is about the things from his past that still haunt him and not about Lane—or about you. You don’t want to be the cause for his sleepless nights.

He doesn’t respond, but you have a feeling he doesn’t need to. It’s written all over him. The way he holds his body, the eyes that won’t meet yours. You don’t know what to do. You want to help. Maybe the same way he wants to help you. Cooking dinner, making coffee, getting an extra blanket. Because this is something he can’t fix. Only mend.

7 months earlier

“There is absolutely no way I’m going in there,” you proclaimed, dipping your toe into the water below you. “That is freezing!”

“It’s better once you’re in there. We can’t have hiked all this way for nothing,” a voice mused next to you. “Besides, it was your idea to come up here.”

“Well, I haven’t been before and I sure as hell wouldn’t have if I'd known it would involve freezing to death,” you groaned, lifting your foot back to the safety of solid ground below you and taking a few steps along the water of Flat Creek Lake.

It was crystal clear, allowing you to see the small rocks littering the bottom of the lake and the little fish zooming back and forth between them. It was still enough that you could see the reflection of the sky, blue with a few clouds scattered in between. The first warm day of the year.

You took in the scenery for a few more moments, letting your gaze wander further over the water and the trees on the other side of the lake and the mountains behind them, before turning back towards Lane—only to find that she’d thrown her clothes over a nearby trunk and was sporting a striped bathing suit. A small whistle escaped your throat.

“Haven’t seen that one before,” you commented off-handedly, causing a faint blush to appear on her cheeks. “That’s ‘cause it’s not mine.”

You raised a brow as you watched her wade into the water, sending small rippling waves out into the lake. “Wait, you’re not saying—”

A tiny smirk had appeared on Lane’s face. “Cat was nice enough to lend it to me when I told her we were gonna hike up here.”

“I see how it is.” You grinned, pushing your shirt over your head and throwing it next to Lane's pile of clothes. Unlike her, you opted for some of your more covered up underwear. Swimsuits weren’t exactly a clothing priority and you hadn’t found yourself in need of any until now. “I’m not enough for you anymore,” you said dramatically, throwing a hand towards your temple. “How will I ever get over you leaving me?”

“Oh shut up. Besides, if you are allowed to have your boyfriend over for dinner every other month, I am definitely good to borrow a bathing suit.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” You groaned exasperatedly. “Joel is not my boyfriend. He’s just–” You raised a hand and waved it through the air, trying to find the right word. It wouldn’t come.

“I don’t know. We’re just friends.” You weakly kicked at a small rock below you before stepping into the water for the second time that day, getting your feet used to the temperature of the mountain lake.

“Even Tommy says Joel doesn’t have friends,” Lane pointed out with a lopsided grin.

You shrugged. You yourself weren’t sure what to call your relationship with Joel, and even though you’d tried not to think on it too hard, the question had forced itself to the forefront of your mind more than once. And with every passing month, it seemed to become more persistent and difficult to push away.

“Are you gonna get over here or think about that old man all day?”

Lane paid for her comment (and, you silently vowed, for daring to call Joel old) by receiving a big splash of cold water aimed directly at her. She squealed, jumping the few steps over to you and pulling you further into the lake. It didn’t seem quite as cold as you splashed around in it together, only coming back out when you saw that Lane’s lips began to match the shade of her hair and pointed out that her freezing to death would really ruin the early summer day.

You headed over to one of the log cabins at the foot of the small lake, a place so far from civilization that it had barely been touched since the outbreak. It had taken you close to six hours to make the hike up the dirt road into the mountains. But, upon seeing the view in front of you, you both had agreed that getting up early had been worth it.

“Who told you about this again?” Lane asked, her mouth slightly open as she stared around the cabin that seemed almost completely intact. Bits and pieces were missing but the furniture was still properly arranged, mugs and plates were lined up neatly on a shelf over the sink and even a few items of clothing were still dangling from some hooks near the door.

“Joel did,” you admitted quietly. She just wiggled her eyebrows at you before heading further into the cabin, peeking into the small bathroom and the adjacent bedroom.

“Hey, there’s some towels here,” she called over her shoulder and came back a few moments later holding some cream-colored towels that had probably once been white. Even in the more remote areas around Jackson, finding housing that was this intact was rather rare.

“Maybe we should take a look around,” you offered, your mind already wandering to which treasures could be hidden in the cabin. Anything from practical items like medicine to more recreational ones—possibly a nice bottle of whiskey, stored away just for you to find. As if she could read your thoughts, Lane pursed her lips a little, one hand smoothing over the towels in her hands.

You stared at her. “What?”

“I don’t think we should take anything;” she said softly. “At least not back to Jackson.”

You felt a small frown appear on your forehead as you mulled her words over in your mind. “What do you mean? It’s not like anyone’ll come back for this.” You gently tapped the wood of the cupboard next to you. “Judging by the amount of dust these have not been touched in at least a decade.”

She shrugged, stepping back towards the front door. “I just mean, if it’s been very peaceful here for so long… We shouldn’t be the ones to make it less so.”

You stared after Lane as she stepped outside, watching her descend down the few wooden steps that led up to the cabin and the way the sun hit her blue hair, the ends still dripping slightly.

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts and follow her back to the lake, carefully closing the cabin door behind you. You both had secured a towel each from the cabin and were drying off when Lane caught you off-guard for the second time that day.

“Do you remember any of it? Before, I mean?”

You sighed softly. The question that had become as recurring as ‘and what do you do for a living?’ had once been. In hindsight, you were surprised you hadn’t discussed it earlier–at least not in detail.

“I do. Not much, not anything–I don’t remember how the world was. Just how it seemed to me as a kid,” you answered truthfully.

You could see Lane nod out of the corner of your eye as she leaned back and wrung out her hair.

“I miss it sometimes.” A few seconds of quiet passed. “It’s silly, really. You can’t miss something you don’t remember.”

“I think you can,” you said softly, turning your head towards her. She had paused in her movements and was gazing out onto the lake, though her eyes seemed much more distant than usual.

Your own stayed trained on her as she spoke, her tone a tad lower. “Do you ever think about leaving?”

If it had been anyone else with you, you probably would’ve lied, claimed that of course your heart never wavered, that you knew you were exactly where you needed to be. But this was Lane. Lane was safe.

“Sometimes,” you answered, your voice equally quiet even though you were sure there was no one around to listen except the small fish and possibly a fawn hiding in the undergrowth. “But then, I suppose it wouldn’t make much of a difference. We’d suffer through the day anywhere. But here, we at least have something to come home to when the suffering is done.”

It wasn’t exactly as positive as you may have wanted to sound. You’d always felt a tad protective over Lane, with her being a few years younger and less experienced. You knew she looked up to you and you wanted to set a good example, more than anything.

But that included being honest.

“When I came—When I headed to Wyoming, I was looking for something better than a QZ or Fedra,” you said softly. “I think I could’ve ended up in a lot of places much worse than Jackson.”

“But Jackson isn’t what you were looking for.”

You shook your head. “No. I suppose it’s not. But it’s what I found.”

You gave a bittersweet smile and she returned it, even though hers still seemed slightly broader than yours. It was an odd moment that passed between you, almost an unspoken agreement not to dwell on the topic too long. To not speak of the loss.

“What about you?” you asked, shifting the conversation away from yourself. “Do you remember anything from before?”

Lane gave a small snort at that. “Yeah, now that you ask, I remember pooping my pants.” She shook her head weakly, leaning back and staring out at the water again. “I was a baby.” A sigh escaped her lips as her body faltered slightly, her shoulders dropping a tiny bit. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would’ve been like if I’d been born ten years earlier. If it had been—I don’t know. Better.”

“Well, for the record, I’m glad you ended up in Jackson at the same time I did,” you said softly, nudging her shoulder.

She nodded and smiled, returning the small gesture. It doesn’t dawn on you until much later that she talks about her life in past tense.

“Okay, a tiny bit to the left,” Lane waved her hand as if she could position you like a puppet. “My left or yours?”

“Yours—Yeah, like that.”

A few seconds passed where you showed the lens your best smile and saw Lane fumbling with the buttons before the noise of the camera shutter announced that she’d found a frame she was content with. The giggle that followed, however, took you by surprise. “What?” You asked, looking past the lens and trying to catch a glimpse of her face. “What's so funny?!”

“Oh, I just thought about whether or not to slip this into the slideshow at the town hall next week. Maybe that would finally get Joel to ask you out.”

“You, Eleanor, are a pervert,” you commented drily, letting yourself fall back onto your comfortable towel and reaching for your book, trying to ignore the small wave of heat that had suddenly spread through your body at the thought of Joel seeing you like this.

“You know, I do think you two would fit together pretty well,” Lane hummed with her eyes closed half an hour later when both of you had stretched out on your towels and were bathing in the sun, waiting for the warmth to dry you. Content to ignore the world around you for just another hour.

You put your book down for a moment, squinting as you glanced over at her. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but nothing is happening between Joel and me. Not ever.”

***

His knock on the bathroom door is tentative, two gentle raps that travel through the wood towards you.

“Are you almost done?”

You stare at your reflection. A woman in black stares back. You know she is about to attend a funeral, the dark outfit and the sadness hiding behind concealer that doesn’t quite match her skin tone giving away what awaits her just as much as what’s behind.

You long to wish her something, to give her hope. But you don’t have any left to give.

You wish you could stay in the comforting bathroom forever, retire the black clothes, bundle them up and hide them at the very back of the cupboard below the sink, next to long expired cleaning supplies and a broken hairdryer. Close the door on all of them and run a hot bath to curl up in, one that never runs cold and that you never have to leave.

“Are you alright in there?”

Joel’s tone has turned slightly worried, no doubt owing to the fact that you are too busy keeping yourself from having a panic attack to respond properly.

“I’m done,” you call out, your voice trembling a little but at least it’s loud enough for him to hear. You can practically see him nod outside the door, even before you’ve moved over to it and turned the knob. Facing Joel Miller is the easy part. Facing the rest of the world is the hard one.

His gaze flies over you very briefly, taking in the clothes he retrieved from your house for the occasion, but you barely notice. What you do notice is that Joel has shaved while you were getting ready, his beard a little more neat than usual, even if still streaked with the small hints of gray that make your eyes linger. What makes your breath hitch in your throat however are his clothes.

He’s dressed accordingly, in a black suit that’s been patched up in a few places and is half a size too small on his broad frame. You’re alarmingly aware you have never seen him in a suit before—you’re certain you'd remember if you did if this is what he looks like.

It doesn’t quite fit the Joel who’s been following you around the house like an anxious guard dog, the man who wears plaid shirts and jeans so much that you remember being surprised when you first found out he does not, in fact, sleep in them. He always looks comfortable, in his worn shirts and slightly stained clothes, like he’s been wearing them for years, like he’ll never change. Like he’ll never leave. A constant that nothing could take from you, like the peaks of the mountains you can see from Jackson on a clear day.

But now he looks—there is no other way to put it—sexy. The suit, tight in all the right places, momentarily manages to take your mind off the why and you very briefly allow yourself to just stare at him.

“Hey, you’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?” Joel muses, bringing a hand to your shoulder to steady you. He looks worried, the crease on his forehead that never seems to leave it these days a little deeper than usual. Of course he’d think that your behavior can be attributed to your distress. Which it can, technically, just a completely different kind of distress.

“Sorry, no, I'm fine,” you reassure him, pushing your way further into the bedroom and taking a deep breath. He doesn’t move quite in time, causing your side to brush over his and you can actually feel the smooth fabric of his blazer against the skin of your hand where they meet. You catch a whiff of his aftershave—or whatever the hell makes him smell so good—just as you step past him into the bedroom and towards the door, completely missing that the slight scowl on Joel's face has changed ever so slightly.

“Come on, Texas. I don’t wanna be late,” you mumble, trying to lighten the mood—or at least distract from the fact that your brain is ready to head down a wildly inappropriate path. It must be the shock causing it to go haywire, or at least that is what you silently vow to believe.

Still, you’re careful to not turn around far enough to actually see him, keeping him safely out of sight.

Because you really must be the worst person in the world to stand here, about to attend you best friends funeral, and leer over some fucking man.

Just that it's Lane's funeral and a small voice in the back of your head that sounds oddly like her pipes up to say that he does look good and that, if nothing else, this may be the one good thing to come out of today. Joel Miller in a fucking suit.

notes: thank you for reading! i have a few more chapters done but opening this fic is somehow both my therapy and mentally very taxing so bear with me please <3

[dorkagedoodles]

And there we have it folks - the end of Empyrean Book I! I sound like a parrot but just ... thank you so much for reading! Also, for everyone's convenience, the afterword is also in text under the "keep reading" bellow. <<< PREVIOUS ✧˖☆˖✧˖☆˖✧Page Archive✧˖☆˖✧˖☆˖✧

(To be continued ... ) AFTERWORD

I’ve been putting off writing this for way too long, thinking I have plenty of time until suddenly: BAM! December was upon me and the final update of Empyrean Book I was uploaded while I had the worst migraine in years and couldn’t even scramble together a last minute afterword. But here we go. I’ll try not to care about sounding professional or eloquent, just so I can get it done.

First I want to say a big thank you to everyone who've read Empyrean, all the way through or just a little bit, I’m grateful nonetheless. And extra big thank you to everyone who’s left comments or nice tags in the reblogs etc. I’m awful at responding, but I’ve seen them all and really, really appreciate it.

I worked on the book on and off for three years and I’m pretty happy with the end result. Of course, this is just the beginning of the story. I have an outline for the whole thing, aiming for a total of four books of similar length which will, as you can guess, take a loooooong time. Which brings me to my second point.

Empyrean will go on hiatus for the time being. For how long? I wish I knew. While Book 2 is all scripted and currently in the sketching stage, I have no idea when I’ll have enough finished pages for an update. Once I do, however, I’ll probably update as I finish the pages, rather than wait for the whole book to be complete.

I don’t think I need to explain much of why this is. It’s simply being an adult. It’s having rent, bills and a cat with special dietary needs. And what Empyrean brings in joy it certainly doesn’t bring in money, so ever since July I’ve drawn almost nothing but freelance work.

Despite that, I still feel positive about the future of Empyrean. It’s already been published in parts in a small Swedish magazine and I’ve met people and opened doors that would have been impossible, had I not created Empyrean. Long time followers might remember how I’ve long wanted to be able to support myself by making art. And right now? That's exactly what I’m doing.

Finishing Empyrean will take many years and, in the end, it might never even get picked up by a publisher. But I’m at peace with both of those things. I draw Empyrean entirely for myself and would continue to do so even if not a single other person was reading it. Though … as long as there’s at least one such person I will keep uploading it too!

Lastly, I’ve been looking into self-publishing and hope to give that a try. No solid plans yet, just counting costs, looking at kickstarters and such. I’m currently neck-deep in a big project, but once that’s over I can start thinking about it again. When the time comes, I will of course post about it.

I think that is all. It got a bit longer and ramblier than I planned but oh well.

Again, thank you so much for reading Empyrean! And until next time! -Hans

[kodared]

✰ Stanford & Borrower/Anomaly Reader ✰

fears not enough they have to tear him apart.

Chapter 4/?

Wordcount: 2,992 / 10,288

➤ Summary Based on the borrowers of many universes! I hope you enjoy it, and if you don't know about borrowers, let me be your guide into a world I've loved since I was young. ✰Written because I saw the severe lack of borrower content in Gravity Falls fanfic, i hope you enjoy <3 ✰ - ★Updates irregularly! I write when I want ★ ★ - Also on AO3! - ★

When the two humans left the room you quickly tried to think of a way out of this. Ford had been ignorant enough to leave the top off of the jar, whether so you could breathe or he just genuinely forgot you didn't care. 

You doubted he would care that much to leave the top off so you could get some air. He probably just forgot to put it on in the first place.

You knew the walls of the jar were much too slippery to gain any actual footing on them. When you did stand to test out your theory you realized much too quickly exactly why you weren't standing to begin with. 

Your injured ankle was quick to bring you back to reality as it squealed its discomfort. The pain splintering up your leg with fervent anger. 

When Ford had dropped you into the jar you had landed on your injured ankle. It seemed to now be coming back to bite you in the ass as you fell back to the bottom of the jar. 

You could use your hook, but you doubted it would even catch on the rim if you couldn't stand to toss it. You weren't at all keen on staying around them for longer than necessary, but maybe being around Fiddleford wouldn't be that bad. You could probably trick him to let you out. 

He hadn’t done anything to hurt you yet, but you haven't seen him behind closed doors. Your anxiety eating and worming its way back into your chest at the thought of being stuck with the two humans. 

Before you could harden your resolve and push yourself to get out of the jar despite the pain, the two scientists were back. 

The taller one, Ford, was the first to enter the room. An unnervingly friendly smile on his face. You could tell it wasn't genuine, at least not in the way you were used to. 

It was meant to put you at ease, but all it did was make you tense up and push against the glass wall a bit harder. 

The second human to enter was the exasperated assistant, Fiddleford. Despite your anxieties, he seemed the most normal of the two. 

Ford continued towards your jar, making your feelings of discomfort and fear kick up. Your hand subconsciously gripped the needle on your hip, if he was going to grab you he was going to pay the price. 

He took notice of this as he sat on a chair next to the table you currently sat prisoner on. 

“Is the needle a comforting item to you? I noticed you trying to grab it as well when I had you in my hand.”  

It felt… weird being referred to not as an ‘it’ anymore by the scientist. Sparing a cautious glance to Fiddleford you could see the man clicking the coffee machine on once again. The horrid machine whirred to life in the semi-quiet kitchen. 

“... That's none of- None of your business.” 

Of course, your voice had to crack in the middle of talking to the human. Your face would most definitely have a blush if it wasn't for the fact you were so dehydrated and angry. The embarrassment of a simple voice crack paled in comparison to the bitterness you held for this man. 

He seemed to find it humorous though as his smile widened just a smidge. He adjusted his glasses as well as he looked down at you. 

“I was told we got off on the wrong foot, my name is Stanford Pines. Anomaly researcher studying Gravity Falls.”

…Anomaly researcher? That wasn’t too far off from your guess of him being a scientist at least. It did little to put you at ease. 

“…I know.” 

You glared at the man and warily glanced at his hands. Watching as he folded them on top of each other as they rested on the table. He wasn’t making any moves to grab the jar, which was good. 

You still weren’t comfortable with him and he seemed to know it. 

Your glaring was interrupted by the sounds of Fiddleford pouring two cups of coffee before setting one down beside Ford's hand. Your gaze is now on the steam that billowed out of the cup. 

It wasn’t lost to you that compared to Ford's hand, Fiddleford only had five fingers on both. Looks like Ford was just special. 

Fiddleford pulled up a chair to the left of you but before he sat down he spoke.

”Would ya like somethin’ to drink? M’sure I can find somethin’ you could use as a cup,” 

He looked around the kitchen as if already searching for something he could use before you could even respond. 

“…Some water would be nice, thanks.” 

You spoke curtly but not without a tinge of gratefulness. Fiddleford truthfully was trying to accommodate your needs, which couldn’t be said about his friend. Whose eyes seemed to light up a bit. 

“How have you been getting water before? I’m assuming you need it regularly unless your body has accommodated to-“  

You were honestly about to tell the guy to shove it but he was cut off by Fiddleford before you could get the chance. The other man gave him a harsh glare.

If looks could kill Ford would be in the ground by now.

It felt nice to have someone in your corner for once and you turned your gaze to follow what Fiddleford was doing. Opting to ignore the other researcher in the room.

He was rummaging in what you could only assume to be a junk drawer before finding what he was searching for. His back turned to both you and Ford. 

“I think this’ll work just fine…” 

You debated trying to see what he had but you didn't want to stand. He now moved to the sink to wash whatever he had grabbed. 

”Yknow it’ll be hard for them to drink in that jar, Ford can ya let 'em’ out for me?”

Out? Fiddleford wanted to let you out. Oh, this couldn’t be any better. You could feel your body practically buzzing at the idea of getting out and leaving. 

It seemed it wasn’t lost on Ford you were excited to get out. The man gave Fiddleford a conflicted look. 

“I would rather them stay in there for now. Couldn’t you just hand it to them?”

Fiddleford finally turned around and you could see the man holding a small thimble. You had one in your house in the walls, but this one looked newer��no doubt one Ford bought to replace the one you took.

”If you don't let em’ out I will, I ain’t keepin’ our quest in a jar all night.” 

A guest was an interesting way to describe your situation. You wouldn’t exactly say you were a guest more like a prisoner. 

…You didn't say that to Fiddleford though. 

You watched as Ford sighed and screwed his eyes shut for a moment, before reaching out to the jar. Your body tensed as his hand grabbed the glass. The warmth already emitting from his skin before he had even fully grabbed it. 

He seemed to think for a moment about how to get you out. You were scared he was going to just reach in before Fiddleford piped up as he sat back down at the table. 

“M’sure you can just tip it to the side, that sound alright to you?” 

It still unnerved you to be regarded in a way that made you seem human.

It felt nice not to fool yourself, but you were much more used to Ford’s behavior until this point.

You realized you were quiet for too long when Fiddleford tilted his head a bit, making you finally respond. 

“Yeah-.. Sorry, that's fine.” 

Your voice was still terribly scratchy. Regardless you prepared for the jar to be turned on its side. 

After a few moments of hesitation from Ford, you felt your world shift. It took everything in your power to not go tumbling into the glass. Somehow you managed to stay halfway upright until it was fully turned. 

You crawled out hesitantly, keeping your eyes on both of them. Gods, you forgot just how big humans were. 

You could feel the vertigo hitting your brain and stomach as you looked up at Fiddleford. The man gives you a gentle smile before moving his hand towards you. 

Staggering backward you saw him hesitate. Focusing on his hand you saw him holding a small thimble of water. 

He didn't try to reach any closer to you. He just set the small thimble down and folded his hands back around his cup of coffee. 

You slowly walked to the thimble before taking it between your own two hands and sitting down. 

It took a considerable effort to lift it to your lips. You weren’t weak by any means, climbing and running every day tends to build some muscles. 

You were however running off of pure adrenaline and spite for the past few hours. So your body was about to collapse at any moment. 

The cold water hit your tongue and before you registered it you were gulping down the little that was in the thimble. 

The refreshing chill worked its way down your throat and soothed your throat like a mother to a child. 

Bliss. 

You were pulled back to reality as you finished what was in the thimble. Fiddleford was adding sugar to his coffee, his eyes not on you. 

…You felt a pair of eyes on you regardless. 

You didn't even have to look to know who it was, but you did anyway. 

Ford's eyes were focused on you, surprisingly not in awe or fascination. 

He honestly looked a bit remorseful, you didn't know why. 

You felt your arms shaking again and set the thimble down, the comforting weight of the metal leaving your fingertips. With nothing else to fidget with you picked your nails. 

Fiddleford was the one to break the silence with a cough, you turned away from Ford to look at him. 

“I can grab ya’ some more water, here,” 

He reached for the thimble and you steeled yourself to stay sitting. He hadn’t manhandled you at all yet, it was the least you could do to not be so skittish. 

…He didn't close the distance though, anxiety still buzzed under your skin as he stopped halfway. 

“Push it a bit closer i can grab ya some water,” 

Doing as you were told you pushed it a bit closer to his hand before pulling back. 

He was true to his word and grabbed the thimble before going back over to the sink. 

Weirdly enough it made you sheepish to be cared about this much by a human. Neither of them where reaching for you or anything, which was nice. Just not what you expected. 

Fiddleford came back to the table and set the thimble halfway to you again. 

The thimble was still cold as you took it, this time sipping on it instead of gulping it down like a dying man. 

Fiddleford took a sip of his coffee, and you decided to break the silence. 

“...I don't know how you can drink that stuff. Smells awful,” 

He practically choked on the drink as he laughed at your comment. You didn't know what was so funny about what you said but whatever. 

“Have you ever had coffee?” 

Of course, Mr.Researcher had to put his question in. You didn't forget he was there by any means but you were much more comfortable around Fiddleford. 

You chose to humor him anyway, not wanting to upset him. 

“Don't have to and wouldn't dream of it, smells all I need to know it's bitter and horrible.” 

Fiddleford wiped some coffee from his mouth as he reigned in his giggles. 

“It keeps us awake on long nights, m’surprised your not tired after all ya’ve been through today.” 

Honestly, now that he mentioned it you were exhausted now that the adrenaline had been sapped from your body. 

“...Do you want to try some?” 

You tilted your head at Ford as he pushed his cup closer to you. 

…You debated it honestly. Coffee, even though it smelt horrible and the machine that made it was loud and janky, was rare. 

Most borrowers would never have the chance to try food or beverages like this, it almost felt wrong to turn down the opportunity. 

You gave a small nod and drank the rest of the water in your thimble. Deciding you would use it to take a small bit. 

You were moving out of the cottage when you could so you might as well indulge in what you can. Maybe you could tell your family about it. 

Ford's eyes lit up a bit as he pushed it closer, seeming almost excited to gauge your reaction. 

You waited until he had his hands away from the cup before pushing off of the table and standing. 

Dipping your thimble into the dark liquid the smell was still pungent and strong as ever. It was pleasantly warm as you pulled the thimble out. 

Walking back to your spot on the table you took a small sip. 

…It was earthy and warm. In direct contrast to the water you drank earlier, it warmed your bones pleasantly. 

It wasnt bad to be honest, you didn't gulp it down like you did the water but you took a larger sip before setting it down. 

“Well?” 

Ford asked, curiosity and intrigue evident in his voice. 

“... It's alright.” 

You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of saying you enjoyed it. He didn't need to know that. 

Fiddleford smiled watching you and Ford interacting semi-normally. 

“I can dump it if ya’ want, get you some water,”

“No!- it's fine- Wouldnt want to be a bother,” 

You pulled the thimble closer to your chest, telling yourself you were only finishing it out of politeness. 

Ford knew you liked the coffee though and pushed his cup closer. Deciding if you wanted more you could have it, it was the least he could do honestly to build up a rapport after what he did. 

“Anyways. You know who we are now, can I know precisely how long you’ve lived in my house?” 

The questions you had been dreading finally started pouring from Ford. You started to wonder if he would ask any at all, to be honest.

You took another sip of the coffee to calm your nerves. 

“... I've been here the whole time, just- yknow, hidden. Like I'm supposed to be.” 

“Why-”

Fiddleford had a concerned look on his face as he cut Ford off. 

“How have ya’ survived this long on your own? Dont ya’ got any family?” 

You shrugged as Fiddleford now shot you a question of his own. 

“I mean I do, just not here. They’re in the woods, I got kicke-... moved, a few months ago.” 

Fiddleford had an expression of sympathy on his face, which you didn't like. 

You might’ve been small but you weren't some kicked puppy. You’ve survived all this time on your own you didn't need help. 

“Why did you have to stay hidden?” 

Ford finished his question while Fiddleford was too busy feeling sorry for you. You guessed it didn't help how disheveled you looked at this particular moment. That's what happens though when you're manhandled by a researcher for the better half of the night. 

“Borrowers run off of rules, it's how we’ve survived so long around humans. The biggest being if your seen, you move. Which, now that I've been seen, you don't have to worry about me anymore.” 

You finished the last of the coffee in your thimble before standing again, looking for your fishhook and thread. 

“Now hold on-” 

“This isn't the first time you’ve been seen though, why didn't you leave then?” 

You scowled and shot the man another glare, your nose wrinkling in anger. 

“Because someone took notes about me. If you publish them im screwed, and so is my entire species. I already tried to take it though, which got me caught.” 

Ford noticed you looking around and pulled something from his inner coat pocket. You immediately knew what it was by the way it glinted in the moonlight. 

Your hook. 

“Continuing off of that thought you had no right to take that!- I worked hard to make it!” 

You grew bolder as you walked over to him. Now standing by his coffee cup a few inches short of his hand that rested on the table. 

He held up his hand in a placating motion as you took out your needle. 

“Stanford!-” 

Fiddleford spoke irritated and shocked at him having something of yours. 

“I'll make you a deal, calm down first.” 

You stopped advancing for his hand, even though the idea of stabbing it sounded amazing right now. 

“I'll get rid of the page in my journal, if you stay and let me keep learning about you. I can give you all the food you need, you don't even need to hide in the walls.” 

You felt the anger leaving your body a bit at that. Leaving in its wake confusion. 

“... What's the catch?” 

“No catch.” 

He held your fishhook out to you. Holding it a few inches short of your body. 

“... I'm not a housepet. I don't need to be fed. As long as the page is gone'll stick around I guess.” 

Fiddleford spoke up again, shocked at the discussion he was hearing. 

“Fords gettin’ rid of the page regardless. You don't haveta make any deal. We would love havin’ ya around but nothins holding you here.” 

You kept eye contact with Ford as you looked at your fishhook. You heard what Fiddleford was saying, but the idea of cementing the page being gone fulfilled you more than an empty promise. 

You reached for the fishhook, feeling the cold metal under your fingertips. 

“Deal.” 

--

woof im going to bed oh my goodness..,,

TAGLIST: @i-am-tiredd / @kmsthisyr

[fanta2y]

The Little Things

a little drabble inspired by @rrairey and her post on sukuna peeling an orange so THANK HER FOR THIS CUTE LITTLE THING

@archive-network (ooo you wanna click it so bad)

cw: none

word count: 697 (very short)

The door of your shared apartment swung open as you walked in, practically dead on your feet from the long and tiring hours of work today. You wanted nothing more than to curl into bed, cuddle with your personal furnace of a boyfriend and sleep for the next week. 

But you knew Ryomen was probably having an equally, if not worse day than you. And being disgustingly in love with him, you would push aside the tired ache that felt bone deep, for him to come home with a hot meal. 

You were stopped in your tracks when you realized that his shoes were already propped by the front door, his nice suit jacket hung up on the rack. 

“Ryo?!” You called out, your voice echoing along the walls. You walked through the apartment, making your way into the kitchen. When your eyes landed on a plate, wrapped in plastic wrap with your name written on it. 

The food looked delicious, the steam getting trapped inside the wrap. It brought a smile to your face as you grabbed the plate and made your way to the bedroom. Where you assumed he would be. 

“Ryo?” You called to him again, opening the door of your shared bedroom. The plate still in hand, you found him laying blissfully on the bed. His shirt no where to be found, his pajama pants hanging lowly on his hips as he flipped through a book. 

He hummed, his eyes flicking up from his book to meet yours. 

“Welcome home.” He said, his voice gravely and soft. The tone only you got to hear from him, the smile never left your lips as you made your way over to where he was laying. Placing the still warm plate on the bedside table, you leaned forward to kiss him. 

“Did you make me dinner?” A teasing lilt to your voice as you whispered the question against his lips. 

“No.” His signature smirk adorning his face, as you giggled. 

“No?” You shook your head at his antics, kissing him once more in a silent thank you. 

This is the way Ryomen functioned. He could never admit that he had done something for you. Either flat out denying it or coming up with some excuse as to why it was easier for him to do it, or why he had to do it instead of you. 

No matter what he said, the warmth that it left in your heart never dimmed. Knowing that the way he showed his love and care for you was not through sweet words or gifts, but through silent acts. Making dinner for you when you come home, folding your laundry for you after hearing you complain about it, making you coffee in the morning before you wake up. 

Its the little things that make you fall so much more in love with him. The silly excuses you both knew were false could never falter the love you shared with him. 

“It was the coffee fairy.” He would say, barely being able to hide the smirk with his book. 

“I don’t even know where your clothes go.” He would argue, both of you knowing that he was the one who helped you organize your closet when he first moved in. Being a stickler for organization and him knowing exactly where everything goes. 

You teased him often by calling him a control freak and he just scoffed and rolled his eyes at you while you giggled away at his antics. 

“Well thank you, whoever it was.” You said, moving away from his side of the bed. Grabbing your plate before getting yourself comfortable. 

Enjoying the homemade dinner thoroughly, and knowing to bring two forks because if you knew Ryomen, you knew he would try and sneakily steal your food whenever you ate infront of him. He said he was simply collecting his taxes from you, like some king of a medivial kingdom. 

It never failed to make you smile. These calm, soft moments with him. Knowing him more intimately than anyone else, filled your heart with sweet joy and satisfaction. Which made your dinner taste all the more delicious. 

authors note: EEEKKK this one is really cute, i love the way it turned out !! i love me some soft sukuna :))) hehehehe i hope you guys enjoyeddd !! and thank you for readinggg <3

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 69)

It seemed like the moment Tera got her fangs she became obsessed with using them.

It had been multiple weeks of wrangling her to let things go, to not utterly destroy every blanket, pillow, toy, or random chunks of metal she found. She was like a puppy, using her fangs as an extra hand to feel out the world with her mouth.

Both Uzi's and N's hands were covered in tiny bite marks, Tera would never truly try to bite either of them, but that didn't mean she didn't nibble and knaw at their hands whenever she got the chance, like love bites, only slightly more painful.

It didn't help that Uzi's mood was already on an extremely short emotional fuse. She was constantly tired, her back ached and she was utterly sick of getting sick. More was coming out of her then she was putting in, and yet she was still gaining weight.

Month two of her pregnancy was looking to be a worse rehash of month one, where she was decidedly less worried and emotionally vulnerable and much more pissed beyond measure.

V was also sticking around more.

It was weird.

They lived side by side, so they'd always seen quite a bit of her, even if it was only passing conversation as they went to and from wherever they were going. But now V was inviting herself over. Offering to help with Tera, or asking if she needed oil, or something to eat, or just… being considerate.

Uzi wasn't sure what exactly was going on with her. But V also refused to take no for an answer. So… she was just hanging around, mostly dozing off on the couch or lazily playing with Tera, who's favorite game was now ‘tug of war’.

“Are you gonna tell me why you suddenly want to be here? Or are you just going to keep me guessing?” Uzi finally asked after the third day that week V had miraculously gotten into the apartment without her knowledge.

“Nope.” V hummed back, the ‘p’ popping as she went back to playing with the newly energized solver kit, tugging on a rope toy made for dogs.

Despite V's normal antagonistic behavior, her presence was actually incredibly… welcome.

Taking care of Tera, doing the household chores. And trying to decipher what the hell was up with Doll, before had been no problem. Was starting to get a little difficult, in part because of Tera's new penchant for destruction, but her core felt heavy and sluggish, stuttering as it used quite a bit of power to combine her and N's code together. Her core was even lighter now, becoming a light shade of lavender instead of a deep violet.

And having someone around to help, even if Uzi couldn't decipher the reason why, was not something she was going to complain about.

At this very moment though, she was washing bottles in preparation to refill them, while also replacing the rubber caps, as now they were full of bite marks and rips.

“Sooo where do you get the oil?” V asked, for the first time genuine curiosity in her voice. And Uzi didn't even turn around to answer as she scrubbed the inside of another bottle.

“Uh… the nursery?”

“No. Not the oil you drink, the oil she drinks. N was saying something about her oil needing to be filtered or, whatever.”

“Me?”

“… Do you like… prick yourself?”

“What? No. I have a side pannel that opens… did you not know?” Now Uzi turned to look at her, finding her holding Tera up in the air with one hand, away from the rope toy.

“No. Why should I know? I didn't pay too much attention to who I was killing.” V always had the tone like she didn't care or wasn't interested, but it really wasn't fooling Uzi anymore, if V truly wasn't interested, she wouldn't have asked.

“Yup. Every worker drone has a side panel, has a oil port, a charge port, everything we need to take care of kids. N doesn't have one, we checked. So you probably don't either.” She explained, thankful that it's the last time she'd have to explain this.

“Huh.”

Then there was silence again, Uzi trying to get a particularly stubborn stain off a bottle and going to town at it, growling slightly as if that would help scare it away.

When her head suddenly felt like lead.

She leaned over the sink as the feeling of extreme dizziness washed over her, her core skipping beats as her vison went blurry and her hearing faded into muffled sounds.

She dropped the bottle and it clattered against the floor, bouncing away on the tile. And gripped the side of the sink, feeling herself becoming unsteady as her legs wobbled and her stomach turned exactly once.

Then she began to fall to the side, unable to keep her balance, vison blinking out, bracing to hit the hard floor with what little withering control she had over her body.

Only she never did, something had caught her halfway down, cradling her gently and purring softly, she almost thought it was N, with how gentle they were, but he wouldn't be home for a couple more hours.

When her head stopped spinning and her core went back to its normal tempo, the first thing she felt was the plush texture of the couch, not the cold tile of the floor. And the feeling of a warm hand on her forehead.

And when her eyelights opened, she realized it was V. Holding her head to check her temperature.

What. The Fuck.

“V?”

“Oh good, you're fine.” She immediately removed her hand, but still hovering over her as V looked down at her, looking as blasé as ever.

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Why are you complaining?” V quipped back, putting a hand in her hip as Uzi sat up, and shook the lead from her head.

Uzi sighed, grumbling as she truly, honestly, did not have the energy to argue with V over her weirdness, but she guessed she shouldn't complain, as he had just been saved from hitting the floor.

“Oh whatever, thanks for catching me… I guess.” Uzi went to get back up, but V pushed her back into the couch with a decent amount of force, dropping Tera into Uzi's lap before walking over to the sink herself.

“Mmmhm.” Was all V said, before beginning to finish cleaning out the bottles herself.

With another long-suffering, confused sigh, Uzi took V's previous position of playing tug of war with Tera, letting V do whatever the hell she wanted.

Next->

[ace-does-stuff]

a formal introduction

Summary: Branch finds a moment to introduce Poppy to the members of Kismet properly

Warnings: None!

Authors Note: I know I'm insane about the Kismet Poly thing but trust me guys, it's good even without the side of broppy I included to ease the wider fanbase into the idea of it. @ohposhers briefly went insane over this with me so I'm tagging 'em just for that, so did @bulliestrolls

"Branch! You never told me you were part of Kismet!" Poppy squealed, she was bouncing a little bit, holding tight to Branch's hand.

He gives an amused hum, "You want introductions don't you?"

Poppy nods eagerly, "Of course I do!"

"Promise not to freak out?"

"I promise."

Branch leads her over to where the members of Kismet sit, Ablaze, Trickee, Hype, and Boom. They're huddled in one general spot, lounging on bean bags and chairs and sipping drinks. They all perk up a bit and straighten their posture when they see Branch walking over with Poppy.

"You're finally gonna show off your girlfriend?" Hype asked eagerly.

"Actually, I'm showing off you four," Branch said.

He got a chorus of intrigued and teasing 'ooh's and 'ah's from the ensemble.

"Poppy, these are my on and off boyfriends-"

"Your what?!"

"We've been off for a couple years now, Queen Poppy," Trickee said, "No need to worry about us stealing your man."

"You dated the members of Kismet?!" Poppy exclaimed.

Branch recoiled a bit at the volume she displayed, "It's still a hush hush thing, none of my brothers know."

Poppy nodded and zipped her lips, dragging thumb and pointer across them to imitate the zipping. She stilled grinned, "Got it."

"Wait, you didn't tell anyone about us?" Hype asked.

"Anyone at all?" Ablaze chimed in with.

Branch shook his head, "Then they'd realize I was part of Kismet, Hype." He took a seat on one of the chairs, "Which would've made it really hard to isolate myself."

"You should've stayed with us," Boom said, "You were so close to getting back your true colors."

"Why did you leave them?" Poppy asked.

Branch heaved a sigh, "Because I was getting tired of performing shows. I started graying mid performance sometimes, it was stressful."

Boom leaned against Branch and bumped their shoulders together gently, "Yeah, and then we'd all give you hugs and kisses and a fruit drink and your colors would come back."

Hype did the same to Branch's other shoulder, "Boom's right, we always took care of you when your colors started to fade."

Trickee rests an arm on the back of the chair, "That we most certainly did, we never let you go fully gray for even a second."

Ablaze knocks his head against Branch's gently, "The guys have good points Branch, we took real good care of ya."

Branch's face burns bright as his bandmate relish him with attention.

"Aw, how cute," Poppy teased.

All of them scattered away from Branch like cockroaches.

"Sorry, Queen Poppy," Boom said, a nervous laugh on his voice as he spoke, "Old habits die hard."

Poppy laughs and waves off his concerns, "I don't mind much, I'm sure that there's plenty of Branch to go around."

"Are you sacrificing me to my on and off boyfriends right now, Poppy?" Branch asked.

Poppy nodded with this smug smirk on her face, "That's exactly what I'm doing right now."

"Are you for real, Queen Poppy?"

"Really, you're not joking?"

"You're serious about this?"

"We can have him again?"

Questions assaulted Poppy from every single direction and Branch gave her this look. It spoke volumes, it said he was happy with just her, it said he wasn't ready for his brothers to know he was a bit queer, it said he needed more time before trying with Kismet again. And Poppy heard every single thing that look said but she pushed it to the side, pushing Branch past his comfort zone has worked in the past.

"Of course you can, only on one condition," Poppy answered with a smirk on her face.

They all waited patiently and obediently for her condition to be stated.

"I still get to be his girlfriend."

"We'd never dream of taking him from ya."

"Of course, Queen Poppy!"

"He's absolutely still yours in part."

"Really we don't need him twenty four seven."

Poppy's just smirking as Branch shoots her a small glare. He sits up and brushes off the touches and attention from the likes of his bandmates. He drags her out of the room to a place where Kismet can't hear the discussion that Poppy knows is coming.

He brings a finger and presses it to Poppy's chest, "You."

"Me?" Poppy asked.

"Yes you, I haven't talked to these guys in years, Poppy," Branch fumed.

Poppy gently nudged his paw away from her, "It'll be good for your health."

"To be doted on and coddled like I'm helpless?"

"Exactly! You stress too much, I can't take enough care of you alone! It's a blessing, Branch."

"Four of my sort of ex's showing up and you deciding I should get back together with them is a blessing?"

"Yes! Of course it is! I promise you, most of the time it'll still be me and you," She gently grabs his paw and holds it carefully. She gives a soft smile, "I promise."

Branch squeezes her paw, "Alright, Poppy, I'll try them again."

"Now let's go talk about a housing arrangement if we're all gonna live together!"

"One step at a time, Poppifer."

[lesbicosmos]

day 6 of @painlandweek !!

day 6 prompt: free day!!

summary:

after edwin's confession, charles has a lot to think about. he finds himself watching edwin even closer than usual, and realisations happen. or a series of moments post-s1 that gave charles rowland a bit of a crisis

notes:

title from not a lot, just forever by adrianne lenker

this fic was also a collaboration with the amazing @every-moment-a-different-sound !! they made these gorgeous gifs based on my fic <33

also on ao3!!

through your eyes i see a smile you bring to me

He’d been thinking. A lot. Charles Rowland didn’t do that. He was more of a ‘do first, think later’ kind of guy. He said what was on his mind, about most things at least. He made most decisions in a spur of the moment. He wouldn’t think twice before jumping in front of danger for someone he cared about – usually Edwin. And Edwin Payne was exactly the catalyst for Charles’s current intense thinking.

There were four facts he definitely knew:

Edwin was the person he loved most in the entire world.

Edwin was in love with him.

Charles’s instincts were, and had been for years, to make Edwin happy no matter what.

Charles didn’t want to do anything that might eventually hurt him if he was wrong.

Perhaps the third fact ought to have started some conversation about his own self-worth issues, but Charles decided to file that away for later. All he knew now was that he had to think this through. He had to be sure before he made a decision that could end up being stupid in the long run.

All this thinking had led Charles to focus on Edwin somehow even more than he had before. If he was in the room while Charles was supposed to be doing something, he would be distracted. If Charles was alone while he was supposed to be doing something, he would be distracted. It seemed that if Charles wanted to think through this as much as he should, he’d have to sacrifice his productivity in the agency. And as long as no one noticed or mentioned it, he was more than willing to do so.

In his staring, Charles had come to realise some tiny things about Edwin that he may have perhaps noticed before, but never really noticed. Like the way he would tap his notebook with the pencil while thinking about what to write; the way he would run his hands through his perfectly slicked hair whenever he was confused, or stressed, or embarrassed; the way his eyes would light up whenever Niko suggested they watch another episode of Scooby Doo. The one thing that wouldn’t leave Charles’s mind, however, is something he had noticed Edwin did around him.

He'd noticed it after the Night Nurse’s most recent visit. She was still bitter that she was being forced to oversee the agency in the first place, so had been her usual snarky self.

“I don’t know why I even agreed to help you two insolent boys. Oh wait, I didn’t agree to this! Please deal with this yourselves, I have a lot of paperwork to do!” she had said before she left the office.

She hadn’t physically used the door, but the annoyed way in which she disappeared from sight gave the implication of slamming it in their faces.

Immediately after she’d left, Charles had turned to look at Edwin, pursing his lips and looking down his nose at him in an attempt to recreate her bitchy expression.

“You two insolent boys,” he said imitating her high-pitched voice. “I have a lot of paperwork!”

And Edwin laughed. A real, genuine, from-the-chest laugh. And he smiled. It was exactly that smile that flicked some switch inside Charles’s brain.

Whenever he smiled around most people, it would be visible more in his eyes than anywhere else, his mouth only curling up slightly, his lips pressed tightly shut. Sometimes however, oh how his face brightened. Occasionally he would smile with his eyes and his mouth, showing his teeth in a glowing grin. It was beautiful.

It hit Charles that the only times he’d ever seen Edwin smile like that was when he was around him and him alone. It was as though that beaming grin was reserved just for him, and Charles savoured it every single time. He made it his death’s mission to make Edwin smile as often as physically possible. Every time he managed it, he felt like he had won.

Was it normal to think that way about your best mate’s smile? Was it normal to be elated to discover he seemingly has a smile especially for you? These were the thoughts that were currently doing laps around Charles’s brain.

The next time Charles found himself in crisis mode over Edwin was a few weeks later. They’d had a walk-in potential client, a young woman whose family had kept meeting unfortunate accidents in their house, who, after dying of a fall on their staircase, had discovered the house was actually haunted by a creature she suspected to be a poltergeist. They had heard her case, and were just onto the topic of payment when she pulled out an amulet, offering it with the explanation that it glowed in the presence of anything that had been in the presence of a demon. Notably, it was not glowing in the presence of either of the boys.

“Danielle,” Edwin began, in the tone Charles recognised as the way he always spoke when he was about to make a point and prove himself right. “You brought your case to us and we listened and agreed to take it, so clearly you trust us and our reputation. Hence, you should also have assumed that we, as supernatural detectives, have come into contact with demonic forces before. And if you hadn’t noticed, there is no glow in that amulet. It is clearly a fake. You really should have thought about that before bringing it to us as payment.”

Charles just stared at him, in awe. Edwin had done this many times, caught tricky clients in their lies as easy as anything. He’d done it with Emma when she’d brought Crystal’s case to them, claiming not to have any form of payment at all. Charles had always admired him when he did that, but now he really thought about it, the way he mesmerised him might have been for a reason deeper than simply ‘my best friend is so cool’.

“What?” the client gasped.

“The amulet is just a piece of jewellery. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“No?” she said, tearing up.

“Oh,” Edwin immediately softened. “Well, let me apologise for the last thirty seconds. It has happened a surprising amount of times over the last thirty-three years that we’ve had clients con us with claims they have a magical item to give as payment.”

“I didn’t know, I swear. It was the only thing I could think of to give because it was a family heirloom and my grandma had always told me it was magic. I’m just trying to help my family, please, my twins, they’re only four, they get into enough accidents as it is, I couldn’t bear for them to go through what I did because of that thing-”

“Danielle,” Edwin’s voice was so different from how it had been previously, no longer sharp and quick-witted but now soft and comforting. “I promise we will do everything we can to rid your home of whatever spirit it is that is lurking there.”

“But I don’t have anything else to give you-”

“We do occasionally take cases without payment, if the situation is dire. This counts. Do not worry about it.”

“Really? Thank you so much!”

“We are happy to help.”

Charles would have said something too, reassured her that they’d do the best job they could, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Edwin. Somehow, the switch to his comforting, encouraging voice had even more of an effect on him.

When Edwin turned to Charles after Danielle left and asked if everything was okay since he’d been oddly quiet throughout the interview, he just smiled, claiming he was aces. Technically, it wasn’t a complete lie, just perhaps not the entire truth. He didn’t really know how to say ‘yeah, I’m fine, I just can’t seem to stop staring at you lately no matter what you’re doing,’ without it sounding at least a little strange.

The staring thing didn’t go away.

It had been a very warm day – not that the boys could actually tell, obviously. They’d only assumed since Niko had sauntered into the office in a flowy pink and orange summer dress with her bright pink heart sunglasses perched on her head, closely followed by Crystal in a purple mesh top and brown shorts. Their assumption had then been confirmed by the hour of complaining that followed.

While Edwin insisted on staying at the office to finish researching about demonic fungi, Charles tagged along with the girls when they eventually got too tired of the heat and decided to go and get ice-cream. He knew he couldn’t eat any himself, but he liked going into town with them, it made him feel a tiny bit like a normal living teenager for a little while. He’d gone into town to the cinema or to the arcade with his friends often when he was alive – even if those memories now left a sour taste in his mouth despite the fact taste was one of the senses he’d lost years ago.

The girls had nearly finished their ice-creams by the time they returned, Crystal giggling quietly when she noticed Niko had gotten some on the tip of her nose. Charles was just thinking about how much he loved seeing Crystal so happy as they re-entered the office.

Charles immediately noticed the change in Edwin’s outfit. When they’d left, he’d been wearing his matching pinstripe blue-grey blazer and trousers, his bow-tie perfectly tied and straight. Now, he’d lost the blazer, and his bow-tie was nowhere to be seen, the top few buttons of his shirt undone just enough to reveal his collarbones. The shirt, Charles also noted, had short sleeves. He’d never known Edwin to wear a short-sleeved shirt. He’d roll the sleeves up occasionally when they were working in the office, but it was always the same white long-sleeve.

Edwin had been more experimental with his clothing choices since his change of outfit in Port Townsend had gained him compliments from both Niko and Charles, but it had still always been some variation of his usual get-up – only slight changes to the colour scheme, or the fabric, or exchanging his blazer for a jumper. Charles had never seen him dressed this casually.

“Cool shirt, mate,” he said, unable to keep the smile off his face. Perhaps it was a strange thing to say about a plain white shirt, but he didn’t know how else to mention it nonchalantly. He was already using enough of his brainpower to focus on stopping himself staring at Edwin’s arms.

"Thank you, Charles,” Edwin said, looking down momentarily in that awkward yet endearing way he did whenever anyone complimented him.

“Oh, good,” Crystal said, halfway through retying her hair in a bun. “I know you guys don’t feel the heat but just seeing you in that jacket was making me sweat buckets.”

“Yes, well, I figured I might as well dress for the occasion, as it were.”

“It looks great!” Niko said excitedly.

Edwin smiled at her. It was different to the smile he gave most people, his eyes brightening even more than usual, like they always did around Niko. It still wasn’t the beaming grin he reserved just for Charles, though.

“How’s the research going?” Charles asked, trying to change the subject.

“Well. I believe I have all the information we need to identify which type of infernal fungus it is that is plaguing our client."

“Brills!”

With that, Edwin stood up from the desk, walking around it to put the book back in its very specific spot on the shelf. It was only then that Charles noticed it wasn’t only his shirt Edwin had changed – he was now wearing shorts, too. They were still the same blue-grey pinstripe, still the same formal style as his usual trousers, only now they ended just above his knee. He walked around the room as confidently as always, and Charles desperately tried to tear his eyes away from Edwin’s legs. But it seemed something had short-circuited in his brain, because he couldn’t think about anything else.

“Hey,” Crystal nudged him. “You good there?”

Charles snapped his head around to look at her.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Crystal just raised her eyebrows at him, then turned back to Niko.

He’d been thinking his love for Edwin might not be entirely platonic for a while, but the realisation well and truly hit him after they’d just wrapped up a particularly hard-hitting case.

A 14-year-old boy had come to the office. He’d recently died but had no idea how, his only memory being coming home from a friend’s house, walking into the living room to find his mother sitting on the sofa watching TV, then feeling a sharp pain on the back of his head. When he woke up, he was in an ambulance, and was now detached from his physical form.

After some investigation of the boy’s house, they’d found a metal rod in the back of the shed in the garden. And they’d caught someone going there once every couple of days to check it was still hidden. It had been the boy’s father.

Edwin had felt horrible having to drag Charles away from hugging the sobbing boy as Death arrived for him.

Charles had been quiet ever since. Edwin hadn’t asked if he was okay – he already knew the answer. He’d dropped onto the sofa as soon as they got back to the office, his head in his hands. Edwin had given him a moment, before he slowly sat beside him, giving him as much space as possible.

“Charles?” he asked quietly, tapping his shoulder so gently it was barely even a touch.

Rather than push him away like he had back near the lighthouse in Port Townsend, Charles leaned into the touch. Edwin tentatively shuffled closer to him until Charles barely had to move to lean further into his space. Edwin just pulled him close.

“Whatever you need, I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m always here.”

Charles let out a sob into Edwin’s chest, and he only held him closer.

And in amongst all the anger, all the pain, all the tears, the love he felt was overwhelming. He was breaking down, sobbing, finally letting out emotions he felt like he’d been locking away for years, and instead of turning away from him, instead of judging him or telling him to ‘man-up’ like his friends or his father would have, Edwin Payne just held him. And Charles couldn’t contain the intense love he felt for him. He’d do anything for this to never end, for Edwin to always be there for him and for him to always be there for Edwin in return. He wanted to stay in Edwin’s arms forever. And luckily for him, they had just that. They had forever, eternity.

They held each other until the sun rose, and talked about it in the morning.

Charles was reeling after his realisation. He was confident now. He just had to find a way to tell him.

The four of them were walking down the street together, finally just hanging out as a group outside of a case. He’d zoned out watching Edwin once again, his mouth slightly agape, this time imagining different scenarios where he confessed that he was wrong on that staircase while Edwin was several paces ahead, having been dragged towards a Scooby-Doo themed shop window display by Niko.

Crystal nudged him in the side from her spot beside him.

“You sure you’re okay? You’ve been weirdly…spacey recently,” she said, a concerned look on her face.

Charles turned to her, voicing the only coherent thought he had.

“I think I’m in love with Edwin.”

[pastellieria]

The latest round of AO3 comment discourse crossing my dash made me suddenly realize that people are just taking it as a given that AO3 is a "fandom community website". AO3 is often directly compared to Livejournal and other older fandom hubs amidst laments about how "no one cares about participating in their community anymore".

But AO3 is not a "community" website. It's not social media. It's a fanfic archive that was designed to center the fics first and foremost. There is no space on the site for general, casual fandom discussion. You can't even DM other users. The site was designed this way on purpose to protect writers, because its creators were familiar with the ways in which writers have been harassed on other sites and wanted to minimize direct access to writers as much as possible, but that decision comes with the tradeoff of limiting the amount of communication and discussion between fans that is possible on the site.

This is, to be clear, not a criticism of AO3. It accomplishes its goal of being an archive very well. I don't particularly want DMs or larger discussion forums on the site, and I enjoy how it centers the writing it hosts. But as it exists now, it is simply not built to be a "community" and does not function as one. Unlike sites like Livejournal where fic posting and general interpersonal fandom interactions all took place in the same space, fics are posted to AO3 while the "community" for any given fandom now largely takes place on Twitter, Tumblr, Discord, or another site, depending on the fandom.

You're free to personally dislike those spaces and voice valid criticisms about how they function as communities, but they are undeniably where the actual "community" parts of most fandoms currently reside. These sites, not AO3, are where most fans talk to one another, form friendships, and express themselves. It's not impossible to do these things on AO3, but it is not the norm because the site simply is not designed that way.

The latest posts I have seen about commenting culture have gotten this dynamic exactly backwards. If readers are discussing a fic amongst themselves on Twitter or Discord, they're characterized as antisocial and accused of "not participating in the fandom community". But Twitter and Discord are the fandom community sites! The "bookclub" servers and Twitter threads are where the community bonds are being forged between fans! These spaces are the modern analogue to the old Livejournal groups and web rings, not the comments section of any one individual fanfic on AO3.

If an author's only interaction with their fandom is to post fics to AO3 and passively wait to be found, and they aren't seeking out their fellow fans in these other spaces and interacting with them... they are the ones who are "not participating" as much as the readers that are so readily being cast in so much of this discussion as "selfish" or deliberately spiteful for not commenting "enough".

I understand why many of my fellow writers feel this way. I too often find socialization on sites like Twitter and Discord draining and difficult. It takes time and effort to build friendships organically, discuss ideas and share snippets to pique people's interest in a fic before it is posted, and provide reciprocal effort when it comes to everyone else's ideas and snippets and stories, and there are many days when I just don't have the energy for it all. At the same time, I'm also very curious about my readers' thoughts on my stories, and if I learned that they were being discussed in a server I couldn't access, I would want to know what was being said. It's a natural impulse to feel curiosity like this when it comes to one's creative work. And of course, I also love getting comments on my own fics and I'm not immune to feeling disappointed when a fic seems to "flop".

However, it's not fair to take out feelings of disappointment and frustration on readers for participating in their fandom in the spaces where their fandom's community actually exists. If you find out that fandom discussions are happening in a place where you are not present, you have a choice in what action you will take. You can either make the effort to join the discussion, or you can knowingly distance yourself from it. Neither of these choices are objectively correct for every single individual's situation, but you, the AO3 denizen, are the one who needs to choose whether or not to engage with your fandom's community, because AO3 is not where the community lives.

If you choose not to join your fellow fans in their actual community hubs because of low social battery, annoying features, or a site culture you dislike, that's perfectly fine and a valid choice... but you shouldn't be surprised when the author who is participating in their fandom outside of AO3 gets more comments on their fics. And you certainly don't have the right to project your own social withdrawal onto your readers and accuse them of maliciously withholding "community" from you.

Comments are wonderful, and positively encouraging people to leave comments on the fics they enjoy is completely fine, but comments are not community. AO3 is not a community website and in fact is designed to put us writers behind a wall for our own protection. We are the ones who need to choose whether or not to venture out from behind the wall and join our communities, instead of getting angry that the community isn't spontaneously appearing in our comments sections.

[jamieroyjamieroy]

@v88sy I have started the fic about Tommy going missing you requested I feel like it could be a long one! But a little snippet for you.

Tommy rarely takes time off work. That’s not to say he is a workaholic, he just waits until his days off to spend time doing the things he loves. Sure he works most holidays because he doesn’t have much of a family that is worth spending that time with, but he isn’t married to his job. However a week after breaking up with Evan, Tommy is having trouble focusing on his job when he is there. When he is home he can’t find the motivation to go to trivia with friends or play basketball with his other first responders. Don’t even start on the car that has been on his lift, untouched, for days. Tommy is crawling out of his skin, he needs to get away from everything that is reminding him of Evan.

Tommy caves and asks his captain for two weeks off, it’s such an unexpected request that his captain tells him to take three weeks. If Tommy is asking for time off, his captain knows something is up. He tried to get Tommy to talk to him about it, but really they don’t have that kind of relationship so Tommy simply says he needs a break.

Tommy finishes the shift knowing he has three weeks to work through all that was said between him and Evan. Three weeks of solitude to try and get Evan out of his system and then he can come back to work, spend time with his colleagues and acquaintances outside of work and find some contentment in his hobbies again. He can get back to the person he was before Evan, he might not have been as happy as he was when he was with Evan but he wasn’t unhappy either. Not like he is now.

“Kinard, why have you been so quiet lately? Did you and your boy fight?” Lucy asks jokingly towards the end of their shift until she catches the pained look on Tommy’s face. “Oh shit! You did, didn’t you?”

“No, no fight” Tommy says hoping she will leave it at that but knowing he isn’t going to be that lucky.

“Did he go full Buck on you and do something stupid?” Lucy shook her head knowing what Buck could be like.

“No, I broke up with him. It’s fine, though,” Tommy replied trying to rush off before Lucy could make a big deal about it.

“It doesn’t look like it’s fine. You have looked like someone kicked your dog all week, I have just been too nice to mention it” Lucy half smiles “What happened? It’s cool if you don’t want to talk about it, but I'm here if you need to talk” Lucy softens and places a hand on Tommy's arm.

“Thanks Donato. I appreciate it but I’m ok. I’m gonna finish up here and take a few weeks off to clear my head. So I’ll see you when I get back.” Tommy says wishing that knowing look on Lucy’s face wasn’t calling him a liar quite so loudly.

“If you’re sure. I’ll text you every few days and check in with you. Make sure you haven’t eaten yourself into an ice cream coma or something,” Lucy says preparing to find out exactly what happened with these two idiots, one way or another.

“I’m actually going out of town, off-grid. No reception for miles” Tommy makes up his mind on where he is going then and there “So I will text you when I’m back and maybe, could you not mention to anyone that I’m out of town, please?” Tommy begs, knowing that Lucy understand who the anyone is.

“On one condition.” Lucy replies seriously, shelving her plans to text Hen and find out why Tommy and Buck broke up for the moment “Send me your precise location of where you are staying before you leave and I won’t mention it to him or anyone he knows”

Tommy’s shoulders relax at her offer “Done! Thanks, Lucy, maybe when I get back, we can go for a drink and I will tell you all about it”

“I’m going to hold you to that. My couch is always free if you need another place to hide out, too,” Lucy says, giving Tommy a long hug “I will see you soon. Be careful wherever you end up, ok?”  Tommy hangs on a little longer than usual, Lucy is the closest person to him at Harbor but he isn’t ready to talk about Evan with her just yet. Moving away from Lucy, Tommy nods and turns towards the locker rooms to gather his things and head home to pack.

[sockablock]

Rating: General Audiences (No Archive Warnings Apply) Words: 2,181 Summary: Wedding preparations are going off without a hitch until Senshi asks Falin whether her parents are coming. Marcille’s hands freeze mid-daisy twist. Chilchuck closes his eyes and waits. Kabru, who had given up on weaving hours ago and was mostly just watching the others make garlands, quietly casts his gaze to Laios. (or: Laios, Falin, and Marcille talk about parents.)

Wedding preparations are going off without a hitch until Senshi asks Falin whether her parents are coming.

Marcille’s hands freeze mid-daisy twist. Chilchuck closes his eyes and waits. Kabru, who had given up on weaving hours ago and was mostly just watching the others make garlands, quietly casts his gaze to Laios.

“I’ll have to know how much to mutton to serve,” Senshi continues. “Or would they prefer the eel serpent instead?”  

Marcille can practically hear Chilchuck counting to ten under his breath. He only makes it to eight before Falin says, “Oh…I haven’t actually heard back from them yet—”

And Laios starts, “Of course they’re not—Falin, you what? You didn’t—”

“Yes,” Marcille interjects. “She invited them.”

Laios stands up so fast that his chair falls over and he hits the table. His robe send daisies scattering to the ground. “Wh—but…why would you do that?”

“Because they’re our parents, Laios,” Falin looks up at him. “They should be here when I get married.”

His expression darkness. “No they shouldn’t. Your wedding day is supposed to be happy.”

“It’s what she wants,” Marcille says, surprisingly forcefully. “It’s what will make her happy.”

“What do you know?” Laios snaps.

Marcille gasps. “I—that’s—” She seems too stunned or angry to speak. For a moment after, the garden is quiet as a graveyard, everyone fixed in horrified place.

Then Marcille shoots up and slaps the table. “It’s my wedding too!” she says.

“They’re our parents!”

“So what? You won’t even have to talk to them! They’ll be seated somewhere else!”

“Have you already thought this through? Why haven’t you said anything?”

“Because we knew you’d be—”

Laios turns to Falin, utterly betrayed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Falin looks like she’s about to cry, which is when Chilchuck and Kabru, acting almost in unison, grab Senshi and say, “Let’s go check on Izutsumi,” and half-drag, half-run themselves out of the garden.

Falin twists the edge of her shirt in her lap. Marcille huffs loudly. “See? This is exactly what we wanted to avoid—”

“Marcille,” Falin says.

“Huh?”

She takes Marcille’s hand. “Can you give us a second?”

Marcille starts. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Laios has fixed his glower at the ground to staunchly avoid looking at Marcille.

She sighs. “Okay, fine. But seriously, if you need me, I’ll be right over—”

Falin squeezes her hand. “I know. Thanks.”

With one last glance –now wavering between righteousness and nervous regret – Marcille trudges out of the courtyard.

The energy seeps out of Laios in that moment, though his anger clearly remains. He sits down and grabs a daisy, comically tiny in his large, worn hands, and starts pinching the stem.

“I…when did you ask them?”

Falin walks around the stone picnic table to sit next to her brother. She spends most of her time barefoot these days – if she can get away with it – and hardly makes a sound as she moves.

Her shoulder bumps Laios’s. He doesn’t lean into it, but doesn’t shift away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I wrote to them right after we settled the date. I didn’t want…I know letters can take a while to reach them, so I didn’t want them to miss it.”

“I don’t know why you’re still writing to them,” Laios bites. It has less edge than before, though. “It’s not like they care.”

“That’s not true—” Falin begins.

“They sent you away!”

“They did everything they could first,” Falin says. She tries to firm her voice up as they begin treading on old ground, though it occurs to her that they’ve never spoken this plainly about it before. “And it was for the best, especially after you…” She bites her lip. Then flinches as her fangs draw a bead of blood.

“Falin!” Laios says, looking alarmed. “Are you okay?”

She wipes at her mouth. “Don’t worry, brother.” She tries for a smile. “I still forget I have these sometimes.”

Falin knows Laios well enough to see him grapple with the urge to say something about dragon-chimera teeth sharpness while also stay mad enough to be taken seriously.

“I am really sorry,” Falin says again before Laios can pass out from the internal struggle. “You’re right. I should have said something.”

Laios’s shoulders slump. He sighs and reaches for another daisy.

“I do know why you’re still writing to them,” he admits, tying two stems together. “I know that the way you feel about them is different than the way I do. It is your wedding. If you want them there, that’s all that matters.”

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. I was only going to bring it up if they said they were coming, otherwise I would have worried you for nothing. But…I ended up hiding it from you anyway, and that was wrong.”

“Would you have uninvited them if I asked you to?”

“Of course,” Falin says immediately. “I want you to have a good time too. It’s important to me that it’s a happy day for everyone I care about.”

Laios manages a tiny grin at that. He holds up the start of his flower chain. “You know, if you’re worried about how long it’s taking them to answer, I can just summon them here. I am the king of a whole country, after all.” Then his face goes slack. “You’ve told them I’m the king, right?”

“Er…”

Laios groans when Falin trails off. “They don’t even know yet?”

“They might,” Falin says quickly. “I’ve written to them and said that you beat the Lord of the Dungeon and people really like you for it. And Chilchuck says that pretty much everyone in the world has heard the story by now.” At Laios’s expression, Falin amends, “Maybe not everyone. Maybe just…mostly everyone.”

Laios sighs. “I really hate being king, you know. Well—that’s not what I mean. It’s important to me that I’m able to change people’s minds and make a place where everyone I care about is happy. And I know I can only do that because I’m the king. But…I didn’t even care about all that ‘leadership’ stuff when we were kids, let alone now.”

“That’s what makes you a good at it,” Falin says.

“I know,” Laios’s mouth quirks. “That’s what Kabru and Marcille keep—oh, Marcille. Shoot. I need to talk to her.”

Laios moves to stand, but Falin reaches a hand out and catches him by the wrist. “Wait,” she says. “About that—”

“I know,” Laios groans, “I shouldn’t have yelled—”

“No,” Falin says. “It’s not just that. Has she…talked to you about her invitations yet?”

“Huh?” Laios blinks. “Oh, uh, no. Why?”

Falin’s gaze casts downward. “She was defending me, but it’s not only that. You should ask her about it.”

“Uh, okay,” Laios says. “Is that all?”

Falin lets go of his sleeve. “Yep.”

***

Laios finds Marcille sullenly conjuring little butterflies out of the courtyard’s central fountain and making them chase each other around the statue of a particularly ugly fish. When she notices him approaching, the butterflies all shake and collapse into waves of water.

She waits until he’s a few feet away from her before saying, “I know you think it’s going to be awful, but ever since Falin sent the invitation I’ve been thinking really hard about this. There’s lots of tables, and you’ll be next to Falin and me at the head one, so if we put some decorative hedges between us, you won’t even be able to see them.”

“I don’t think Falin would have invited our parents just to hide them behind a bush the whole night,” Laios says. “Can I sit?”

Marcille eyes him warily, then exhales. Her ears droop when the tension leaves her. “I owe you an apology, don’t I?”

Laios sits in the grass and leans against the edge of the fountain next to Marcille’s staff. “I do too. Um, maybe even more than one, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Laios rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, I don’t actually know. Falin was kind of vague about it.”

“Did she tell you about my mom?” Marcille says, suddenly rigid again.

“Oh” Laios says, now incredibly out of his depth. “No?”

“Oh.” Marcille slumps.

Laios nudges her leg in a sign of peace. “Has something about your mother been bothering you?” His mouth opens when the clues finally line up. “Oh, Marcille. Is she not coming?”

Marcille knocks her staff over when she leans down to grab Laios around the neck and start to cry.

“Sff…yes…I mean…no. But it’s—it’s more complicated than that.”

Laios adjusts his position so he can pat Marcille on the back. Teary rivulets stick to the fur of his cloak.

“Marcille…I’m so sorry.”

“She…it’s not that she doesn’t want to be there. Not at all.” Marcille sniffs. “But—politically, it’s really hard for her right now. The human court she works for is basically controlled by the Western Elves. And they aren’t exactly our enemies, but they’ve made it pretty clear that they’re watching us carefully. And…I’m technically criminal, and even though Falin is the king’s sister, pretty much everyone knows she’s a chimera, which my mom doesn’t care about, but lots of other people do, so…”

“So she can’t come,” Laios says.

“No,” Marcille says. “But it’s not yours or Falin’s faults,” she adds with the next breath. “Seriously, I don’t want either of you beating yourselves up about it. It’s just the way things are. And my mom would probably want to bring her new husband with her anyway, which…” Marcille makes an expression that is only worsened by her red cheeks and runny nose.

Laios chooses not to ask Marcille to elaborate, instead passing her a handkerchief. Marcille blows her nose loudly.

“I just thought that if neither of my parents could be there, at least yours and Falin’s could.”

The fountain burbles gently behind them.

“Right,” Laios says.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Marcille adds quietly. “Not that—no, I’m not saying you should be grateful, or anything, and I don’t really approve of the way they treated your or Falin either. I mean, they’re old enough to know better.”

“Uh, right,” Laios says, slightly less certainly.

“I wish it was easier,” Marcille finishes. “That’s all.”

The two of them sit together in silence for a moment, watching pale wisps of clouds trail across the afternoon sky.

“What if she wore a disguise?” Laios says eventually, breaking the spell.

Marcille snorts in surprise. “What?”

“Or casts an illusion spell. She can, right? Then no one would even have to know.”

“I—I guess I didn’t think of that.”

“You were busy trying to figure out how to put my parents up a tree?”

“It wouldn’t have been up a tree!” Marcille laughs and slaps Laios on the shoulder. “If they’re going to be my in-laws, I at least want them to like me.”

“Did you know Falin hasn’t even told them I’m a king, yet?”

“She told me she wasn’t sure if you wanted them to know, so she didn’t mention it.”

Laios and Marcille share a look. “That sounds like Falin,” Laios says.

“Do you want them to know?” Marcille asks. “It might actually be good for us, especially since the North is usually so apolitical.”

“Er, is it?” Laios says, and Marcille rolls her eyes.

“Aren’t you from there?”

“I was a kid—”

“Then aren’t any of Kabru’s lessons sinking in?”

“Of course they are,” Laios says defensively. “Did you know that gnomes have a special ceremony they perform when young gnomes come of age? It’s called the—”

“I mean lessons about things other than how cool other races are. Like diplomacy? And tactics?”

Laios sinks slightly lower into the grass. “Yes,” he says petulantly.

“Really?” Marcille says.

“Sort of?”

Marcille laughs. She’s about to add something else when suddenly, loud clamoring echoes from the open hall opposite the courtyard and Izutsumi shouts her way into view, closely trailed by Chilchuck, Senshi, and Kabru, all urgently trying to pull her back.

“—do you mean, not now? I didn’t waste all that time picking daisies for nothing—oh, there they are!”

“No, seriously—” Chilchuck begins, then they all freeze when they spot Laios and Marcille.

“Oh,” Kabru blinks. “Is…are we interrupting anything?”

“We can come back,” Senshi adds. “I get it now.” He also winks, which is more confusing.

“It’s okay,” Marcille calls back. “Actually, we should all get back to the table, now. We’ve been slacking for long enough!”

“Did I miss something?” Izutsumi asks. “Why isn’t anyone working on the necklaces?”

“They’re not necklaces,” Marcille sighs. “They’re garlands. Falin says that in the North—”

“Why don’t we let her explain it?” Laios stands. “Come on. We should probably make a few extra too, just in case. So it’s good you brought more daisies, Izutsumi.”

"You're welcome," she preens.

And then they all go together to find Falin.