#who writes in almost every mystery book at my library

[chelseeebe]

everything has changed

you and steve were once the bestest of friends, cruelly torn apart when you’re forced to leave hawkins suddenly. fifteen years on, everything has changed and yet, nothing has changed.

i had this idea a while ago and then have recently become re-obsessed with the song so decided to give it a rewrite! it’s kinda giving seven x everything has changed and i love that. i have a sitcom level idea of a part two for this but i’m not sure it’ll ever come to fruition

18+. no smut but my blog is 18+ :) mostly just fluffy friends to lovers stuff hehe

‎♡‧₊˚

“you promise we’ll be friends forever?” steve asks, quirking his little eyebrows up. still so innocent, so unaware that the world was a cruel place.

“i promise!” you’d shrieked, toothy grin beaming over at him as you sat poised on the climbing frame. “we’ll write letters every week and in the summer you can come and visit!”

steve whooped with glee, the metal frame shaking from the force of his body, “okay! my mom has your mom’s number so i can call you,” grubby hands clinging onto yours.

you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug, wobbling atop of your tower. full of hope and your shared joy. oblivious to how the next 15 years would play out.

-

life hadn’t been so kind as to keep the two of you in contact. steve’s mom had tried to explain it to him, but his poor seven year old brain couldn’t quite grasp it.

it was only when he was older that he had realised what had happened.

you had been whisked away to california, your mother’s home state, far away from your dad. for your safety of course. his mother had warned him not to mention where you had gone to anyone, and he’d stuck by that.

and really, life had gotten in the way of thinking about you too much. basketball tryouts and getting girls into the back of his bmw had taken precedence over fading thoughts of freckly girls he once knew.

steve was at college now, admittedly tagging along with robin, but he was enjoying it. he played basketball, studied children’s education and had even scored himself a kinda stable girlfriend.

he’s sat in the library, book open and unread in front of him on the table as robin attempts to convince him to go out tonight.

“it’ll be fun! besides, i promised my roommate that i’d go.. y’know she’s having a hard time,” turning on the puppy dog eyes that more often than not, worked on him.

he groans, “i don’t know rob.. finals are coming up soon and i really need to get this down if i wanna graduate with you,” though he makes no effort to actually pick up the book, more interested in the coffee robin had used as a bargaining chip.

“steve,” almost warningly, “come for an hour,” nodding at him, as if to subliminally make him agree, “and then i’ll help you study all day tomorrow, okay?” tilting her head, bright green* eyes glistening at him.

“fine,” succumbing to her pleas, “but you owe me,” sending a glare across the table as he finally turns the page.

robin grins, happy she’d gotten her own way. again.

-

they walk arm in arm into the bar, squeezing through the crowd as they attempt to locate robin’s mysterious roommate.

steve sighs, whispering into robin’s ear, “why do i have to be here? just because your roommate is a lonely weirdo, doesn’t mean you have to drag me out too,” pouting like a petulant child.

she pinches his arm, causing him to yelp into her ear, “this is why i used to pray for the ceiling light to fall on your head in mrs click’s class,” pulling away from him as she spots whoever she’s looking for.

“wait.. what?” he calls out after her, weaving through the crowd to find her again.

she has her face buried into someone’s shoulder, blabbering about the busy bar and how good it was to get out.

robin pulls away, gesturing over to steve as this lucrative stranger meets his eye.

it’s you.

the little girl who had promised to be his best friend forever now stood before him, all grown up. he almost doesn’t believe it. in fact, he can’t. not until you speak, his name echoes around meaninglessly.

“what the fuck?” he gasps, still in utter shock.

“it’s really you? you’re.. oh my god, you’re steve of course you are,” wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug, the exact way you had fifteen years ago.

you even smell the same, a distinct sort of vanilla smell that takes his mind hurtling fifteen years into the past. he almost wants to throw up from the turbulence of it all.

“i can’t believe you’re here,” you gasp, still nuzzled into his shoulder, “this is so surreal,” now holding him at arms length, dissecting his face in the same way he was yours.

you looked the same and yet completely different. no more gappy smiles or sun bleached hair, very pretty. his seven year old self had thought so too, but your friendship had meant more.

“you two know each other?” robin perplexes, watching the scene unfold with zero context.

“we.. uh- yeah,” unsure of how much he can divulge, still under strict orders from his mom to never tell a soul where you’d gone.

“we were friends, i was born in hawkins so.. god, this is so weird,” you exasperate, letting go of his frame to talk to a bewildered robin.

“you’re from hawkins? you told me you were from california?” robins face twists in confusion.

“it’s a.. complicated story,” you look back at him, still trying to decipher if he was even real, “i moved away when i was young but we were like, best friends,” baring your teeth with your smile.

“well shit, i’ve got time,” robin laughs, sliding into the booth, she looks up at steve, “drinks on you.. you know, to celebrate,” wiggling her brows in that irritating way she did when she wanted something.

he dutifully obliges as you begin your story, he supposes that now you probably can.

your dad had moved out of hawkins a while ago, it wasn’t exactly a secret as to why you guys had just up and left so abruptly. steve had always hated him, made sure to glare daggers into his back when he and his mother would pass him in the street or in melvalds. he felt he owed you that.

plus steve was angry, angry that you’d had to leave him behind because of your dad. his tiny mind couldn’t comprehend that it was for the better, only understanding that it was your dad’s fault his best friend had been taken from him.

steve’s curious about california, how your life differed from hawkins. you play it off as nothing special but you smile differently when you speak of afternoons after school spent on the beach and learning to surf.

he makes some off-hand comment about making it out which causes your brows to furrow, “so did you,” tapping the table in front of him, “remember we would talk about college? living in a big house together?”

he chortles, almost choking on his beer, “yeah, with ten dogs and three cats,” shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all.

“wow..” robin butts in, “so you did this with other girls before me?” faux-offence written all over her face.

you beam, looking between the two of them, “so are you guys dating?”

steve does choke this time, sputtering as the bitter liquid slides down the back of his throat.

“no!” they chime in unison.

“jesus christ, you think i’d date him?” robin falls into a fit of giggles, it didn’t hurt his ego anymore. robin had very particular tastes and that very much didn’t include men.

“thanks rob..” he snarls jokingly, “i uh, i have a girlfriend.. just not robin,” he’s not sure why he’s apprehensive to tell you. christ, he’d only re-known you for five fucking minutes.

“sorry, i just assumed..” shrinking into your seat, desperate to change the subject.

he’s modestly pleased that you don’t ask any more about his girlfriend, which in turn makes him feel a rotten sense of guilt.

“yeah well, to assume makes an ass out of you and me,” robin adds, giving you a poke to your ribs for good measure, “and he’s definitely not my type,” her nose shrivelling up in disgust.

you snigger, poking robin right back as she explodes into her myriad of reasons why she would never date steve. she kept a list.

there’s a sickening feeling of affinity, like all the years you hadn’t been together just ceased to exist, they no longer mattered.

especially when your eyes meet as robin prattles on, like you’re sharing an old joke.

he doesn’t like this, doesn’t fancy his odds of coming out of this unscathed but that doesn’t stop him from shifting his chair closer as the night goes on. nor does it stop him from walking you home, supporting a tipsy robin on his arm.

and it most certainly doesn’t effect him when you hug him goodnight, nestling your chin into his shoulder the way you used to.

fuck.

-

steve climbs down the steps into the strange smelling studio, he hadn’t even known this ever existed. there’s art littering the walls, the shelves, just about any surface that was available.

you’re at the back of the empty room, dabbing a paintbrush onto a canvas, completely unaware of his presence.

“hey.. robin said you’d be down here,” he speaks softly, so as to not startle you.

you still jump, clutching your chest as you spin on your heel, “jesus christ,” panting rather dramatically, “you scared the shit outta me,” shock turning into a wide smile.

“sorry,” he chuckles, weaving through the easels, trying his damn hardest not to touch or knock anything over, “what ya’ working on?” peering at the canvas.

it’s a beautiful scene, a lone swing set lies in the middle, surrounded by a peachy-pink sunset. it’s reminiscent of something he can’t quite place.

“oh just..” shrugging him off, “some stuff for my exhibition.. i dunno if i like it yet,” downplaying the glorious work of art in front of him. as if there were any need.

“what are you talking about? it’s so good,” still clinging onto his backpack strap.

you shake your head, taking the apron off of your body, tossing it onto the hook full of other dirtied aprons. “i can do better.. anyway, did you trek all the way down here for a reason or..?”

he lingers by the painting for a second longer before turning to face you, remembering his actual aim, “yes! are you joining us for dinner tonight? robin wants you to meet all of our friends,” he offers, though he’s aware it’s not much of a deal for you.

“uh.. who’s gonna be there?” you ask, quirking a brow. he’s aware that you’re not exactly a social butterfly.

“well, nancy, jonathan, vickie.. argyle, if jonathan can convince him to come out,” they were all nice enough, if he and robin liked you, they definitely would too.

“i dunno..” wrinkling your nose.

“come on,” he pleads, “it’ll be fun.. they’ll love you. nance’s been begging me to get you out.. please?”

you shake your head, as if weighing up your options, “okay.. fine, but dinner’s on you,” as you drop the pallet into the sink for someone else to deal with.

“great,” he beams, there’s something to be said about the fact he still hadn’t introduced katie to the rest of his friends yet.. but he doesn’t wanna think about that.

his hand comes to rest on what he thinks is a dry desk, waiting for you to finish up, only to find his hand now covered in goopy white paint, “oh shit,” he fusses, pulling your attention from the sink.

“oh fuck, i should’ve told you that was wet..” looking between his outstretched hand and his eyes, a giggle bubbling on your lips as he stomps over to the sink.

“oh is this funny to you, huh?” joining you at the basin.

you run the hot water for him, grabbing the bottle of soap ready to clean his hand, “well it’s a little funny,” lips twitching while he stands like a lemon.

as steve normally does, he acts before he thinks, pressing his paint-covered palm to your cheek, only registering what he had done when you shriek in response, splashing water everywhere.

“you asshole!” you gasp, brows furrowed as you conjure up something for revenge.

that’s when you grab the still paint-covered brush and smear it over his cheek and nose, staining his features a daring bright orange.

“oh it’s like that is it?” he grins, grabbing your wrist with his clean hand, threatening to mark you again. “you don’t wanna mess with me, i’ve got the upper hand,” sticking his tongue out slightly, unable to shake the way your eyes still glistened the same.

“if you want me to come to dinner, you’ll put your hand down.. call a truce,” bargaining with him.

he obliges, holding his hands up in surrender, “okay.. okay, you win,” unable to contain his laughter as he washes the paint from his palm.

you shoulder barge him as you come back to the sink, pulling your clean brushes from the water and leaving them to dry on the metal board.

“we’re gonna have to swing by my room,” you smile begrudgingly, shoving your stuff into your bag, watching as he dries his hand.

“okay,” his grin still lingering, “personally, i think you should just come to dinner like that.. it looks great,” enjoying the ribbing that came with being your friend.

you scoff, practically pushing him out of the studio, ensuring he couldn’t wreck havoc on anything else.

the pair of you glide down the hall, steve filling you in on the guests that would joining you for dinner when a voice calls his name from in front.

katie bounds up to him, smile fading the second she sees the new colour of his face, “why are you orange?” face screwed up as she rescinds her offer of a kiss. he’s slyly thankful that your adorned his face now.

“oh we.. i- i tripped, got paint everywhere,” he chuckles, feeling like a scolded child.

katie hums, “right.. that’s kinda weird,” her eyes flit over to you and the paint on your face, “you trip too?” a judgemental look flashing across her features.

“no,” shrinking into yourself, “steve.. tripped,” doubting your own words, like your measly paint fight needed to be kept secret. but maybe that’s just how he felt, is that wrong?

he can’t decide.

“hmph,” katie frowns, her attention turning back to steve, “go and clean up.. you look like a clown,” before speeding off down the hall, ponytail flouncing around as she goes.

he just rolls his eyes continuing out of the building as you scurry along behind, “she seems nice,” sarcasm dripping off your tongue.

“ignore her,” brushing the whole encounter off, “she’s just.. pissy because i’m busy tonight, don’t take it personally,” offering a short smile. he glances at his watch, grimacing at the time, “oh shit, we’re late,” grabbing your hand as he starts sprinting ahead.

“i can’t meet your friends like this!” you holler, bounding behind him.

“they won’t mind!” he screams into the wind, dodging other students with a skill only possessed by someone who chronically sleeps through their alarm.

they really don’t.

in fact, robin bursts into laughter as you walk into the diner, “i’m not even gonna ask,” tapping the plush cushion for you to slide in next to her, steve follows closely behind.

the two of you share a look, an inside joke that was just yours. he liked that, it made him feel strangely important. like he was worthy of sharing things with just you.

everyone is lovely, obviously. he had no doubt that they would be. argyle corners you about california, discovering that it is a rather large state and no, you won’t have bumped into each other.

steve doesn’t want the night to end, he’s selfish like that. so he does the sane thing to ensure you spend as much time together as possible, walking you and robin back through campus, still adorned with paint.

“thank you.. for making me go,” you smile coyly once you reach your door, robin had already disappeared off inside, leaving just the two of you.

“no worries.. i told you they’d love you,” shoving his hands into his pockets, mostly so he doesn’t do anything stupid.

you chuckle, reaching for the door handle, “i’ve really missed you, you know? it’s like it’s all hit me at once,” shrugging your shoulders as if that were just some nonchalant comment he would ever be able to forget.

“i missed you too,” he adds, truly meaning it.

sure, he’d found friendship again but nothing had ever felt quite like you. it was different, and even now after years and years of being in separate states, with no idea that the other was even still alive, it all felt normal.

like you could walk back into that park tomorrow, sit on the swings and just natter away about everything and nothing like you used to.

“goodnight, see you tomorrow?” you smile, sliding through the door, waiting just long enough for his reply.

“of course,” returning the smile.

he hums all the way home, a child-like joy overrunning his senses. he thinks about you when he dreams, of sharing crayons and candy. high-pitched giggles and an unfaltering feeling of love.

-

it had been weeks of hanging out now, sharing tales from your childhood, robin was still struggling to understand that you were also from hawkins. “you’re just.. it’s crazy, you’re nothing like the usual hawkins dwellers and the fact that you were friends with him? wow..” she had muttered with a swift jab to steve’s arm.

she had had the bright idea of a sleepover, they hadn’t really been able to since moving to chicago, out of respect for their roommates but now her roommate was you, what was stopping them?

“why don’t we push the beds together?” robin blurts out, like a lightbulb had just gone ding on the top of her head.

you nod excitably, going to heave your bed across the room. steve pushes the end of the bed frame, connecting it to robin’s as she stands there doing absolutely nothing to help.

“phew thanks robin, couldn’t have done that without all your help!” steve quips, throwing his best friend a snide smile.

“shut up dingus, my nails are still wet,” as if that made it okay.

you smile at the two of them, stood in your pyjamas that steve had definitely not been gawping at. he doesn’t mean to, he knows it’s not like that. he has a girlfriend for christ’s sake.

that’s what he’s been telling himself anyway.

“you’re in the middle,” robin declares, looking at you, rather than him, “put your cold feet on somebody else for once,” before climbing into her side of the bed.

you slide in next, cuddling up to robin as you do. steve’s next, fashioned in his excuse for pyjamas, namely a chicago university shirt and his boxers. it probably wouldn’t go down well if katie were to find out but he didn’t particularly care.

there’s a joke there, something about sharing a bed with a lesbian and his childhood best friend but he can’t be bothered to think about it.

not when you turn over to face him, all smiles and warm cheeks, he has to remind himself that robin is on the other side of you, mumbling something about not waking her up early.

“goodnight,” you grin, relaxing into the pillow you shared as the light flickers off.

“night,” he replies, pulling his eyes away from your shadowy features, deciding that staring at the fuzzy ceiling was better than being a freak.

you roll over slightly, head falling onto his shoulder making his breathing falter, sworn to this position until you up and moved. it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

he shouldn’t be thinking like this, you’re friends, old friends to be exact. and he has a girlfriend.

-

except, he awakens in the morning, stiff shoulder and a cricked neck, taking a peek at the other side of the bed to find robin had forced you into him with her sprawling limbs.

you rouse not long after he does, blinking at the light and hurriedly moving your head from his dead arm.

“oh my god,” you remark, “i’m sorry.. was i on you all night?” wriggling around the small space you held.

steve exhales, lifting his arm in the air in an attempt to get some blood flowing back into the extremity, “yup.. it’s okay though,” quickly rolling over to face you, “sleep well?”

“well, apart from robin’s foot in my back.. yeah, pretty well,” chuckling into the pillow as you shy away. he wishes you wouldn’t.

“then it was worth the dead arm,” returning your abnormally bright smile, you were far too chipper for this time in the morning but he didn’t mind. made a difference from the usual grump robin was in, for sure.

“you should sleep over more often,” you smile.

he heart soars, god he’d love to. “oh yeah? like we used to?”

the crinkle by your eye returns, remembering times gone by, “yeah, just like that,” speaking softly, as if it wouldn’t take an industrial alarm to wake robin.

“you wanna go get breakfast?” he asks, before this devolves any further.

“absolutely.”

-

there’s a knock at the door, tommy doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even make a half assed effort to pretend to care so steve huffs and gets up to answer.

you’re stood on the other side, already smiling as you wait. it’s a welcome sight, without robin he’s been a little stir-crazy, not yet brave enough to venture to your room without her there.

maybe he’s afraid that something would happen, maybe he’s not. he’s not entirely convinced that he’d have the power to stop himself.

“i just came to give you a ticket.. for my exhibition, it’s on saturday so.. if you’re busy i totally get it,” you fret, offering out the ticket to him.

there’s an undetermined feeling in his stomach, looking down at the paper ticket in his pal, warmth rushing to his chest at the fact you’d even considered him.

steve steps out of the room, closing the door behind him, away from tommy and listening ears. tommy and katie were friends somewhat, mostly by association through his girlfriend carol. anyhow, he wasn’t keen on him telling some misconstrued story to carol and then reaping the punishment from that.

“wow..” still starstruck that you had asked him. “i’ll be there.. wouldn’t miss it,” sliding the ticket into his pocket, mostly so he would stop looking like a weirdo for staring at it.

“okay,” you nod, smile up to your ears, “it’s only small..” here you go again, downplaying your talent as if steve would ever care.

“stop it,” he warns, jokingly rolling his eyes, “hey, i’ll walk you back.. i needa get out of that fucking room,” gesturing for you to take the lead.

you chatter all the way across campus, talking about everything and nothing, he wants to ask if that painting of the swingset will be there but doesn’t. letting you blabber on about composition and the asshole gallery manager that wants you to set up at 6am.

its only when you reach your hall that you stop, turning to face him with a genuine smile that makes his heart thud.

“it’d really mean a lot if you came..”

he nods, stepping closer only just, “i will, i’ll be there,” assuring you as much as he could. he meant it, too. there’s really nothing he could think of that would make him not go.

he allows his gaze to slip to your lips, he lets himself do that even though he shouldn’t.

studying the curve, the slight gap between your bottom and top lip, the way they twitch with what he hopes is anticipation.

you’re both inching closer, neither of you acknowledging what’s about to happen. the air is thick, silent even. a knowing sense that you’re either about to ruin everything or become something more.

two doors down, a door swings open, a voice bellowing out, “i’ll catch up!” before a boy speeds out, glancing at the two of you briefly before disappearing.

you clear your throat, averting your gaze, studying the dirtied floor, “okay.. i’ll see you saturday,” coy smile as you unlock the door and potter off inside.

steve stands there, blinking at the wooden frame as if you’d somehow materialise from the other side.

he hightails it back to his room, in some sort of daze as he attempts to reconfigure himself. his relationship and his friendship with you. nothing made sense.

he’s not sure it ever will again.

fuck he wishes robin were here. of course she’s at some stupid family reunion when he needs her most. his next port of call would be you and well.. that didn’t seem particularly helpful.

he errs on calling robin, floating around his room with no purpose. at least tommy was no where to be seen, unsure if he could’ve handled his beady little eyes and snooping questions.

katie would be waiting on him, he always stayed over on thursdays, at least he used to. before you were back i. the picture. before you had completely consumed his mind with your stupid smile and stupid face. both a distant memory and an important part of his current life. it’s fucking dizzying.

it’s not really stupid, he thinks he’s stupid actually.

steve does what he does best and decides to ignore his brain, grabs his keys and storms out of his dorm. he’s grateful that katie’s house is on the opposite side of campus from your building. that way he couldn’t accidentally wind up there instead of where he’s supposed to be.

she welcomes him in, a pink, frilly house that steve had always detested a little bit. it smelt too strongly of vanilla and the other girls always side-eyed him, bitter and judgemental over something he couldn’t figure out.

it’s now that they’re sat on katie’s satin bedsheets that he realises that he really, really doesn’t want to be here.

nevertheless, he swallows it down. putting on false pretences as they fake-watch the shitty rom-com she’d turned on to fill the silence.

“so.. have you got your suit for saturday?” katie asks, playing with his limp hand.

“yeah,” resisting the urge to move his hand away, “sorry- saturday? i thought it was tomorrow?”

katie had asked- or more precisely begged him to escort her to this senior send off ceremony. some bullshit sorority ritual that made zero sense to him.

“uh.. no, always been saturday,” she’s still smiling, still trying, “steve, i told you weeks ago,” her frustrations seeping out of her pores, spilling over onto her features.

“you said friday,” so sure of himself, so sure that she was wrong. how would he forget that?

unless something, or perhaps someone was shrouding his mind.

“well, what plans are more important than your girlfriend’s senior send off?” she asks, all defensive.

he struggles to answer, there’s no way he can really spin it to make it sound less bad, strangled noises drift from his throat as the words fail to form.

“exactly,” katie pouts, crossing her arms over her chest, “you’ll just have to rearrange.”

steve doesn’t stay over, makes up some shoddy excuse about needing to study to get out of it. she’s not happy, obviously, but when is she?

he’s grateful that the campus is quiet as he stalks back to his dorm, thoughts swirling through his brain. everything is so confusing, his cushy little college life had been majorly disrupted and now all of the plans he had made had come crashing down.

there had been conversations about finding a house after graduation, moving in together randomly starting their life and yet, that couldn’t be further than what he wanted.

at least now.

-

steve finally gives up, turning to the only person he thinks will rationalise his thoughts, robin buckley. who has pulled her grandmother’s phone into the private dining room just for this conversation.

“we nearly kissed,” he spits out, eyeing the group of drunk students passing in the hallway. wouldn’t it be great if it somehow got back to katie through some nosy busybody.

“what? when? why didn’t you call me sooner?” she demands, “why didn’t you kiss? oh my god steve harrington, you’re so useless.”

“uh.. what do you mean why didn’t we kiss? remember my girlfriend? who’d chop my balls off if i ever cheated on her?”

“who cares? nobody likes her anyway,” robin roars right into his ear.

“i’m not gonna even acknowledge that.”

“okay, well, did you want to kiss her?”

steve pauses, perplexing the situation. he doesn’t need to really, of course he wanted to.

“..yeah.”

“well there you go!” she shrieks.

“it felt.. weird, i dunno, i think she wanted to too,” he curls the cord around his finger, “and now katie wants me to go to this senior send-off thing but there’s the exhibition.. i don’t know what to do,” his shoulders slumping.

“wait wait wait, what do you mean it felt weird?” dismissing his dilemma. you know, the thing he had actually called her about.

“well it felt right.”

the line goes silent but he can still hear her faint breathing down the line. she’s thinking, probably attempting to sweeten up her words. but eventually she sighs, “i think you know what to do.”

“but i don’t! rob i really don’t! why do you think i’m calling you at fucking one am?”

she clicks her tongue and steve can picture what smug look she has on her face, it was a signature feature of hers, especially when she’d been able to prove him wrong. “you do. i think you called me because you wanted me to tell you what you want to hear.. but i don’t even need to do that.”

he wails into the receiver, all he’d wanted was a clear cut answer from his best friend. a little advice and maybe some confirmation bias, was that too much to ask for?

“you’re no help,” he scowls, patting his now empty pockets in search of more coins, “i haven’t got any more change.. i’m gonna have to go,” sighing as he’s left on his own with his head once more.

“you’ll do the right thing, steve. i know you and i trust you,” before the line cuts out, the dial tone screams out.

he slams the piece of useless plastic back onto the holder. that wasn’t helpful, rather just some weird, reverse psychology lesson. he feels cheated, his first option of just flipping a coin would’ve been more helpful.

his feet drag along the carpet back to his room, swallowing the guilt and all of the other confusing emotions he seemed to have accumulated.

it’s funny that even though robin hadn’t exactly said anything specific, he’d known what she was talking about. it’s even funnier that as he climbs into bed, all he can think about is you.

-

steve hangs back, stood at the back while the speech finishes. he doesn’t know what he’s doing here, what he’s supposed to be looking at or talking to, incredibly out of place.

no one pays him any mind, too interested in whatever this balding man has to say.

you don’t spot him either, keeping your eyes trained to the art director. he can tell you’re nervous, picking indiscreetly at your hangnail, chewing on your cheek. you’d never liked, or been particularly good at public speaking, steve was your voice for many years. not that he minded.

there’s lots of chatter, people walking around the small space with their hands behind their back, putting on this facade that they were art snobs and not just weird middle-aged people looking for something to do on a saturday afternoon.

they all sort of disperse, ogling the paintings and such. leaving him stood in the middle of the room like a lemon, wondering if he should just go over to you or wait until this had all finished.

but you meet his eye momentarily, head snapping in his direction when you realise who it is. your lips slowly curve into a smile, ditching the conversation to weave through everyone to him.

“you came,” you state, like there was ever a chance of him not coming.

“i told you i would,” he’s not one to break a promise. ever.

“no i know but, robin mentioned something about your girlfriend, she didn’t know if you were.. forget it,” throwing your hands about, ridding the air of your words.

he’s not exactly surprised that you’d have doubts, not after your almost-kiss the other night. he hadn’t seen you since, too busy with the exhibit to sit and dwell on it, he bets.

steve shakes his head, “nah, i had something more important to do,” full of unbridled exhilaration, it’s like his body knew he had made the right choice.

you flush, avoiding his eyes as you usually do when you’re nervous or embarrassed. “well.. thank you,” shrugging him off. he so wish you wouldn’t.

he decides to just lay it all bare, tired of skirting around the truth and minimising his obviously very real feelings. “this isn’t the right time but,” smoothing down his wrinkled shirt, “i just wanted you to know that i’ve wanted to do this for weeks and.. shit,” he sighs, cupping your cheek and moving in before you can protest.

your lips connect, sending flames through his veins, you’re not expecting it judging by the lack of movement on your part, stood frozen even as he pulls away.

“sorry,” the first thing he says, watching your face as you stand shocked.

he was so sure that his feelings would be reciprocated, had pretty much convinced himself that you were destined to grow grey together but maybe he’d got it all wrong.

his cheeks burn as you just blink, time slows and he wishes that the floorboards would just collapse under him so he could disappear forever.

in lieu of a reply, you smash your faces together again, this time steve’s not quite expecting it, your noses bang against each others. but he doesn’t move, his smile growing against your lips.

there are a collection of muttered oohs from the crowd. it was rather a lot for a saturday morning.

“sorry,” you echo, biting down into your bottom lip, “not the wrong time at all,” your eyes shining through your spindly lashes.

steve bursts into laughter, drawing an even bigger crowd of eyes as he does so. his eyes dart around the vaguely stunned audience, “hey look, find me after.. i’ll be here,” gently pushing you off to go and do whatever the hell it is that artists do at these things.

you nod, all dazed and smiley, immediately falling into conversation about a painting.

-

he’s only dozing when the door creaks open, too encapsulated by sleep to bother to open his eyes. you’re dead to the world, snoring softly curled into his chest.

a quiet gasp rings out from the door and then just as expected, robin bounds over to your bed, poking his arm that was both underneath your shoulders and hanging off of the bed.

he peeks a look at his slightly deranged best friend, the lamp was just bright enough to showcase her enthusiastic grin, “you did it!” whispering far too loudly, “i knew you’d make the right choice,” buzzing around the room.

she damn near jumps in the air, clicking her heels together like some freak.

steve just closes his eyes again, falling back into sleep with a grin on his face and you between his arms.

[jenscx]

MY DARLING — jang wonyoung x f!reader

you were just living a quaint life in a bookstore, until a stranger barges in on a rainy day, evidently changing your life.

TAGS — very fluffy, princess!wonyoung, slight angst, jealousy (tiny), commoner!yn, flirty wony

WORDCOUNT — 3.9k

the 10th of august, 1820. you sigh at the raindrops splashing against the glass windows, tinted with a slight hue of blue. the bookstore was rarely this quiet but with everything going on in the royal castle, perhaps it was to be expected.

“no customers yet?” you whip your head up, frowning. eunbi, the owner of the bookstore and the one who had raised you, stood at the top of the flight of creaky, wooden stairs. you shake your head, “aren’t the nobles trying to popularise reading? i don’t think it is working too well.”

eunbi laughs. “sure. the literature we sell here isn’t too demanding of their literary skills. and the nobles only flock to poetry, maybe it’s time we expanded our small library.”

your eyes brighten at the thought of an increased variety of books. even though you adored the selection here, it was starting to get quite boring. the constant romance themes evident in every single book was rather… annoying.

“hm, perhaps we should close up for the day, it’s rather late and the rain is heavy. i don’t think anyone else will bear with the storm just for a quick read,” eunbi suggests and you comply immediately, packing up the stacks of papers standing tall at the counter. you were just scribbling on them to rid your boredom.

“i’ll be upstairs if you need me,” she calls out before heading up once more. you sigh again. just as you were about to close the curtains shut, the door slams open and you almost squeal.

a mysterious hooded figure stands before you, heaving up and down as quick breathes escape them.

“uhm, apologies but we are closing for the day,” you say. the figure turns and you roll your eyes. their cloak was dripping rainwater all over the mahogany wood floors that you had just polished that morning!

“terribly sorry for the intrusion,” they (you raise an eyebrow at the feminine voice) mumble, “i needed a place to get away.”

“right, i don’t really care because you are ruining my flooring, so could you take that damn cloak off?”

the person immediately does so, revealing the white fitted bodice that clung to the woman’s skin, almost translucent and you feel a blush creeping up your neck.

“you are… soaked.”

“yes, quite obviously.”

you turn away from her, eyes avoiding her own narrowing gaze as she was quite literally the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen.

“i’ll get you a cloth to clean yourself up with,” you mutter while the girl nods and proceeds to walk along the shelves.

if you weren’t so distracted by her apparent beauty, you would be more conscious of how familiar she looked.

moments later, you return with a cloth, and the stranger was peering at one of the many books that lined the shelves.

“fan of jane austen?” you smile when she jumps slightly at your sudden voice, “that is one of her most popular pieces of literature; pride and prejudice from 1813. though we do have earlier pieces such as ann radcliffe’s the romance of the forest, 1791.”

the woman nods, “aren’t you quite acquainted with books? any suggestions?”

“hm, perhaps persuasion by jane austen if you’re a fan, but do read most of her writings, it’s incredible.”

“what about playwrights? anyone that you’ve taken a liking to?” she asks.

you think for a while, “elizabeth inchbald. i thought lovers’ vows was spectacular. shame i couldn’t see it, sometimes i wished i was born earlier.”

“i always thought that it was too controversial and morally ambiguous for people to adore it. thankfully i’ve found someone of my own,” she says, a twinkle in her eye that you can’t help but feel your heartbeat race at. she daps at her neck with the cloth and you evert your eyes.

“a-anyway, what brings you here? you’ve distracted me from closing up.”

she places the book back into its original position and furrows her brows, “do you not recognise who i am?”

you tilt your head and lean on the bookshelves, “no, not particularly. am i meant to?”

“yes, but i’d rather you stay unknowing. if we were to be… friends, could i ask that you never try to find my identity?”

“could i at least know your name? or something to call you?”

“of course, i haven’t introduced myself. you can call me wonyoung.” wonyoung, you think, it’s a pretty name.

she flashes a gleaming smile at you, “could i know yours?”

“y/n,” you reply, “what brings you here?”

wonyoung’s posture slackens and you take the time to admire her luscious black hair that was tied into a bun with small curls and waves. you unconsciously swallow your saliva as wonyoung answers you.

“just running from my responsibilities. quite lucky of me to end up in a quaint bookstore with you, to be frank.”

your eyes trail down from her face to her collarbones, mouth going dry at the sight of her neck. god, you think, clenching your eyes shut.

“you all right? your cheeks are… flushed,” you spot a hint of a teasing smile on her face.

“how old are you?” wonyoung asks suddenly.

“i’m eighteen this year.”

“oh, i’m eighteen as well.”

you grin, “what responsibilities could you have at eighteen? we’re the same age, yet i’m just working at a bookstore.”

wonyoung shakes her head, almost sullen, “you have no clue how hectic it is back there. if here is shallow water, when i go back there, i’ll drown in the tsunami.”

“how poetic.”

“impressive, isn’t it?”

you giggle first and wonyoung’s laughter joins soon after. her laugh is melodic and soothing, a breather. it’s like you’ve just found your oasis.

and maybe she’s found hers.

your night is spent alone. no wonyoung to fill the empty spaces of silence apart from the occasional footsteps outside of the bookstore. you spent all day with her, or rather the rest of the day until she deemed too late to reach home. no matter how hard you try, your mind ends up wandering and you dream of rosy cheeks with a bunny smile.

you awake the next morning with a letter at your doorstep, addressed in neat calligraphy.

dear y/n,

i could not tell you how much i enjoyed yesterday, it was an eye-opening experience. i am definitely the luckiest person ever. i can’t believe how lucky i was to enter your bookstore and meet you. i hope we stay acquainted forever. send your reply to this address, i will wait for it.

sincerely yours,

wonyoung

if it were from anyone else, you would have found it desperate, or creepy. but even after a day of meeting wonyoung, you were enchanted.

hence, you quickly draft up a letter, perhaps she could see how much desperation there was in the messily scrawled handwriting for you to see her again.

it took almost no time for you and her to communicate daily through letters. even though you only met her three weeks ago, it felt like you’ve known her forever. wonyoung was your everything. and maybe you were her everything too. she was the part of your routine you looked most forward to.

eunbi had questioned you about your sudden enthusiasm and happiness. after all, she had been your caregiver since she had taken you in and you were never this dreamy.

wonyoung would sometimes drop by during the evening and you would spend a few hours together before she had to leave. it was the highlight of your week. a few hours would be all you could have, until a letter arrives at your doorstep.

my darling y/n,

how have you been? i found that book you’ve been raving about. i must extend my apologies for reading it beforehand, you were just too excited about it that i had to read it for myself. anyway, would your bed be free tonight? could i spend the night at your bookstore? my parents finally gave me permission to do so. i do hope you’re free, if not i’ll be missing you terribly.

sincerely yours,

wonyoung

you almost crumple up the letter in excitement. wonyoung was finally sleeping over? it was a joyous celebration. you swiftly write back, hoping that the letter would reach her in time. it always did, surprisingly. you weren’t sure if the post was meant to work that fast. you were counting down the seconds for when she would arrive and when the grandfather clock struck six thirty in the evening, a knock resounded on the door.

“wonyoung!” you squeal, rushing into her arms and burying your face into the crook of her neck. physical touch had become common between you and her, initiated by her at first but mostly done by you now. you could not resist feeling the warmth her body gave off.

“good evening, yn,” she breathes out, “i almost tripped on the way here. i was so exhilarated when i received your letter.”

you grin, quickly locking up the doors and closing the curtains. wonyoung lingers around you, a bag of clothes at her feet, you presume it contained her sleepwear.

“darling,” you feel a shiver go down your spine at her voice, “shall we head up?”

you nod and interlock hands with wonyoung, dragging her up the stairs and heading into your bedroom. your bed wasn’t tiny, but with wonyoung’s height, her feet would be dangling off the edge since your mattress was wider and not lengthy.

“you can change here, i’ll just look away,” you say.

“what if i want you to look?”

your cheeks heat up and you cover your eyes, “shut up, you flirt.”

“my sincerest apologies,” wonyoung says slowly, “do you not like it when i flirt with you?” you roll your eyes. she would always ask questions which she knew the answers to. wonyoung just wanted the satisfaction of you saying it out loud.

“i like it,” you mutter, embarrassed.

“you’re adorable,” she laughs and starts to untie the laces on her corset to reveal her shift under. you take this as your cue to turn away.

a few minutes pass and wonyoung finally says, “i’m done. you can turn around now.”

she was adorned in a long light blue night rail with lace linings. you still thought she was the prettiest girl to ever walk the earth.

wonyoung flops onto your bed and you join her.

“blow out the candle, won't you?” wonyoung requests. without the light of the candle, you can only see her face that is illuminated by the moonlight.

you both slip under the sheets, facing each other. your eyes trail along her features and your fingers ache to trace them.

“how was your day? you never answered me in your reply.”

“you were genuinely asking? i thought you asked as a formality,” you chuckle at her affronted expression.

she rolls her eyes, “of course i was genuine! i’m always interested in what you have to say.”

“why are you being so cheeky today? so many flirtatious remarks,” her long arms wrap around your waist and you giggle.

“i’m just naturally like that,” wonyoung smiles, “and you like it, don’t you?”

you nod shyly.

“i do.”

“then i’ll stay this way. be whatever that you like.”

“i like you,” you confess.

wonyoung blinks slowly. your words and sincere tone seeping into her heart as a large grin overtakes her face.

“and i adore you.”

your night, unlike the first, was spent wrapped up in wonyoung’s embrace. warmth covering your body and a smile across your face the entire time you slept. it was the most peaceful night you’ve had. yet, as all things go, it was just the calm before the storm.

something had been bothering you, wonyoung could tell. after that night spent together, you and her were inseparable. but the more time you had together, the more it seemed like you were drifting away in your thoughts.

“darling?” you turn around in her embrace, “are you all right?”

“yes, i’m totally fine. couldn’t be better than being here with you.”

“i feel the same but, are you certain? it just feels like something is bothering you. if anything, could you tell me?” wonyoung asks. your body visibly tenses up and even in the dark, she could still see how your face was contemplating.

“why did you ask me to never search for your identity?”

wonyoung suddenly unwraps her arms from around your waist. you miss her warmth instantly.

“why are you bringing this up now?” she counter asks.

you frown. “just remembered it. i was reminiscing the first time we met.”

“ah.”

“also because eunbi has been asking me about you and i don’t know what to tell her. i realised i don’t know much about you and i want to change that,” you explain.

wonyoung’s breath hitches.

“eunbi? have you mentioned my name to her?”

“no, i wasn’t too sure if i should have… wonyoung, seriously, what’s this whole ordeal with your identity? can’t you just tell me?” you ask.

you decide not to mention the fact that you have actually questioned eunbi about wonyoung. the amount of warning signs about her identity had been increasing daily and you weren’t so certain about how much you could trust wonyoung anymore.

“you’re lying,” wonyoung states.

“what?”

“you know my identity.”

“wonyoung, love—”

she separates herself from you immediately and sits upright. your bubble of tranquillity bursts and the peaceful future you’ve created for the two of you was ruined.

“i told you. i specifically told you not to go looking!” her voice raises, “and you still do? and i know you’re lying to my face! you know that…”

you can’t stand it anymore. “that you’re the princess? of course i do! how could i not remember your face and name plastered everywhere? are you not aware of how influential you are? the media has been going insane at how your birthday ball was going to be the highlight of this century! but this doesn’t mean i love you less!”

“it’s not about that! you betrayed my trust. how could you? it was the first thing i’ve ever told you; don’t go looking for my identity! and i… this isn’t going to work out. i apologise, but i have to leave,” wonyoung hisses and quickly jumps out of your bed. you can only stare in silence as she packs up her clothes and leaves out the door.

you sit there on your cotton sheets, stunned at how the evening’s played out. a sigh escapes your lips and your heart aches at the forlorn expression that wonyoung had.

you couldn’t believe that wonyoung had just left like that. you thought she would at least hear you out and it wasn’t as if you yourself had gone looking for her identity! her name was basically on every single piece of news article, how could you not know? and wonyoung wasn’t a popular name.

perhaps everything will be normal in the morning. wonyoung’s letter would show up at your doorstep, apologising for how she acted and you would still forgive her.

needless to say, you were wrong. there was no letter, and definitely no bouquet of tulips that normally accompanied the letter.

“i saw the princess stomping out, did you two have a fall out?” eunbi asks. you nod, sulking.

“she found out that i knew she was the princess and she wasn’t too enthusiastic about it.”

eunbi thinks for a moment. “aren’t you going to try to chase after her? wouldn’t it be right?”

“why should i? she said we weren’t going to work out.” repeating those words brought a new level of pain.

your caregiver laughs, “that’s exactly what sakura said as well and she ended up grovelling.”

you raise an eyebrow. “who’s sakura?”

“some foreign lady. anyway, are you going to write to her or not? her birthday’s coming up soon.”

“her birthday,” you repeat, “i could just go to her birthday banquet.” eunbi blinks, “i did not mean that but sure.”

you have a newfound sense of confidence. wonyoung couldn’t do anything if you just went to her banquet, right? well, she could just order for the guards to take you out but it was open to commoners. there was a dress code but wonyoung had gifted you a pretty expensive dress recently.

“august 30th, it starts at eleven in the evening,” eunbi informs you, “you do know your way to the castle? i have other plans that night.”

“yes, of course. thank you for the idea!” you smile. as you head off back into your room, thoughts of seeing wonyoung again run through your mind.

the day had finally come. your hair was parted in the middle with your bangs curled that occasionally twitched your eyes. your bust was pushed up ever so slightly by a tight fitting corset. you had a low cut violet gown and white gloves that extended up to your elbows.

the closer you got to the palace, the more your confidence dwindled. what if wonyoung orders for the guards to escort you out? it would be ironic for you to show up at her banquet, where she would have to reveal her identity. you shiver at the thought of wonyoung’s distrustful gaze.

what happened to staying together until death parts you two? wonyoung had been so romantic with her words, maybe it was all faux.

you shake your head. you couldn’t think of that! now, you just had to reassure her that her identity revelation would not change anything. and maybe you could even try to revert to the same relationship status as before. once you enter the ballroom, you’re surrounded by nobles and commoners alike, all dressed to the nines. you scan the room, hoping to see wonyoung.

“goodness,” one of the more fashionably dressed nobles say, “dukes from high society are starting to court her already. i heard that many are offering their whole family wealth for her hand.”

your face falls. of course there would be people wanting to court her. wonyoung was so angelic and there would be no reason for rich dukes to not throw themselves at her.

“good evening, my lady,” you spin around, facing an older woman with a rather disgruntled young man, “could i ask where you are from?” luckily, eunbi had trained you beforehand.

“miyawaki y/n,” you lie through your teeth, “i’m not from around here, just passing through to visit the princess.”

“splendid! i am from the house of lee and this is my son, heeseung,” the woman exclaims, “i thought you were a perfect match for him.”

your eye twitches.

“ah, yes.”

“i’ll leave you two to get acquainted, hopefully by the end of this ball, you will be dancing with each other.”

“my lady will not be dancing with anyone,” your heart leaps. an arm links around yours and you almost instinctively lean into the familiar warmth.

the woman stands rooted to the ground while heeseung quickly scurries off.

“m-my sincerest apologies! i did not know,” she bows. wonyoung waves a hand at her and turns to look at you instead.

before the crowd starts to gather around you, wonyoung turns her head and swiftly drags you by the wrist through the many nobles.

“wony— princess!” you shriek.

she pulls you into an empty room, away from peering eyes and eavesdroppers. her gaze on you is heavy with emotion and you can barely get a chance to identify them before she speaks.

“what on earth compelled you to come here?”

“i just wanted to see you. you ran off rather quickly last night, much like that heeseung boy.”

“y/n, you can’t just show up here looking like that. i… i told you once you found out who i really was, we could never truly be together,” wonyoung sighs.

you frown, “so you weren’t going to try anyway? were you just going to love me when it was convenient? what happened to all those sweet promises you’ve made to me?”

“i can’t keep those promises if the public found out we were together,” wonyoung clasps your hands together.

“so you were just loving me for the hell of it.”

“i sacrificed lots for you.”

“but you still can’t be with me.” you take wonyoung’s silence as her answer. there’s tears welling up in your eyes and wonyoung’s gaze darts to them instantly.

you tear your hands away from hers to wipe your tears falling down your cheeks.

“this has been… eye-opening. since we were never going to work out anyway, i should take my leave. sorry for taking up your time when you should have been spending it celebrating. happy birthday.”

your heart aches. the beats slow down but you feel like it’s been crushed into little bits, which were then thrown into molten lava and rebuilt. then crushed again by wonyoung.

“wait a moment, don’t…”

“i should have know it would have ended up like this. i’m deeply sorry again, your highness,” you say coldly, bowing.

wonyoung’s mouth is open, almost like she wants to say something. but you can’t be with someone who contradicts herself every time.

“darling,” the nickname slips out and you feel sobs wreck your body, “don’t cry, wait, please.”

“my love, please look at me, please don’t walk away, i was a fool. i wasn’t thinking at all,” wonyoung rambles out, “please stay and listen, which is ironic, i realise but i can’t believe i thought i could ever live life without you. i need you. i was just scared of what they would say, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore. i realised that you’re my only light and i will never find someone better than you. it was all my doing, i never meant to hurt you like this. i’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

wonyoung stares at you, affection and longing in her eyes. so that’s what it was.

“i’m not forgiving you just yet. you still hurt my feelings.”

“of course. i’ll grovel for eternity for your forgiveness.”

you sniffle and slap her cheek lightly, not enough to even hurt.

“i hate that you can make me feel like this.”

“like what?” she asks, looking down at you.

“like everything’s okay.”

“is everything not okay?”

a smile overtakes your face, tears still dripping down your cheeks but you feel contrary.

“don’t ever do that again,” you fling your arms over her shoulders and instinctively, her hands go around your waist.

“i adore you, and if i were to ever hurt you intentionally, please just execute me on the spot,” she whispers into your ear, making you giggle.

“executing the princess is illegal, i would be given the death sentence as well.”

“then we would be together in the afterlife at least.”

“you are such a dork.”

“only yours.”

(to my darling y/n,

i hope everything’s all right back at the bookstore. could i drop by sometime later? maybe we could even read belinda by maria edgeworth. i’ve heard it is quite a worthy read. your wedding gown is gorgeous, for your information, i reckon i’ll sob at the alter. as always, do tell me about your day later. i will be counting down the minutes until i can see your beautiful face. i love you.

forever yours,

wonyoung

to my princess,

of course you can drop by. i’m expecting more books to arrive later in the afternoon. unfortunately for you, i’ve already read belinda but i will reread it with you if you want. i hope you’re doing well back at the castle; how’s the wedding preparations going? tell me all about it later. i’ll be counting down the minutes as well. i love you too.

your darling,

y/n)

[writer-by-the-sea]

Jdndnnd Ur work makes me giggle and kick my feet... For the request I'd love angst to comfort, light angst ofc nothing too serious;

Farmer forgetting/not having time to visit Elliott for almost two weeks bc of farm work... and finally the writer can't take it anymore and goes to the farm to confront the farmer. They're not dating but they're having very intimate friendship with mutual pinning :p

(take ur time ofc 🫶!!!!!)

Like Home.

I thought I knew loneliness.

Until now.

----------------------

Slight angst, fluff, and loneliness. Thank you for the request! I am very rusty but I hope you like it!

Read below or continue reading on AO3.

In my youth, I thought I knew what loneliness felt like. 

My mother would leave me at home for hours, picking me up and setting me down in her library. A library with books all the way up to the ceiling, encouraging me to reach as high as I could. 

I would read book after book, tearing through the pages as if it would be taken from me at any given moment. Mystery, romance, biographies, fantasy, adventure, self help, horror, anything and everything that my little hands could grasp. 

Of course, looking back on those times, those bookshelves weren't tall. The library wasn't a library at all but a small office with books collected over the years from garage sales or discount goods stores. 

But the books, the books I would always hold dear. Because even in my loneliness moments, hunched over another story, when my thoughts would drift to my own family… my mother who is never home, or my father who didn't stay– books, were my company, my friends, my family, my home. 

I thought I knew loneliness. 

Until now. 

Every morning, I stretch on the beach. Rain, snow, sleet, or hail; I make the effort to stand outside before the ocean and take in the fresh sea air. 

And every morning, my favorite farmer would join me with a steaming cup of coffee. We would sip our drinks together, stealing glances at one another over the rim of our mugs, and we would chat. About anything and everything. 

For the first time in my life, I didn't feel the need to run away to my library. I didn't feel like I was alone in the world, left out in the woods with no way home. 

Because the farmer became my company, my friend, my family, my home. In the course of a year, I'd grown as attached to them as I did my books. 

The first morning they didn't come to visit me, I took no offense. Winter was coming to an end and the ground was finally soft enough to till. It only made sense that they didn't visit. 

The third day had me rethinking our last conversation. Had I said something to offend them? Had my eyes lingered too long over their body with too obvious of want? 

On the fifth day, I began writing a very strongly worded letter. All teeth and no kindness, demanding to know why they didn't visit me and what on earth I could have done to warrant such behavior. For an entire year we would drink our coffee together, huddled close as we whispered secrets and gossip. I tore the letter to shreds, it was just caffeine withdrawal. Surely I would see the farmer again soon. 

A week and a half passed. Not a single visit. Not a single letter despite myself sending them three. They didn't come to the inn, they never stopped by the bathhouse. 

And yet– others had seen them. Pierre told me how the farmer came in a few days ago. Selling and buying goods for the farm. He smirked at me and said, “did the two love birds have a little spat?” 

I left in a huff, leaving behind the bread I was planning to purchase and made my way to the farm. All the while creating imaginary conversations with the farmer in my head. Preparing myself for the worst, preparing myself to be alone once more, left alone in a library while my tears slowly dripped down my cheeks and into the worn pages. 

When I arrived, I stopped to catch my breath and took the time to look around. A few small sprouts of new plants poked through the ground, the wind giving them a light tussle, welcoming me to the farm with their own little wave. 

Knocking at the door, I crossed my arms over my chest and waited. My foot tapped impatiently on the wooden deck. I didn't want to appear rude, or as though I owned all of the farmer's time to myself; but… a life without them wasn't something I was willing to have. 

I knocked again, harder this time.

Still no answer. 

Just as I was about to leave, gritting my teeth and making my way back down the steps; I saw them. 

The farmer was already grinning when they spotted me, waving me over excitedly before running back into their barn. 

While I wanted to ignore the little ping in my heart at finally seeing them once again, to flip my hair and turn away from the barn to make my way home– I found myself entering the barn. 

Inside the farm sat on their knees, their hands and forearms covered in dried blood. 

And a baby calf, peacefully lounging in the straw with its mother stroking her tongue all over to clear them up. The farmer laughed at the mother gave them a quick lick on the side of their face. 

“She’s been ready to deliver for nearly two weeks now,” the farmer said as they helped to clear more of the signs of birth from the babe. “I've hardly even left the farm besides running to Pierre’s to get more seeds and towels for the delivery.” 

I could only stand there in shock. Their absence has nothing to do with me. 

It had everything to do with their family. 

“I see,” I said, defeated. Perhaps… at this time, the farmer is my company, my friend, and nothing more. “Well, I will leave you to it–” 

The farmer laughed and held their hand out to me, beckoning me to join them. “Don't leave, I've missed you so much!” 

“You did?” I blurted and took a tentative step forward. 

“Of course I did,” the farmer’s smile dropped, their face twisting into confusion as they gazed back at me. “Did you not miss me?” 

I dropped to my knees beside them, pulling the farmer into my arms and hugging them tightly. The farmer wrapped their arms around me, one hand rubbing over and down my back. 

Tears I didn't know I was holding back began to fall and the farmer held me tighter. 

“I love you,” I whispered into their neck, closing my eyes and preparing for them to pull away. 

Time slowed as the farmer placed their hands on my shoulders and pushed me back. Their eyes glassy with tears, their cheek smudged with dirty, and a smear of dried blood across their forehead leading up into their hair. 

“I love you, too,” they breathed out. Their lips crashed against my own, their kiss as desperate and needy as I've felt for all this time. It was slow but overflowing with heat, their tongue sliding over my lower lip and into my mouth as I melted into them. A moan escaped me as they pushed closer, one hand slipping into my hair and tugging me towards them. 

“Moo?” 

With a laugh, the farmer took their lips away from mine, much to my displeasure. They reached over and pet the mother cow on the top of her head. 

“I've been wanting to do that for months,” the farmer smiled and grabbed my hand, rubbing their thumb over the back of it. “Since I first met you, actually,” they said, their cheeks filling with heat. 

I leaned forward and brushed my lips against their own, softly and with all the ease in the world. “My sweet farmer,” I whispered against their lips, kissing them again. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.” 

Like home. 

(Please like, comment, and reblog. I am a plant and your enjoyment is my sunlight.)

[mistress-violence]

Prompt: Sunflowers from @into-the-jeggyverse (September 5)

Word count: 483 words

Pairing: Jegulus (modern highschool AU)

⚠️ Warnings: none

Every week since the start of the new semester, James found a bouquet of sunflowers and a poem all around school. The first time was in his locker after the football practice. The second time was before English class, on his usual chair. The third time was in the library, while he was studying. He went to the bathroom for 5 minutes and when he came back, the flowers were there.

Every time they are exactly four sunflowers in the bouquet and a poem written on a piece of black paper with gold ink. The secret poet calls James "the sunflower boy": "the sunflower boy with golden stars in his eyes"; "the sunflower boy with that glowing moon smile"; "the sunflower boy with the summer kissed face".

At first, James believed that it was one of those groupie girls in school. After the second poem, he knew it wasn't just a random person. The secret poet was somebody who watched James for a long time. After the third one, James really started to think who can be this mysterious person. They are very good at writing, because the poems were wonderful. They are also very subtle and they can go somewhere without being noticed. Last, they are probably too shy or too scared to confess directly.

James couldn't stop thinking about this for days. Especially in English class, he was to absorbed in his own thoughts. He was so happy when the bell rang that he almost hit someone on his way out.

"Ah, I'm so sorry!" James apologized.

"Be careful, Potter, we're not on the football field."

Regulus' voice was deep and very sharp. He looked really annoyed and James wanted to apologize again when he saw something.

"Is that a poetry book?" James asked, winning a death glare from Regulus.

"Yes, Potter, it is in fact a poetry book. Some of us read for pleasure, not just for homework. You can try sometimes, maybe you can start with the "Good Manners" and learn not to bump into people".

Without any more mean comments, Regulus looked at his pocket watch and then walked away. For a second, James saw the celestial ornaments engraved on the case and the star pendant. He followed the younger boy with his eyes until Regulus got lost in a sea of students.

"Prongs, are you ok?" Sirius asked, appearing from nowhere.

"Yeah, Pads, I'm fine." James paused for a few second before asking out of the blue. "Your family is obsessed with astrology, am I right?"

"Kinda, it's more of a tradition to be named after constellations and stars, but we have some books at home".

"How many stars are in the Regulus constellation?"

"I think four, but why? It's about my brother, did he do something to you?".

Four... James paused for more seconds, before shaking his head in disbelief.

"No... He didn't do anything bad..."

Off fic note: The sunflower boy was born, I actually like it so much I will probably write more with this. I think I want to transform this in a series, a oneshot or even a bigger fanfiction.

[eccentricallygothic]

hii i do know if youre taking requests or anything but i was wondering if you could write a dark!bucky x reader fic where the kidnapping is already established and all and she finds herself giving in to bucky and it sorta shocks bucky as well, mostly soft dark bucky and comfort/fluff but dark? does this make sense

I don't really do requests only because I've danced that dance many times and failed at it every single time. Though I do like to do an interesting scenario here and there since I am a pleaser hehe 🩷

Also, I am so, so, so sorry that this is so late. I enjoy this as a hobby and my university slams me hard so I only write when I have the time and energy. I really hope you see this 🩷

And hope you like it still <3

Warning(s): Dark!Bucky, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, fluff, comfort. 

Bucky was past Hydra but the life was all the same. 

He worked for a private company that paid top dollar for his expertise now.

You had been in his sight for a long time before he made a move on you.

You had caught his eye almost right after he had broken free.

Since you used to volunteer at the town library and he would come to find some semblance of his time there among the old books, getting lost for hours on end in the corner dedicated to his time.

That with the smell of your perfume whenever you would walk by was an almost euphoric experience for him.

Every day, every time.

And then Bucky knew, he had to have you.

It had been a very cliche bumping into each other.

Or at least on his part. 

Maybe you had done it on purpose to try and make conversation with the handsome man who came by everyday. 

Bucky had gone into a trance for a few moments when he had made eye contact with you for the first time. 

The world had shut down.

And you were the only sound, the only light, the only life.

He had stopped coming after that day. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man had decided he could not afford to mess this up.

You were too sweet, too kind, too nice, too pretty, too perfect and completely out of his league. 

He devised a perfect plan.

And plucked you from society like a rose from a garden.

His rose.

Could you blame him?

You seemed to like him plenty so what other reaction could you possibly have than that of delight and gratitude after waking up in the humble house his mysterious company had built for him into the heart of a forest of his choice? 

Anyways.

It had been a long time since all that bitter business. 

You were past the tears, begging, running, denying and fighting.

The man had a literal metal arm, what were you compared to pure muscle and raw strength?

You bit your lip as you forced yourself to push the silly thoughts of escape away, dabbing the disinfectant one last time on Bucky's injured shoulder that you had patched up.

Was it right? Did you do something wrong?

You had no idea.

But every time you tried to suggest he see a doctor for his wounds every other time he was back from a job, all he ever responded to the proposition with was a sharp 'no doctors'. 

"Y- You…" Sighing to yourself in defeat, you moved to the smaller scratches and cuts now.

The man only looked up at you from his position on the kitchen chair as you stood between his legs. 

"You… should be careful out there, you know…" A grunt left you when you caught sight of a soft smile on his lips. 

"I mean, I don't know what the fuck this place is and how to navigate it so I don't wanna die of starvation just because you weren't careful" though your words amused him, he grabbed your chin nevertheless, clicking his tongue. 

"Language…" You rolled your eyes though only after you looked down because the habit had landed you in trouble with him one too many times. 

Because good girls don't use vulgar language. 

He was so old fashioned it was weird.

"Sorry… sir" you forced out through your teeth, very well aware of what would become of you if you didn't follow the rules and apologize straight away. 

"Good girl" the condescending pat on the top of your head was heavy due to his strength as you went about the rest of his injuries.

The both of you lost track of time.

Bucky noticed it before you did. 

The usual stiffness of your shoulders, the tension in your jaw, the tension in your hands was barely noticeable.

Genuine concern had overshadowed the usual disdain when he had stumbled in today. 

Well, he had been gone for days before that. 

You were also extra careful with making sure every little graze was addressed today unlike before where he had to practically threaten or manipulate you into doing it. 

After you had put everything away and washed your hands, you walked slowly to him before stopping in front of him.

"You're not allowed to go MIA again" you spoke with your chin held high, as though you had any say in this house. 

The slight raise of Bucky's eyebrow almost made you falter but the small smile that soon tugged at his lips eased you back down.

Maybe this was the way.

Letting out a defiant exhale through your nose you crossed your arms over your chest, "I've heard hamburgers are best served hot…"

He had told you that.

You did not have to look over your shoulder to know that his smile deepened.

Maybe you had cooked them and waited for him by the door everyday these past few days.

But he didn't have to know that.

Bucky groaned to himself as he pushed his body up and slowly followed you.

Maybe this was the start of something good. 

Or…

It didn't matter though. Bucky sighed as he circled his arms around your waist from behind while you served the food.

Perching his chin on your shoulder, he let his eyes flutter close as he inhaled your scent.

You smelled like home.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Whatever you will choose to do with this, Bucky decided, won't change anything. 

Because the fact of the matter was, you were his and you didn't have a choice.

[satansaidnottoday]

Armistice at the library.

Info: Human AU, Satan's Mc, GN!Mc.

Summary: You have been annoying Satan long enough to get a date.

A/N: We do a little jump in the timeline here, we will keep jumping back and forth depending on what story I want to tell.

Monday was Satan's least favorite day. He had to sift through all of the books left in the return box during the weekend and make sure they didn't get damaged. They then had to be returned to their place on the shelf. Still, the smell of books and the soft silence made up for it. From up high on the ladder, he could see the morning sun slowly rising over the shelves and tables. It was such a beautiful view; it calmed him down.

Suddenly he got dragged, his ladder moving a full meter to the right out of his control. He held on to the railing for dear life. A less than dignified screech left his throat.

"Good morning, loser," you said, letting go of the ladder. 

"Mc, for fucks sake." He cursed you, coming down as fast as his trembling feet let him.

You laughed and sat down on your table, putting your books down and your feet up. Out of all of the regulars, you were the only one who would show up at 7 a.m. every single Monday. He wasn't a fan. 

"I could have fallen!" He pushed your feet off the table and looked down at you, breathing heavily. You loved how worked up he got. 

"I would have caught you," you said, grabbing his hand on yours. "I will always catch you," you said, looking up at him with your best dreamy eyes and soft, loving smile.

His whole face turns a lovely shade of red. His hand rips apart from yours, and he turns around, leaving for the counter with a huff. You watch him leave, waiting until he is sitting at his computer to start your own work. 

Ever since you returned to town, you have been going to the library every day to work. Partly because it was much nicer than the teacher's lounge, and it was right in front of the school. Party because you loved annoying the sexy librarian. You actually knew him from high school before you moved out. He was a hothead, you remembered. It was kind of funny to see him put up such a serious facade. 

The next few hours are spent grading papers and writing assignments. Every so often, Satan lifted his eyes from the desk and stole a look at you. Every single time, you winked at him. The last time he sighed so deeply, you could almost see the air leaving his lungs. You took the opportunity to walk up to him.

"Hey, handsome, mind scanning a book for me?" You ask, leaning down on the counter. You put down your copy of Lord of the Flies in front of you. "I need 20 copies of the first 2 chapters.

"You don't have scanners and printers at school?" He asks, turning the page in his own book.

"No, we're poor," you lied.

"Then I wonder why you're the only teacher who comes here to work." He lifted his eyes just to glare at you.

"Truly a mystery." You pushed the book closer to him. He took it and inspected it.

"You're having twelve-year-olds read Lord of the Flies?" He asks, looking at you weird.

"Why not? They can relate to the protagonists."

In reality, your first class of the day started at noon, and you had prepared no reading material at all. You had picked up the first book you saw in your bag.

"Let me check; I might already have a digital copy." He started typing on his computer.

"So reliable; I love that in a man."

"Well, at least this way, your students don't need to read your 'notes'," he said, making air quotes with his fingers. Behind him, the printer started working.

"What's wrong with my notes?" Your voice came out an octave higher than you expected.

"Let's see," he said, opening the book up. "We have 'Oh no oh no oh no'," he pauses to look at you for a second. "Just a bunch of 'damn', 'damn', 'damn', 'these kids are fucked up' and then 'poor piggy' sad face." 

You felt the heat rising in your own face as you took the book from his hands. "In my defense, those kids were fucked up."

He laughed at you. It made you wish the printer would work faster. You didn't like being on this side of the power dynamic.

"I should charge your school for all these copies," he said, stapling the copies together as they came out of the printer.

You snorted. "Good luck with that. They're already paying me with hopes and dreams."

He smiled, a non-malicious smile for the first time. "On that, we can relate at last."

"The woes of government employment." 

You stacked the copies as he handed them to you, and when they were all ready, you pushed them into your briefcase.

"Thank you, good sir." You offered him your hand for a shake, and he reluctantly took it. You pulled a fast one and bowed down to kiss it. Heat returned to his face, and the universe regained its balance. 

"You've got to stop teasing me," he sneakered, taking away his hand.

"Okay," you nodded. "Let's go on a date." 

He put a hand on his forehead, as if you were giving him a headache. "I said stop."

"Stop teasing. That's what I'm doing; I'm being direct," you explained, leaning closer to him. "Let's get coffee."

He looked at you for a few seconds, scanning your face for any hints of foolery. For once, you were being completely serious. He sighed.

"I'm free on Saturday," he said, looking at his drawers for something. After some shuffling, he took out a small magnet shaped like the head of a cat and handed it to you. "That's my favorite place."

"Café gatitos and cream," you read off the magnet. It took all of your strength not to laugh at how childish it looked. Instead, you nodded. "See you there at nine?"

He nodded back, avoiding your eyes. Without another word, he went back to work. You resolved to do the same.

Walking back to the school, you fidgeted with the magnet in your hand. You really couldn't wait. 

Thank you for reading ❤️

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 9: Ghosts of You

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence

WC: 2.8k words, 9/?? chapters

Summary: After he storms off, you try to track Astarion down only to find yourself on a trip down memory lane. Once you do catch his trail, you’re surprised to see where he’s gone.

Ao3 | [Ch8][Ch10] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Astarion actually left.

You casually wander the house after his declaration, wondering if he really did just up and leave. It’s only a few minutes later that you toss all ambling aside and decide to look for him in earnest. The front door seems untouched and you're certain you didn’t hear it shut, so surely he must be here somewhere. However, after more than an hour of searching, you don’t find him anywhere.

What you do find are traces of past memories– far more than you were aware that this place still housed.

Excluding your old room, the mansion had originally seemed cold, stripped of anything that could possibly have been related to your past-self. You were almost convinced that Astarion had all but stricken his former lover from the annals of history. At the very least his own personal history. In your searching, you begin to find that that’s far from the truth.

The first place you look is the library, where you’d found him earlier that day. You love libraries, have visited every single one within a day’s distance of Neverwinter, so you feel quite at home between the shelves– even if there’s an unusually high number of gilded books on these.

Even his literature must be gaudy, you think with a slight frown of disapproval. Gaudy or not, you’d love to go through the books, devour them, but you’re on a mission. Walking through the aisles of books, you quickly determine that Astarion doesn’t seem to be here. You’re about to leave when you catch sight of the book Astarion was reading earlier. 

A single moment of hesitation passes before you’re eagerly lifting the book into your hands, eyes pouring over its title, The Hero of Baldur’s Gate: A Look into the Elf who Saved Faerûn by Volothamp Geddarm. You just about dropped the book in shock, what is this? Nothing in your studies ever mentioned that the Hero had a biography. You flip open to the first page, only to see a note, written on a scrap of parchment in a hand that looks awfully familiar.

Volo, for the last time, please stop trying to write a biography for me. I didn’t do half of these things and the half that I did do are highly embellished. If you return this copy to me one more time, I swear to any god that will listen that it will be the last book you ever write.

Written under the title on the first page of the book, you find a response in another person’s handwriting: My friend! Rest assured, this shall be the only copy, but I must insist that you keep it. After all, they are your deeds. And if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me! - Volo

Well, that certainly explains why it never made it to print, you think, smiling at the exchange. Your past-self feels so very real in the moment, their handwriting right before your eyes. The parchment is old, worn, fraying at the edges, but it’s clear that Astarion treasured it with how it’s firmly set in the inside cover. You close the book carefully, not wanting to ruin the relic.

I can’t believe Astarion was reading this, you think. Maybe I got through to him. Somehow.

Next, you go to his study for the second time today. The vampire is not miraculously standing in plain sight, and you’re tempted to just move on to the next room, but an unbidden image of him hiding under his desk comes to you. Best to check, you think. 

You go around the intricately carved mahogany desk to take a quick look under and confirm: No, the man is not playing hide and seek. While you’re here, you let your eyes stray across the desk’s surface, taking in Astarion’s space. The stack of parchment is no longer on his desk, likely tucked away in a drawer somewhere, but the ink and quill still rest on it. Something about the quill piques your curiosity. Have I seen this before?

Delicately, like the impromptu criminal that you are, you pick up the utensil, rolling it between your fingers. Memories surface somewhere in the back of your mind and you breathe out, “Ah.” 

You’ve used this quill. Well, not you, strictly speaking– your past-self used it. A few reveries come to mind: writing to your companions and allies after the events of Baldur’s Gate, taking notes while surrounded by swathes of papers and diagrams that you can’t possibly recall all of the details of, always writing while Astarion tried to distract you. 

You stifle a laugh at the thought, placing the quill back in its place. A sturdy little thing, and, if it has survived this long, you don’t want to be the person who breaks it. 

Having dallied enough, you continue your search. For due diligence, you pop your head into the lavatory, servant’s quarters, kitchen, and main hallway, swiftly determining that none of them house the vampire you’re looking for.

Now you begin to venture into new rooms, first finding what you believe is a parlor– it’s difficult to tell with how it’s decorated. Where you’d expect to see seating for guests, perhaps a piano or another source of entertainment, all you find are prominently placed statues. You count five total, two of which are uncovered busts of Astarion’s face, the other three covered by white sheets. Is he really that vain? you wonder as you inspect the two visible busts. 

One of them is serious, the epitome of a handsome, wealthy man documenting his beauty to stand the test of time. The other is a bit softer, his lips curl into a smile, his expression looks warm and inviting, the marble worked into smooth curves. Both works of art in their own way, to be certain, but you can’t help but think that neither compare to the real deal.

Despite knowing there’s no way that the real Astarion is hiding under them, you’re itching to look at the covered statues. Rationalizing it is easy though: you won’t know for sure until you check!  You look under all three in turn. 

The first is a large statue of the entire group known as the Saviors of Baldur’s Gate, including each of your companions in heroic poses. It has a plaque at the bottom which states, “For their heroic deeds and selfless actions.” Cute, you think with a sad pang at the thought that only Astarion and Halsin remain.

The second you recognize instantly as a bust of your former-self– it’s designed in the same way the second Astarion bust is, and you consider that they may have been a set. I guess Astarion tired of my old face after all, you think as you return the cover.

The third leaves you with deeply furrowed brows, wondering why in the hells Astarion would have it in the first place. It’s not a statue at all– in fact it appears to be an anvil, with various metalworking tools strewn across its surface. He doesn’t seem like the type, you think. But I guess everyone needs to pick up a hobby eventually.

Shrugging the oddity off, you take in the rest of the room, realizing how unused the room feels. You wonder how often he visits the room, if at all, considering how all of the actual furniture seems to be pressed up against the walls, covered in drapes. A pity, you think, as you peek under some of the cloth coverings. Some of this furniture is actually tasteful. Considering what you’ve found so far, it seems reasonable to assume that this furniture may be over a hundred years old, placed here by your past-self. Continuing on, you can’t help but think again that they should have tried harder to live, if only to save Astarion from his own decor choices.

You leave the room furthest from your old room for last, on the complete opposite end of the main hallway.

There you find a room that must be Astarion’s current chambers. It’s opulent and completely over-the-top, much like the rest of the house. You find that it smells distinctly of Astarion – his scent of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy a recurring part of your memories. His bed is a massive four-poster, with pillows so extravagant you’d be surprised if he actually uses them. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a large walk-in closet, filled to the brim with a wardrobe a king might kill for. Another well-stocked bookshelf, an ornate display shelf, a large velvet settee with gold ribbing, it’s almost all too much for your eyes to handle.

Luckily for your overtaxed eyes, one item is not like the rest, its distinct mundanity a stark contrast to the luxury of the rest of the room: Next to his bed you find a small portrait of your past self. It’s clearly well-loved, as you note the frame’s smoothed edges and its almost reverent placement, right next to where he sleeps.

Seeing the portrait’s tilt toward the bed, the way the hinge of it seems to have seen better days, you don’t need to question how often he thinks of them. You’re such a liar, you think. If, as you say, your love is truly a thing of the past, you wouldn’t still have their face next to yours every single night. Wake up to them every single morning.

However, you’re unsure what to do with that information. You may as well be armed with a spell that you don’t know how to use. Calling him out on his lie wouldn’t be a magical means to earning his trust and affection, and you’re fairly certain he was truthful about another thing. Even if he believed you, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s uninterested in you now.

You sit with that fact, staring at your former face for a while. The planes of their jaw, the curve of their lips, the shape of their eyebrows – you see almost nothing of your current self in it now. You’ve never been one to care about your appearance, too preoccupied with your studies or your dreams to spare it a thought. For once, you find yourself caring, wishing that you looked like someone you’ve only dreamt about.

After a few minutes of self-pity, you shove the feelings down with a grimace. How silly, you think. Being jealous of your past-self is a fruitless exercise and time better spent tracking down the vampire that’s the source of your frustrations. So you return to your search, shaking off these unnerving vestiges of your past.

A thought strikes you as you amble around his room. Despite finding all of these remnants of your past-self, you do note a distinct absence: you’ve found nothing to indicate any new lovers. You think back to each room you’ve been in, trying to recall a single article of clothing, a lost hair band, perhaps a love letter. But you found none of those, nothing that might indicate he felt anything other than a fleeting moment’s interest in a single other soul. 

“Did he really refuse to love again?” you ask into the room, knowing full well the answer. As much as you would like it to bring you joy– and it does carry a tinge of satisfaction somewhere deep down– it largely fills you with worry. Is he so stuck in the past, so enamored with a ghost, that he no longer has the capacity to love someone new? Are you really any different from the others who showed up at his door?

You’re about to dwell, to fall right back into that mire of despair that you’d just pulled yourself out of, when you notice the glint of something on the ground.

What’s that? 

Taking a few steps around his bed to get a closer look, you recognize another artifact from a long distant memory. Rhapsody, Cazador Szarr’s old blade, lies on the ground next to the bed.

Of course Astarion would keep such a significant object, and of course you would recognize it on sight. It makes your insides twist with anger at his former master again, and it’s all you can do to keep focused. Why is this on the ground? You take a look at the surrounding furniture in the room, trying to find its rightful place. Astarion may be a stubborn man, difficult beyond your expectations, but you wouldn’t want him to step on a blade this wicked either.

It’s only a few seconds later that you note a shelf, a conspicuously empty spot along its edge. Ah, it must usually be on display. You pick up the blade, remaining careful with its sharp edges, and move to replace it.

That’s when you spot it– A shimmer.

“Huh?” you say, as you return the knife to its proper place. You look toward the wall next to the shelf, where you swear you saw something move out of the corner of your eye. No, it wasn’t movement– it’s magic. The area feels magical, and you sharpen your senses to try to detect the magic in the air. Every fiber of your being shouts it at once: illusion magic.

You stick your hand out, as if to touch the wall, only to find that your arm goes right through. A small spark of understanding triggers in you as you recall memories from your past life with this exact type of magic. It’s an illusory wall, and who knows what may be behind it.

Astarion is behind it , your mind supplies easily. It makes sense, explaining why you couldn’t find him no matter where you searched, why it felt like he’d disappeared off the face of the planet. Your eyes land where Rhapsody fell, tracing his angry path around his room and through the illusory wall clearly.

But where could he have stalked off to? A secret hideaway? A reclusive second study? Maybe even a grand lair– Astarion certainly seemed like the type. You decide that it doesn’t matter. Even if it’s a torture chamber, you’re following.

You don’t waste any further time and step through the wall. Despite your wildest imaginings, it didn’t open up to a trove of treasure or a hidden laboratory. It’s just a long hallway, leading down, deep into the earth. The dark, stone walls bend at the end of its path, making it unclear where it might lead. No matter, you’ll just have to head down and find out. 

Proceeding warily, checking for traps every dozen or so feet, you make your way down the long hallway, turn the corner, only to find another hallway. This one goes even further into the earth, the slant of the hallway growing perilously deep, turning into a set of stone steps, and ending abruptly at the bottom. It almost feels like it’s reaching toward the hells themselves and you’re suddenly nervous, thinking of how much ground is above your head currently.

Mentally considering all of the spells that might get you out of this should it turn sour, you continue into the earth, toward the end of the hall. You’re moving cautiously, so you spot another trace of illusion magic at where it reaches the dead end. With a start, you realize that the floor isn’t stone here, it’s an illusory floor.

Where does this go? Carefully, acutely aware of how dangerous this might be, you crane your neck down into the false-floor. You are hit with a sense of grandeur you simply weren’t expecting. Eyes adjusting to the darkness below you, you’re met with a familiar sight– although not one you’ve encountered in this lifetime.

In the earth beneath you is a massive cavern, opening to a landscape of luminescent flora, the tops of giant mushrooms blocking your field of view after about 100 meters. It’s the Underdark, you think, and a chill runs up your spine at the thought. You’d always loved reading about the Underdark in your studies, thrilled at each memory of your past-life that brought you here. And now that you’re face-to-face with it, you can feel the danger in the air. Perhaps you should heed the warnings of the brightly-colored world, turn back into the manor with a healthy dose of fear in your heart– but you only find yourself shivering with excitement.

It’s the Underdark, you think again, giddy this time. Maybe I can explore a bit– no, focus. You spot a ladder trailing down from the fake floor you’re currently sticking your head through, and you now know, almost without a doubt, that Astarion is down there. There’s only one way to go then.

Taking one last big breath of above-ground air, you carefully place your hands and feet on the rungs of the ladder. You didn’t think you were afraid of heights, but this trek might change your perspective on that. You refuse to look down and find out. If only you’d prepared Featherfall– unfortunately a giant drop wasn’t in your outlook for the day.

Without another moment for doubt, you begin your descent, one foot following the other in a steady beat– your only distraction from the overwhelming fear of plummeting to a certain doom are thoughts of finding Astarion below.

[sorry-moots]

Inversion of Genesis But I Changed It

so i started mha and subsequently was imbued with the urge to Create but i harnessed my inspiration and finished chapter 11 because i left you guys starving so i could be emo and get a job characters featured: yvette (oc), nilou, pierre (oc) cws: none wc: 1,449

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Chapter Eleven

Yvette found you at some point. Being employed by Lord Scaramouche, she was in the same boat as you– stranded in a foreign nation with a comatose employer and no friends or family.

Having her around made things easier. The night that your master slipped into his coma, you were effectively jobless and homeless. The next morning, you leased an apartment together.

About a month has passed since then. Bit by bit, you’ve been chipping away from the savings that you brought with you. You were already low on funds from the deposit and the down payment. Though you had split the cost, Yvette couldn’t afford to cover more than a fourth.

I need to get a job… Only, it’s not that simple. Everyone could tell you were a Fatuus. It’s obvious from the way you dress, the way you talk, the way your eyes scan the entire environment as you move through it.

No one trusts the Fatui and less than no one likes the Fatui. Finding someone willing to hire you would be almost impossible and even then you could be fired for the smallest of slights.

Still, it’s not fair to Yvette. As soon as you told her what had happened, she went out in search of a job. Now, she’s working as a maid for the mysterious lord of the Palace of Alcazarzaray.

You get to work writing your resume. “Assistant to the Sixth Fatui Harbinger” might not get you anywhere with most people, but there’s gotta be someone out there who doesn’t care. Right?

*****

Two months later, you finally strike out.

Since the Akasha was shut down, scholars from every Darshan are struggling with the return to traditional research. It’s been hard to get past the initial shock— they went from having all of Sumeru’s knowledge whispering in their ears to permanent radio silence. Everyone is desperate for any help they could get; the House of Daena librarians could only handle so many requests at a time.

Back in Snezhnaya, everything is filed analog-style. Chronologically ordered documents within filing cabinets of alphabetized folders, rolodexes with names and addresses for every Fatui contact of import, binders with detailed reports of missions and related expenses. Having the expertise of a professional secretary, you get a job working for some student researchers.

The pay isn’t glamorous in the least, but no one else would hire you. Not the stockbrokers, not the grocers, not even the owners of the Puspa Café or Lambad’s Tavern. No one with any customers to lose wanted a former Fatuus working for them, so this was your only option.

Your job is very straightforward: find and assess relevant subject matter. The actual execution isn’t quite as simple. The House of Daena is the largest library in Teyvat, boasting a collection of over three hundred million books, scriptures, and tomes. Combing through it all is a huge effort.

Once you find the suggested literature, you still have to make sure the contents are what is needed for the research study. Even just an inspectional reading— table of contents, indices, glossary, etc.— takes hours. The worst part is when the material proves to be useless in the context it’s needed in, making all your work in vain.

Nevertheless, poverty is a good motivator. Though your days at the library often stretch into the night, the hefty pouch of mora you claim at the end of each project brings you great relief.

*****

With your jobs, you and Yvette find it easiest to do your grocery shopping late in the evening. Once a week, the two of you leave work early, meet at the apartment, and leave with a couple baskets each to buy the most basic of essentials.

Your first stop is always, without fail, the tavern. While you usually take turns cooking, it’s become a weekly ritual to dine out and relax before shopping. More often than not, this entails visiting the fortune teller to pet her cats.

Most of your groceries come from Hamawi’s stall, but you like to check out the Grand Bazaar every so often for some less-than-essential goods. On this particular evening, the atmosphere feels different… electrifying almost.

As you take in your surroundings, you realize that the shoppers and stall owners are murmuring and gravitating toward the stage. Forgetting the weight of the baskets on your arms, you pull Yvette with you into the crowd.

You get some looks, presumably because of your uniform, but it’s worth it. When you make it to the front, you hear the strum of a sitar and your eyes land on a lone dancer.

She bears a striking resemblance to Yvette. Her skin is pale, her hair is bright red, and her eyes are like aquamarines. The longer you stare at her form as she dances, the easier it is to imagine her as your companion.

Finally, her performance ends and you’re released from your trance. The crowd begins to disperse and you turn to leave with Yvette.

“Wait! You, with the red hair!”

The two of you turn to see the dancer pushing through the crowd. Your eyes meet, confirming your suspicion that she was referring to Yvette– there weren’t many people in the room with red hair. 

“I totally get if you don’t want to, but hear me out!” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “You and I look almost exactly alike. If you danced with me, I could choreograph new shows where you pose as my doppelganger! It doesn’t matter if you don’t have experience either, I can teach you!”

As you stare blankly at one another, she blurts, “It pays really well, too!”

From the look in her eye, you can tell just what Yvette is thinking: she’s interested. “How much would she earn?”

“Oh, I earn about 800,000 mora for every show,” the dancer responded.

Without sparing your roommate another glance, you give your answer.

“She’ll do it.”

*****

A lot has changed in the few weeks since you met Nilou. With Yvette being a fast learner, the theater was able to include her in their most recent show as a backup dancer. Her paycheck was less than Nilou’s– 500,000 mora– but that was to be expected. It would be hard to shine as bright as the star of the Zubayr Theater.

Aside from your elevated financial status, your time in Sumeru had changed your appearance almost beyond recognition. The pallor from Snezhnaya’s inhospitable winters was chased out by Sumeru’s sunny weather. Your hair was no longer bound and trapped in unyielding updos.

Best of all was your updated wardrobe. One afternoon, as you were having lunch with Nilou and Yvette, you spotted a blue skirt with brightly colored fish. She noticed you staring at the garment and convinced the vendor to lower the price so you could buy it and a pretty white blouse to go with it.

The difference in treatment was instantaneous. Passersby no longer whispered when they walked past you, merchants called out to you to buy their goods, waiters smiled at you when you entered restaurants.

It would almost feel good if you could forget.

*****

Eight months after the incident, you wait at Bayda Harbor, watching the ships pass by. Normally, you would go through research material while waiting for something, but today is different.

Any one of the dozens of ships in the harbor could be host to your most loyal companion, Apollo.

Before leaving the city, you did your best to make some snacks for Apollo. They didn’t have the same varieties of carrot that were available in Snezhnaya so you improvised and dipped some hay and mint leaves in boiling sugar water. Crystallized, it made the perfect rock candy for horses.

I hope he likes them, you think to yourself as you check to make sure the treats haven’t melted in the heat.

As the sun nears its peak, you think you hear your name being called. You look around until you see not just a familiar snout, but a familiar face as well.

“Pierre!” you call out with a grin. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, someone had to bring your horse, miss,” he replied fondly, with a tip of his hat. “Besides… It’s about time I went on vacation.”

The two of you chat for a while as you feed Apollo the snacks, which were much to his liking– he even nibbled at the tin when you ran out.

Once the two of you part ways, him to the desert and you to the city, you squeeze Apollo tightly.

“I missed you, Apollo,” you whisper, sniffling. “It’s been so hard without you. Without you both.”

He says nothing. He is a horse.

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tags: @lacunaanonymoused, @dollpoetwriting, @constantlyoverthinking, @littlesliceofcheese, @yourfavoritefreakyhan, @magicalink , @swivi a/n: if you saw the version of this where i mourned the loss of a tag list member no you didn't

[justjams2003]

Blossoms-11

Pairing: Erik Destler x OFC (Mariposa Claremont)

Summary: A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Warnings: Haircutting? Kidnapping? Mentions of sexual themes, angst, and fluff too. Tell me if I miss anything

Word count: 2,2k

Masterlist

Part 10~Part 12(coming soon)

Dividers: @yaynowimglad @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

The sight is absolutely glorious. Erik paddled me through a cave entrance, through a large steel gate. That’s not the part that amazes me.  Huge archways built of stone, steps leading up to the beautiful sight of hundreds of candles. In the middle is a huge organ. It’s scattered with papers and melted wax and yet still its huge sight takes my breath away.  

More than that, I can see several tunnels leading into the depths that I know nothing about. The sight makes my mind itch and flow with a million story ideas. My mind feels full. Erik steps out of the boat and holds out his hand for me to take. There is no other option in my mind, I need to know more of him and his home.  

The tunnels, the caves, the music sheets and instruments are incredible bit what he showed me next is truly the pinnacle of it all. A huge library, a collection of every opera, musical and ballet ever written. Not only that but a collection of every piece of classical, fantastical and biography books ever written. The most comfortable seat too in the middle.  

A gasp escapes my lips, and I can’t seem to control my body. I jump up the stairs, looking in and out each tunnel. “This place is so fantastical!” The words fly from my mouth and the need to read each book aches in my body. Erik seems to truly smile, similar to that day in the woods. “I am glad you enjoy it.” He says, watching as my eyes scan the cave.  

“This is where I stay. This is where I write. This is where I create. I do welcome you to use this space in a similar manner.” He motions for his space, he seems almost shy to ask. A joy rises once more in my stomach, the thought of getting to spend so much more time in such an inspirational area brings bubbles in my stomach.  

Like so many times before, my body reacts before I have control. I jump down from the stairs, placing my trust in my prince. And without even hesitating, he catches me and spins me around. “Oh thank you, thank you!” I call out, and like each time that I am held by the opera ghost, my writing merges into real life.  

When he lefts my feet touch the floor, my prince tucks a piece of, now short hair that has gone astray, behind my ear. “Oh course, my Clemintine. I’d give you the world if you asked me.” He says, quoting the song I had sung earlier on the river. An uncontrollable smirk creeps onto my face.   

“Can I start now? Do you mind?” I ask, needing to get a full month of ideas out of my mind and onto paper. He nods, “Yes, yes of course. I too, am ready to create.” And with that I made myself comfortable on the big chair. Surrounded by books and the person who’s gaze makes me feel safe, the words flowed without much control.  

I don’t think she knows. I don’t think she knows how much her touch makes me grow hot. I don’t think she knows how much her smile erases the darkness. I don’t think she knows how much how much I love her. I don’t think I know how much I love her. Is it comprehensible? Is our love able to be put into music notes or words on paper?  

I am interrupted from my composing my light, airy snores coming from the beautiful blonde-haired girl. The sight is truly majestic. The journal she’d been writing in lays on the floor next to her ink and quill. In her lap is the score for, The Fairy-Queen. The candles glow around her, causing a slight halo around her sleeping form.  

I scatter for my paper and charcoal; I must capture her. My scraps and scribbles seem like child’s drawings next to her beautiful form. I am not sure how long I’d been trying to draw her, but I’m interrupted by a groan. Mariposa mumbles something in her sleep before turning to her other side. Curling into a small ball.  

A pang of guilt hits me. I’d let her sleep in that uncomfortable position for who knows how long. Her delicate form might wake with bruises and a crooked neck. I drop everything, and carefully pick her up. I so gently place her down on the bed. I feel so grateful just to be allowed to touch her. Much less tuck her in to my own bed.  

I hope she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t care about the music; she cares about the story it tells, like me. That is the exact and precise difference between her and Christine. Christine misses her father, and that is why she sings. The curly haired girl only cares for music because of the connection it holds to her father.  

But my Mariposa is so engrossed in music purely to share it. To transport people, somewhere the daily struggles don’t have to bother you. Where you can float away. Even as she sleeps, her beauty tells a story of someone who is wild and free. Of someone who doesn’t care what people expect of her and only longs for adventure.  

The music notes flow before I can even consider waking her.  

I’ve been watching him for at least half an hour now. He hasn’t realised. I quite enjoy it, seeing the furrow in his brow and the way he would almost growl in frustration. Not only that, but the music notes he are playing seem to somehow show exactly how she feels.  

He’s been stuck on the same line for about 10 minutes now. I know exactly how to fix his frustration, but I enjoy seeing him try to wrangle the notes. Until, finally, when he throws the sheet music from the piano, I cave. His back is turned to me, he’s heaving in anger.  

My steps are softer than a mouse, and my touch much the same. The moment my fingers land on his shoulders, the tension he carries melt away in a moment. “You’re awake.” He whips around, his eyes once again filled with guilt but his touch is soft on my waist. My heart thumps in my ears.  

I nod, “Long enough to know exactly what is wrong with your piece.” I smile at him, moving away in order to hear my own thoughts. Also, of course, to pick up the sheet music. He furrows his brows, but doesn’t say anything. I see it now, “Here, after the G7 there needs to be a hard shift in the tones. Here, I’ll add the next few notes and lyrics too.”  

I take the pencil from his hand and sit down on his piano chair. It takes me less that 5 minutes, I’d thinking about it this whole time. My prince sits down next to me, again my heart pounds, our thighs touch and creates a similar heat to my cheeks. I do hope I’m not too pink right now.  

He takes the paper from me, once I’m finished. “My Clementine, this is perfect. You can read the sheet music?” He ask, his brows furrow at me. I can’t help but giggle. Even he too underestimates me. “Yes, of course I had to learn behind my parent’s back and there are still somethings I cannot understand.”  

Erik seems to be amazed and this time I cover up my face. “Why do you hide yourself?” He takes my hands into his own. “I don’t like it when you look at me like that.” I mumble, it’s true, no one has ever before made me blush like this. I do allow myself to show emotions, but I can control if need be. Not with him, he makes me blush.  

“Like what?” He seems so innocent to his wonderous look. “You look at me how I look at the wildflowers. How I look at the snow falling and the butterflies emerging. How I look at blooming flowers and a freshly pealed tangerine. You look at me how I feel when I listen to the plays. You look at me how I look at you.” Why am I saying all this?  

No control, nothing! I’m blabbering on about my likeness to the man in front of me. I’ve known him six month yes, but I haven’t seen him the full six months. Not to mention I’ve invited myself into his house, and slept in his bed! The realisation hits me. A gasp escapes my mouth. “Oh, if my mother is going to be so ashamed of me!” 

I pull my hands from his own, my hand on my chest as my heart just seems to not slow down! My breath is short. “I must apologise, Monsieur, how very unladylike of me.” I fan the blush from my face, pacing up and down as I realise where I am, what I’m doing and I’ve just said.  

“I must tell you, my mother did not raise me like this. No matter how hard she tried, she meant to raise a proper lady. If she heard me now she’d never let me house again.” A faint laugh escapes me. The composer rises from his seat, and grabs my hands.  

Then, his no longer gloved hand, raises my chin to look into those beautiful green-brown eyes of his. “My dear, you are a writer, and an adventurer, a dreamer. I might not have known you when you were a young girl, but I know you now. I do know that calling you a lady, would be an insult to your magnificence.” Again I blush but this time I cannot hide my face.  

My hand does free itself from his, however and lands on the masked side of his face. “Would you allow me to dream? Would you allow me to dream of your love, of our life, for us to have a future even if it might not last as long as we’d like?” My other hand moves like dust in the air and carefully lands on his other side.  

The tear that rolls from his cheek is swept away by my thumb. His hands find my waist and pulls me so close to his body. His face in the crook of his neck, the collar of my neck is wet with his tears. A frown forms on my face, but I comply and pull him closer.  

“Why do you cry? Did I say something wrong? Do you not want to be my lover?” It hurts to think but I must know. And yet he his sobs only grow stronger. He’s a big man standing at much taller than 180cm with well-built muscle, I, however, am not. I pull him over to sit down on the piano chair.  

Must I leave? Have I offended him? Was he scared that I would take his mask off? “I...I’ll easily leave if that is what you wish.” I mutter out, not entirely sure how to leave this place, but I’ll figure it out if it makes him happy. He removes his latch on my body, “No! Please....”  

My heart jumps again, “You want me to stay?” I furrow my brows, I feel like my emotions have been thrown around. “I do not deserve you. You deserve more. A future with me is a future with a monster. A future filled with darkness, evading the light and the sight of others. You, my Clemintine, should be allowed to explore the world, bloom as the flower you are.”  

That hurts more than him just not wanting me. His confidence so low that he believes it matters what he thinks of himself? “Okay then,” if he believes that he is so terrible that I could never possible be happy with him, then I’ll believe him. “If you believe it to be true, it must be so.”  

I stand up from the stool and go down the steps. I grab my journal, which I always carry with me, and walk further down the steps. “I should listen to my mother, right? Get married to Count Carson and sit and sew all day while I pop out one baby after the other. Is that how you would also want it?” I stand in front of one of the tunnel entrances.  

I turn to face him, hoping just maybe he’ll change his mind. “You say you’re a monster, then I’ll treat you like one. I’ll leave you here, I’ll go back to London, I’ll stop writing and live the life my mom wants. Because that’s what you think I deserve.” I stand firm, it might be similar to a child’s fit, but honestly I feel like crying like one too.  

He stands at the top of the stairs. His mouth stands agape, and his fists are clenched by his sides. And yet, he is like a stone pillar. “Nothing?” Tears escape me, I wipe it off as best as I can. He goes to defend himself but I hold my hand up. “If your next words aren’t, I’m sorry and I am enough, I don’t want to hear it.” His tears continue to flow. 

“I’ve learned from previous experiences that I can’t make someone love themselves. And if someone doesn’t have the capacity to love themselves, how can they ever find it in themselves to love me.” Now I cry even more, remembering previous loves in my full 18 years of life who have shattered my heart because I let them.

[ofliterarynature]

NOVEMBER 2023 WRAP UP

[ loved liked ok no thanks (reread) DNF ]

The Moonstone • Chaos Terminal • (The Raven Boys) • The Ghosts of Trappist • (Fugitive Telemetry) • From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler • The Art of Destiny • The Bell in the Fog • (Exit Strategy) • Who Goes There? • Salt Magic Skin Magic • The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up • (Dracula) • (Rogue Protocol) • The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store • The Boneshaker • The Archive Undying • (The Scorpio Races) • Camilla

Total: 18 (audiobook: 15 / ebook: 3)

I started my month off by finishing my reread of The Scorpio Races on November 1, as is right and proper :) This has consistently been my favorite of Maggie's books, and it never feels right the years that I haven't reread it. I think I hit the right method this year and rather than binging it or following a structured reread (which would be cool, if you could match the timeline of the book) I listened to the audiobook on and off throughout Oct and finished it off in one last burst one the 1st. I think this is some of Maggie's best writing, but I also admit I am no longer able to judge this one objectively and will save you all the sales pitch for now :)

The Archive Undying was...confusing. It wasn't that I couldn't follow what was happening on the sentence level or in the immediate present, but try zooming out to the larger picture and I was lost. It was hazy, very much like a fever dream. I would not be opposed to trying some of the author's other work in the future, but I have no interest in revisiting this book/series, and wouldn't really recommend.

The Boneshaker has been sitting on my bookshelf for years ever since I picked it up at a library book sale, and it's managed to survive every shelf purge since. And I'm glad it did! It's a strange MG/YA book about a girl, her bicycle, a small western town just off a crossroads, a snakeoil salesman, his medicine show, and deals with the devil. It was fascinating! I've been almost tempted to send a copy to Sydnee McElroy just for fun. I will definitely be investigating the author's other series.

The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store - I got tempted into this one because the Book Riot Podcast couldn't stop singing it's praises, and then it started making some of the year end/best of lists and... it's ok I guess? I don't really get the hype, tbh, and I got close to DNFing because it just wasn't interesting. I was at least forewarned that the "murder mystery" in the marketing was overblown, but I am here to tell you to ignore its existence completely. There is no mystery, there isn't really even a murder, and it doesn't happen until the end of the book anyway. I fully admit this was just not a book for me, and anyone who wants to read it I wish you well.

Not much to say about my Murderbot reread, other than choosing to give the audiobooks a break and rereading in a text format was an excellent choice, I really feel like I've picked up on a lot of things I didn't before, and it gives me time to think about things (I have some questions about the actual irl existence of rogue secunits, tbh). This is my second full time trough the series, and I think Exit Strategy is maybe the weakest solo link in the original quartet, but that makes me very happy to have the newer books as well. And I have to say it, FUGITIVE TELEMETRY IS BETTER IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER.

Dracula Daily wrapped up this month, so I'm probably not the only one to have Dracula show up on their reading list. I listened to most of it via RE: Dracula, which I appreciated so much for helping keep me on track this year. I probably won't follow along next year, but big thanks to everyone for helping me learn to enjoy a book I hated both times I had to read it for school! I'll still be percolating that Greenwing & Dart AU somewhere in the back of my mind in the meantime.

I picked up the idea of "sparking joy" from the general internet and have found it hugely helpful in letting go of things in life, so I've been meaning to pick up The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up for a while, and was finally spurred into it when I picked up a copy at goodwill. I found some actionable advice in Kondo's method, but sooo much of the book felt like a sales pitch on how following this method could fix everything wrong in your life (and I mean *everything*). It left a very bad taste in my mouth - I think a workbook or checklist could be useful, but wouldn't recommend the book itself.

Salt Magic Skin Magic is a historical fantasy with magic, adventure, and a gay romance, which is so entirely in my wheelhouse. It hit all the same points I tend to find/enjoy in KJ Charles' work, and I had such a good time reading this - no surprise, apparently she helped edit this! Thanks to the HOTE discord group for reccing this one, I'll definitely be checking out some of the author's other work!

If you didn't know, Who Goes There? is the short story that the movie The Thing was based on - which I have not seen, but I went on a brief dive into antarctic exploration/horror in anticipation of this month's book club (All the White Spaces, which I actually read for last month but that meeting got delayed) and this popped up pretty quickly. It was available from the library and short, so why not?! The beginning felt a little rough, but I would have loved to see the tension of the main plot drawn out even longer. Liked this a lot better than the actual book club book, but I don't know that I'll watch any of the adaptations.

The Bell in the Fog - Lavender House sequel! I was so glad when this was announced; I love queer books, historical books, a mystery with a lead who actually does some detecting, and a character trying to find themselves and their community? Absolute catnip for me. It also doesn't pull its punches about the violence and injustices faced by the queer community, so it's definitely a bit darker than my usual tastes and will have to try hard to make it onto my favorites list. But if the author continues to write these I will absolutely pick them up.

The Art of Destiny - bless the library for not dragging their heels on the audiobook for this sequel, but lucky me, they did finally add the first book in time for me to get them both in the same year. Unlucky me, this does not appear to be the end of this series D: third book when??? Anyway, I won't deny that these books move a little slowly, but when they move, they move. If you want a big fantasy that's diverse, funny, cartoonish but epically violent, has a cast of all ages, and centers it's story on non-romantic relationships - this is so good, come join me in wailing for a book 3 announcement.

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler has lived in the back of my mind for a while as a favorite childhood book of a booklr friend who is sadly no longer on tumblr, but who I say hi to occasionally on other sites - anyways, I found a copy at goodwill and took it as a sign. This one's for you, Lourdes! If I'd found this as a kid, I probably would have reread it a lot, that's how I was too lol. For now, it was a fine read, but I don't think it'll have a lasting hold. Any fans interested in more middle grade about fine art might check out the Chasing Vermeer series by Blue Balliett.

The Ghosts of Trappist - I think it's impossible for me to not enjoy myself reading this series (NeoG), but this one was a bit of a backslide from the improvements in book 2. On one hand - a very ambitious plot, probably the least soap-operaish of the bunch, and I loved the emotional arcs (and the possible ART/murderbot reference?). On the other - over a dozen pov characters is too too many. my god. I think a tighter focus could have done a world of good, but if this is also where the series wraps up I'd be totally satisfied. I'll definitely check out the author's other series.

I admit, rereading The Scorpio Races sparked something in me and now I'm determined to set off on a full Maggie Stiefvater read/reread, starting with The Raven Boys. I really loved this when it first came out, but my interested petered out as the series progressed and I started college, and I haven't touched the spinoff yet. My impression from the first book is still that Maggie's writing is so goddam beautiful. Her sentences make me want to weep, but for me there's so much focus on the line that I'm constantly losing track of the big picture. I'm still enjoying myself, but I feel like I'm coasting a lot on nostalgia and aesthetic between moments of a story - though is it me, or does she write a lot in scenes/vignettes, rather than a constant flowing story? I've found some success in centering myself by imagining the scenes as depicted by a CW supernatural teen show of my high school years and it's quite lovely, actually - I can't believe the TV show plans got dropped and never picked up again. We'll have to see how the rest of the series goes.

Genuinely, I can't believe that I read Station Eternity earlier this year and that the sequel, Chaos Terminal, is out already. Despite liking the author's first book (Six Wakes) and normally liking the tropes they're playing with here, I did not like the first book. No idea why I read the second one then (hope?), but it was better, definitely! I still didn't like it. No idea if I'll finally call it quits on this series or get lured into another one if it gets written.

The Moonstone was an unexpected surprise! I made it to November still 2 books short on my 6 classics challenge and panicked when the first one ended up dnf'd - what if this one was bad too??? But I really should know better, give me a half decent mystery and entertaining characters, and I'll be fine. And it was epistolary! I had a good time groaning over all of the characters foibles and quirks, even if I spent the whole time just going, Hey Guys? you could avoid all of this if you just let the nice Indian men have their diamond back. Good fun if you like a mystery and have some patience.

My only DNF this month was the previously mentioned classic - from the moment I decided on a classics challenge, I knew I wanted to try something by Frances Burney given how much I liked her novel Evelina. Unfortunately for me, the only one the library had on audiobook was Camilla... and it was 37 hours long. I gave it a shot, but only made it about 3 hours in. I really do applaud Burney for her ability to create characters who are intentionally/unintentionally causing harm even if they sometimes have the best of intentions. It's absurd, truly, but I'm not in a place I can take that right now - especially since the victims were children, and it happened *repeatedly*. I think if I was to try this one again I'd need to take it slowly in small parts.

Am I horribly wrong about anything? Do you have any classics you'd recommend for next year?

[bluehouryoongi]

BITE ME- 1: The Beginning

Pairing: Jake x Female Reader

Genre: Vampire Enhypen and Human Reader College Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU

Synopsis: Set in present-day Pacific Northwest US. Y/n in a college student, and keeps to herself. One day, she has strange encounters with two statuesque men, one of which invites her to a party (at their mansion ofc) where she drunkenly confesses that she can't pay her rent. Vast and highly believable events ensue, leading to her live with 7 a-little-too-perfect guys. That's all you need to know.

Chapter Summary:

A short baby first chapter because getting things started is hard. I promise y/n is not insufferably annoying, our girl is struggling for the first few chapters. Her badassery comes with time, promise;)

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PROLOGUE:

It’s already looking like it’s going to be a cold, dark winter. That comes with the territory of living in the Pacific Northwest, however it is still hard to combat the seasonal blues. Over the years, I have floated between friend groups, never quite sticking with one. Everyone always seems to be better friends with each other than they are with me. That’s okay, though. I like to keep to myself, it’s easier that way. I grew up being close with my family, never feeling the lack of friends. When I got the opportunity to come to this University to study English Literature on a hefty scholarship, I had no choice but to move 6+ hours away from them. It’s been almost 3 years here, and I am still getting by on my own. I have my cousin Gracie, who, although lives across the country from me, still texts me everyday and Facetime's me every few. School keeps me busy, and when I am not holed up in the library writing papers, I am working at a local bookstore Mont Blanc Books. My life is simple, and I am going to do my best to keep it that way. Why do I have a strange feeling this dark season might bring along new changes to that simplicity as well?

CHAPTER 1:

Of course it would start raining as I walked out of my class. Of course I did not bring an umbrella. Fast walking awkwardly with my head down, it is. Damn, is the water literally falling horizontally from the sky? Why is every single droplet hitting my eyes right now? I settle into a quick rhythm, weaving through any of the students who actually brought an umbrella today and are taking their sweet time down the path. I look up for a split second, just in time to ram right into the chest of someone.

“Oh my god,” I say, stopping in my tracks but not quite looking up to examine who I ran into. These raindrops are still threatening to pierce my vision.

“Sorry, I think that was my fault” says the voice. A light accent coating the words.

Wait, I know that voice. I look up, just in time to make the connection that the person I just collided with is Jake. As in, the ever elusive and yet somehow still painfully charming Jake. We took a Romantic Era Literature class together last semester, and of course he always had thoughtful insights to add to the class. I couldn’t just chalk him up to being some annoying jerk who ran through girlfriends almost as quickly as I was just fast walking. No, he actually could somehow be both a mysterious playboy and a dedicated student who said things like; “Frankenstein's monster could have lived among the humans, it's just everyone was too scared to ever see past his intimidating exterior”.

Yes I can quote things he said in class. No, we don't need to think further about that.

At the moment, I am still staring awkwardly at him and thinking about everything except what I will say next. So instead, I do what I always do. Laugh when it is unnecessary to fill the silent void. I also notice that I am not feeling any rain, because Jake is holding an umbrella over himself and (now,) me. I stand up straight and say;

“Nope, definitely my fault.” Cue another awkward chuckle on my end. “I should have been looking where I was going…it's just this rain seems to be out to get me today and-”

“It's fine. No harm done, really” Of course he's nice in real life too, and not just in front of professors.

“Thanks. Well, I’m gonna just…go.” Wow. You would think I have read enough books to be able to have a normal conversation with a devilishly handsome boy, and yet here I am.

“Take this,” he says, holding out the umbrella.

“Oh no, that’s not necessar-” before I can finish he starts walking away, in the direction I came.

I stand dumbfounded for a moment. Looking ahead of me, and then realizing the shock also took away my manners, I turn around and start saying “thank you!” but he’s gone. Weird. The walkway is straight, with no other paths crossing into it where he could have turned. He just…disappeared. Whatever. I am cold and wet and would like to be in my car now. As I walk, I replay the interaction over and over in my head.

—

I clock in for my shift at Mont Blanc. It is a Thursday night, which means it should be pretty quiet. We don’t get a ton of foot traffic as it is, but especially not on weeknights. As I sit behind the front desk, I pull out my current read: Dracula. We are reading it in my Bookworms of the PNW group for November. We have already read Twilight (which was my pick because, duh. Classic.) and Carmilla over the past couple of months. We are clearly on a vampire kick. Next we are reading Interview with a Vampire by Anne Rice. It felt fitting, as it’s feeling more and more like winter. Plus we all like to compare hot vamps and discuss the lore. I have always loved gothic literature. There's something about reading books about monsters who are also human that will always get me.

After about thirty minutes of reading, the bell signaling the door opening rings. I look up, and it's a tall boy with white-blonde hair. I recognize him from campus; he’s hard to miss. He's gorgeous, and has an energy about him that you can’t forget. Not to mention the fact that he and his 6 other brothers are well known among the school for being the most attractive, most popular, and throwing the best parties. Now that I think about it, I don’t think they are actually all brothers. Considering the fact that they are all the same age and don’t all look alike. Hm. I will have to investigate that further later. Me and my cousin, who I rant to about anything and everything, have started calling them 'the statues'. It was birthed after I was explaining how they literally look like they are made of porcelain, or glass. It doesn't seem humanly possible to look so effortlessly cool, but who am I to judge that.

“Welcome in!” I say.

He nods, and smiles. Walking up to the counter, slightly leaning on it towards me.

“Looking for anything in particular today?” I ask.

“No, just…wanted to look.” He is staring at me a bit intensely. I don’t feel uncomfortable, just very…seen.

“Alright! Well, let me know if you need any help.” I expect him to start looking around the store, but instead, he cocks his head to the side and examines me further.

Weird. “Have we met before?” I ask. Damn, conversations are not coming easy to me today.

“No. I’m Sunoo, although I believe we go to the same University.”

“Oh!” Yeah, I knew that already. Let’s not seem creepy, though. “ Yeah, I think I have seen you around a couple times. I’m Y/n.”

He smiles. I smile. Somehow, I don’t feel awkward. There’s a kindness about him.

“I love your hair. Delicious color. Not many can pull it off.” He says.

Interesting choice of words. I’m flattered though and chuckle, running my hands through it as if to say ‘oh this old hair?’.

“Thanks! It's my favorite color.”

My hair is dyed a deep red. In most lighting, it just looks black. If the sun or a light hits it just right, though, you can tell.

“I could say the same about yours! It’s giving jack frost in the least weird way possible.” I say before I can think about it further. I internally cringe at myself.

He just laughs, and smiles. “You’re funny. I like you.” He lightly points at me as he says this. I just smile in response because, thanks? “Hey…if you're not busy tomorrow night we are having a party at my place. You should come by. Lots of music, people, booze…”

Not to play the ‘i'm not like other girls’ card, but I really don’t do college parties. However, something about Sunoo makes me want to say yes. I also may or may not be thinking about Jake and how he will most definitely be there. I just need to return the umbrella, okay? Plus, these boys are well known around the University for having the biggest ragers. Professors practically expect the reason students will miss a monday morning 8am class is because of them. We don’t have “greek life” at my University, however these 7 boys are the closest thing we have to a fraternity. If I were to explain their persona in just a few words it would be “clean frat boys”. Far too put together and academically driven to be real frat bros, however they always have different girls at their sides. Like I said-statues.

“Cool! That sounds…super fun” I try and sound like this wouldn’t be my first college party.

He smiles, clearly seeing right through me. He reaches out to the stack of post-its on the desk and grabs a pen from the cup next to it. He starts writing something down, which I come to see is the address.

“Great. See you tomorrow then?” He asks.

“Yep, I’ll be there!” I try not to sound too eager, but also how should you respond when someone you have never interacted with shows up and randomly invites you to a party?

He stops leaning on the counter and walks to the door. He looks back once more and grins, to which I smile back. I look down at the post-it with the address. It is then that I realize he came in and never looked around. Strange. He wouldn’t have come just to invite me to the party, right?

What a weird, weird day.

[dancinginthemoonlight-xx]

part one

i shouldn’t be here.

i never should’ve even considered it. 

but here i was.

and little did i know how much that decision cost me.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 

“estelle sterling?” i whirled around, face to face with a lean brunette. she was holding a piece of parchment.

“yes?” 

“a boy in m’class told me to give this to you.” she extended the slip of paper.

i took the parchment, bemused. “did he tell you why?”

“no, he didn’t.” she gave me an appraising look. 

“thank you anyways, then.” i gave her a tight smile and turned to go.

i could feel her gaze on my back as i scurried up the stone stairs towards the library.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 

i opened the note as i headed towards the library. printed neatly in the middle of  it, there was just a simple sentence.

west wing of the castle, thirteenth of december, three hours past midnight.

how intriguing. 

i snorted. whoever was trying to be mysterious, it wasn’t working.

i stuffed the scrap of paper into the depths of my satchel and didn’t even think about it before the second letter arrived, bearing the same words.

i tried ignoring it.

it almost worked: until the third note came, followed by the fourth.

one every single day, delivered to me by different students, who were equally as confused as i was as to who was sending these, and why.

when the fifth arrived, i was already sick of it. 

i decided to write back. as the utterly confused seventh year messenger loitered next to me, i scrawled an angry denial on the back of the parchment and marched back to him.

“give this back to whoever gave this to you.” i said, stuffing the paper into his hand. “and tell them if they want a date, just ask me up front.” 

scowling, i walked away.

but yet, the sixth letter arrived.

then the seventh. 

by the time i received the eighth note, slipped under my books in the library, i was close to strangling someone.

and i couldn’t help but wonder why someone would be so obsessed with meeting me at the west wing of the castle, thirteenth of december, three hours past midnight.

and it soon came to me that the thirteenth of december was tomorrow.

it was a simple decision. to go or not to go?

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 

two hours past midnight. i awoke. striking a match against the box, i lit an oil lamp and put my blazer around me. 

i headed out, all too aware of the blistering cold of the stone floors.

i shivered, icy tendrils shooting up my spine. i pulled the blazer tighter around me and headed towards the west wing of the stone castle. my breath rose in mist around my face, and i found myself clutching the oil lamp for warmth as i stumbled my way to the spot.

three hours till midnight. i stood there, realising how large the west wing of the stone castle actually was. 

i was considering walking back towards the living quarters, until i heard a voice.

“estelle sterling. pleasure to meet you.”

i turned around so quickly my neck cracked. 

a charmingly handsome boy illuminated by the dim light of my lamp, a faint smile playing on his lips, was walking towards me.

“edward beckett.” he inclined his head.

it came to my attention that i was gaping at him and i hastily rearranged my expression to one of polite disinterest. “are you the one who is sending me those notes?”

he nodded. 

“what do you want from me?”

he grinned— an unnerving expression on his devilishly beautiful face.

“to invite you to the querencia, of course.”

ten likes for part two?? edit: part two is up now— check my blog :DD

[minty-butter]

Dandelions (RegulusxReader)

A/N: I stopped writing fanfics a few years ago, but I was listening to Dandelions by Ruth B and got an idea for fanfic and had to write it, I hope you enjoy it!  

Summary: y/n never thought they’d fall for their best friend, Regulus. Always ignoring the signs that they were in love thinking they were just happy to have him in their life until they realized in 5th year while attending a ball together.

Warnings: nothing but fluff

  Maybe, it's the way you say my name 

“Hey y/n, did you finish yesterday’s potions essay?” Regulus asked while approaching you in the halls. 

Regulus usually helps you with any potions assignments since it’s never been your best subject, but yesterday he had to attend quidditch practice, so he didn’t have time to help. “Surprisingly, yes I did” you answered. You were digging through your bag to look for the piece of parchment to ask him if it sounded good enough to turn in.

“Because of your help I’ve been having fewer difficulties with all of the assignments thankfully, also could you read it quickly? I want to know if it sounds decent at least” You asked as you found the parchment and passed it to Regulus. His smooth yet rough hand brushed against yours as he took the parchment. You very faintly blushed as you pulled your hand away.

“Sure, I’ll read it while we head to class” Regulus replied. He started walking ahead of you as you briefly wondered why you wished you could have kept your hand in his or held his hand while walking to your first class of the day.

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

There was a kid who lived next to your house when you were around 11 or 12 whom you used to play with almost every day. He was probably your first crush thinking about it now. His family was moving that summer before you went back to Hogwarts for your second year, you had been sad that he would be leaving and asked if he’ll write to you. He promised he would, but never did even after you sent a letter to him. When you realized that he probably wasn’t going to ever send you one you were sad and asked your mom why he didn’t write back when he promised he would.

“Some people lie and make promises they won’t keep, honey. But don’t worry, one day you’ll find someone who will love you till the ends of the earth and would do their best to keep your promises, " she said. “How long will it take to find that person? I don’t like people breaking promises, even worse if it’s a pinkie promise” You asked.

“You will one day, and when you do find them hold on to them tightly. That type of love will only come once in your life” she said as she bent down and hugged me. You wondered what she meant at the time, but now you think you Understand.

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

  After your parents dropped you off at the Hogwarts Express for your 3rd year, they waved bye to you till you could no longer see them, you started looking for a compartment you can read the book your dad had gifted you when he came back from a business trip in France. You found an empty compartment, put your luggage on top of the shelf, then took out the book to begin reading it. After a few pages, someone knocked on the door and slid it open. You looked up and saw a cute dark-haired boy with light eyes. 

“Sorry to barge in, but could I join you in here? Some of the students were getting loud where I was before, and I’d like to read in peace” He had asked. “Oh sure, come in”. He walked in and sat on the seat opposite of you. “My name is Regulus Black, what about you? I don’t think I’ve seen you before”

“y/n y/l, I’m usually in my dorm or the library studying potions, which is probably why you haven’t seen me” You replied. He noticed the book in your hand and asked you about it. “Hey, isn’t that a popular book right now in France?”. “Is it?  My dad got me it from his trip there, it’s supposed to be a romance and mystery novel” You replied. You asked about his book, and he told you what it’s about. The rest of the train ride you guys were discussing all the books you’ve read. You both have been close friends ever since.

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine

  On a warm august evening, you and Regulus were sitting under a tree next to the river that was near your house. You were doing some assignments that were given to do over the summer while Regulus was reading a book. In the corner of your eye, you saw a cluster of Dandelions and walked toward them. Regulus watched as you picked one of them and asked “What are you doing?”. “Did you know that there’s a legend where if you blow all the seeds of a Dandelion off in one breath, then the person you love will love you back?” You answered. 

“Really? Where did you hear about that?” asked Regulus. “ My mom told me when I was a kid, she also said if you make a wish and blow on it, it will come true”. You passed it to Regulus and told him to make a wish. He took it then closed his eyes for a bit thinking about what to wish for then blew on it. “What did you wish for?” You asked. “If I tell you, it won’t come true. I’ll tell you if it does happen” He replied.

And I see forever in your eyes I feel okay when I see you smile, smile

  During breakfast in your 5th year a week before Christmas, Dumbledore had called the attention of everyone in the Great Hall. “I have a big announcement to make, so if you all will listen, please” He paused and waited for the students to quiet down before continuing his announcement. “As you all know, this upcoming week is Christmas. This year we will be holding the Yule Ball on Christmas Eve.” He continued to talk about the details of the ball while I looked over at Regulus, he was already looking at me. We made a silent agreement to talk about it after breakfast is over.

After breakfast, you both met up in the halls near the courtyard. “It seems like everyone is excited about the ball, are you?” Regulus asked while approaching you. “Kind of, it seems like it might be fun at least” You replied.

“There are many people already talking about taking dates, do you have anyone in mind?” He asked. You briefly thought about telling him you wanted to go with him, but you brushed those off. Surely, he must want to take someone else. “Hmm, not really” You replied, “What about you?”. “I don’t have anyone in mind, why don’t we go together?” He asked. You blushed at the idea of going with him and turned away so he wouldn’t see your red face. “Sure, it would be better than going with someone else” You accepted.

The day of the Yule ball finally approached while you and your roommates in your dorm were getting ready for the event. “You look great, y/n. You’re going with Regulus, right?” the Blonde-haired roommate had asked. You timidly said yes and continued getting ready. “I hope you two have fun, you’re such a cute couple” They all continued getting ready while you stopped. You were flustered at the thought that other students in Hogwarts might have thought you two were a couple.

Regulus was waiting for you with a Lavender rose pin in hand. When you walked up to him, he handed the rose to you. “You look breath-taking y/n” He complimented. You blushed and said thank you while accepting the rose. He helped you pin it to your outfit, then wrapped your arm around his and lead you to the Great Hall. They were playing soft classical music in the hall. You were in awe of how they had decorated it. It looked like you just walked into a winter wonderland. “Welcome to the Yule Ball everyone, we hope you enjoy yourselves tonight and we all wish you a Happy Christmas” Dumbledore said while everyone was entering.

You both went to get a table with your other friends and chatted for a while. You were snacking on some of the food they had set out before Regulus invited you to dance. You slowly made your way to the area they cleared out. Regulus got into position, one hand on your waist and the other holding your hand. As the music started, you both were swaying across the dancefloor having fun. Mid-dance you suddenly wished that you could be like this forever. Regulus put both his hands on your waist so he could pick you up and spin you around. You were in love.

Realizing that all the times you had been flustered by his actions, not knowing that you were in love. You suddenly blushed brightly. “Are you okay? Your face is all red.” Regulus noticed and asked. “Nope, everything is fine” you answered. Regulus stood quiet for a moment before leading you away from the dancefloor and taking you back to the table. “Are you sure? If you’re not feeling well, I can take you back to your dorm”. “Don’t worry I feel fine, let’s continue enjoying the ball” you assured him. The rest of the night you enjoyed talking and dancing with your friends and Regulus.

Before you arrived at the common room, Regulus pulled you aside and asked to speak with you privately. He took you to the astronomy tower and started observing the stars before turning to you. “That’s the star I was named after” Regulus pointed out to the night sky. You managed to find it and started admiring all the stars. When you looked back at Regulus, you found he was already staring at you.

 “Is that all you pulled me away from the common room for?” You joked. He chuckled and walked towards you. “No, I was just buying time to prepare myself” He answered. You looked at him confusingly. “y/n…I have something to confess” Regulus paused for a second, seemingly to calm his nerves. “I’ve fallen in love with you. That day back in 3rd year when we met, it was like love at first sight. You were kind to me the whole conversation and we shared so many of the same interests. This past year has made me see how much of a great person you are and how I’d love to be called your boyfriend, maybe even husband in the future. So, I planned to confess to you tonight…y/n, this may be a bit forward, but I’d love to be called yours, so will you go out with me?” Regulus confessed. You were in shock, you thought that he liked someone else. Not to mention only tonight did you discover that you’re in love with him.

You must’ve been silent for a while because Regulus seemed nervous. “It’s fine if you don’t feel the same” he stated nervously. “Huh? Sorry I was just a little shocked…I realized just tonight when we were dancing that I’m in love with you, so it was all so sudden to me, but yes, I’d love to have you as my boyfriend” you said happily.

I feel okay when I see you smile, smile

He gave you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. You felt yourself fall for him even more. Regulus approached you “Then, is this okay?”. He pulled you into his arms and locked his lips with yours. His lips felt warm and soft, and you felt him smile into the kiss. You started smiling as well. It felt like fireworks were going off in your stomach, you wrapped your hands in his hair and pulled him closer to you. When you both pulled away, he laid his forehead against yours and smiled again. “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long, I’m happy to finally be yours” Regulus admitted.

Wishing on dandelions all of the time Praying to God that one day you'll be mine

You were feeling extremely nervous right now, your friends were helping you calm down and get ready. “Don’t worry y/n, everything will be fine” your blonde-haired friend reassured. “What if someone forgets the rings, or-” you panicked. “It’ll all be okay; don’t worry about that we’ll make sure everything goes right. You focus on having the best wedding, okay?” They said reassuringly. You sighed and nodded. One of your other friends walked into the room and asked “Okay, it’s time, are you ready?”. “As I ever will be” you said with a nervous smile. 

Your mom was waiting for you near the wedding aisle. “Oh, you’re here. Are you ready, honey?” she asked. You nodded and looped your arm with hers. “I told you, you’d find that person one day.”

“It’s time. Let’s start walking down” She looked at you with an adoring smile. You both started walking down the aisle when the music began. Regulus was at the Wedding arch looking at you walk down with your mom, smiling. Your mom handed your hand over to Regulus and walked to her seat. 

After the officiator’s speech, Regulus started saying his vows “I promise to always love you and do the little things to make you happy, I vow that we will be a family forever and I’ll always make time for you”. You teared up a bit at his vows and continued to say yours “I vow to be grateful for every day I share with you. Even on the bad days, I’ll promise to always communicate and work through our problems together.” You both say your “I do’s” and exchange rings. Then, the officiator says, “ You may now kiss the bride”. Regulus pulls you into his arms and kisses you, just like he had 6 years ago. It still felt like fireworks even after all these years. 

“My wish that summer before 4th year was for you to be mine” Regulus whispered in your ear.

When you're looking at me, I've never felt so alive and free When you're looking at me, I've never felt so happy

A/N: Lmao this was supposed to be a short fic, but I got carried away. It ended up being 2,376 words when I planned it to be 800 at most💀 Also, a lavender rose means love at sight, so regulus fell for the reader first💜

[inkedreverie]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫!𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐚/𝐧: This popped into my head while I was making my latest moodboard, which you can find here. I also have my first moodboard of this version of Ransom here.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: None. Except this verse might be slightly non-canon to some people. He's a little more softer.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧!

He loves the fall season. The gloomy weather, the sound of rain drops against the glass windows, the leaves crunching against his feet.

When Harlan died, Ransom took it very hard. And even after all these years, he still finds it hard to move on years after his death.

He’s quite the perfectionist and even though he rarely shows it, he gets insecure at times and will sometimes worry if he can ever live up to his grandfather’s legacy

Ransom gets frustrated very easily so whenever he gets a bout of writer’s block, it’s because he’s pushed himself so hard and will frequently suffer from burnout as well.

And when he's inspired he will often write for hours.

Before he met you, he would spend a lot of time by himself in his manor. He wasn’t a total loner though. He would occasionally go golfing and go to one of his favorite bars with his buddies but other than that, he was completely focused on his work.

He loves Coffee! He likes his coffee black but eventually, when the two of you started dating, you introduced him to iced coffee and lattes. Every once and a while he’ll have a mocha or cinnamon spice latte in the fall.

Unlike his grandfather, who wrote mysteries. I feel like Ransom would very much be a thriller and horror fiction author.

Even though he is extremely extraverted, he hates book signings. But he'll do it anyway because he has to. He'd much rather be with his significant other or with his friends.

He secretly has a love for cats. A few months after he inherited his grandfather's estate, he got a dark orange kitten and named her cinnamon.

Since he is a horror/thriller fiction writer, he loves Halloween and and scary movies.

He has to have his notebook almost everywhere he goes, even when he's at home and watching a horror movie so he can write down ideas for his future books.

He loves book cafes or libraries. And he likes to explore new ones whenever he's on vacation or in a new city.

Sometimes he'll wear these vintage glasses, even though he technically doesn't have to read them in order to read or write

He's a big fan of gothic art and art in general. And he will look at different pieces of art to help inspire him when he's in a slump.

𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: I really love this concept! So please feel free to talk to me about this if you feel comfortable. I do have plans to make a sort of, sequel to this and dive into what he's like with his significant other!

banner credit: @.saradika

[dokuixote]

[12:29] | 📓 librarian!wonwoo

“Hey, thought you might like this too. :)”

a boyish handwriting scribbled in a yellow sticky note is taped at a book placed on your favorite spot at the library. again.

it’s the fourth time this month, you recall as you carefully fold the note and store it safely on your pocket. “I think you’ll have fun reading this. :)” “Try this. :)” “This is my favorite author. I think this book is up your alley. :)” you now have a growing collection of book recommendations lacking a name of the sender but always with a signatory in a form of a smiley face.

‘The Miracles of the Namiya General Store’ the cover reads. you scan the room for any sign of the mysterious sender, but to no surprise, everyone within your eyesight is too occupied to care hunched over their papers, books, and laptops. you also flip through the last page and scan the borrower history of the book only to find it empty.

you sadly sigh, wondering when you can meet this person to talk about the story and personally thank them for recommending books you have been genuinely enjoying reading for the past weeks. nameless and faceless, how are you supposed to say that you kept all the sticky notes of annotations in a clear jar at your desk back at home because it makes you smile when you catch a glimpse of it?

defeated albeit eager for a new read, you walk back to the librarian’s desk to officially borrow the book and consume it in the comforts of your own home.

“you again? i’m surprised there are still books here left for you to borrow.” wonwoo teasingly chuckles when he sees you approach with a book and your worn library card at hand.

“oh don’t you worry, i won’t steal your biggest geek world-title.” you roll your eyes at the librarian-turned-friend which earned a laugh from him. from the numerous small talks you had with wonwoo, you discovered he’s few years your senior, likes (and is alike) a cat, prefers mystery over coming-of-age, and he’s on duty during tuesdays, thursdays, and saturdays because he attends classes during the rest of the week and sundays are reserved for campaign mode in his newly-installed RPG.

“hmm, interesting choice.” wonwoo comments while he flips through the book for information.

“you read it? is it good? oh and have you noticed anyone hanging out at my spot recently?” you fire away questions, subtly keen on discovering any clue on who’s been leaving books for you.

wonwoo looks up at you and raises his brows at your flushing cheeks and almost sparkling eyes. he puts his fingers up, “1, yes, i have read it. 2, yes it is good. i liked it. and 3, no, i haven’t seen anyone in your so-called spot which, by the way, isn’t just reserved for you even though you’re our secret-favorite customer. why are you asking?”

“nothing, just curious is all.” you clear your throat and pretentiously say with nonchalance, hiding the disappointment from thinking this is the day you finally have somewhere to start on finding your incognito friend.

wonwoo, knowing better, only gives you a pointed look.

“okay fine, it’s just someone’s been leaving all these books for me and i love every single one of it and i appreciate it and i just,” you explain and mumble, “i want to at least take them out for a coffee or something.”

“oh, then i’ll let you know if i notice something.” wonwoo bites back a smile and hands you the book now permitted to leave the premises of the local library. “hope you’ll like it as much as i did.”

you nod and thank him. “alright, i’ll get going now and trust your word. see you in 3 days! don’t miss me too much, wonwoo!” you jest as you exit.

wonwoo quietly laughs and shakes his head at how goofy you looked while giving him a salute through the glass door. once you were beyond his sight, he goes back to his desk and gets ‘Dollar Good Dream Department Store’. he reaches for a nearby yellow sticky note and writes, “Give this a try. :) <3”

maybe he’d give this book in a coffee shop soon.

[mercerislandbooks]

My Mother, the Reader

I told my mom I was going to be writing about how much she fostered my own love of reading. She said, “You know, it all started in the library, when I had one of my first jobs as a page.” Back in the sixties, my mom was a teenager in the little desert town of Lancaster, California. I pictured my mom in her A-line dresses, pushing a library cart around to re-shelve books in the evenings. She said she got very distracted reading the titles of the books as she was alphabetizing them. Sounds like someone else I know, who also gets distracted reading the backs of interesting books that customers bring up to the register.

For as long as I can remember my mom read to us, me and my younger brother. She would read out loud to us on long car trips, books like Hatchet and The Fairy Rebel, complete with all the voices. Even though I was impatient because I could read faster on my own, I loved hearing a story unfold in her voice. We always had books in the house, either stacks from the library or gently worn paperbacks from the used bookstore or books ordered from the Scholastic Book Club. Mom put clear Contact paper on my paperbacks, the stuff that you use to line shelves, to make them last longer since I took them everywhere and read them to pieces.

She told me that at some point she couldn’t keep up with concurrently reading everything I was reading and had to just let it go. For birthdays and Christmas she would buy me the most recent (hardback!) books in whatever fantasy series I was obsessed with, lurid covers and all. When she needed recommendations for something new for me, she would go to Island Books and get advice from Cindy. I vividly remember her sending me Dorothy Dunnett’s Game of Kings my first year in college, thus kicking off my love for Lymond. When she chooses for herself, my mom often gravitates towards mysteries, especially ones with over-the-top titles. The winner so far is Pennies on a Dead Man’s Eyes. Nothing else about it but the title has been retained, but it still gives us a laugh. She read all the Sue Grafton mysteries, and she and my dad pass the Jack Reacher books by Lee Child between them. 

But she doesn’t just stick to one genre. She’s adventurous and wide-ranging in her reading. When she got into poetry, I remember collections of Neruda and Mary Oliver and Billy Collins around the house. On trips, she’ll always go to indie bookstores and ask the booksellers to recommend a local author or select something off the staff picks shelf. She reads the Seattle Reads Book every year. She’s willing to give nearly anything that sounds interesting to her a try. It inspires me to be more adventurous myself and venture outside my comfort genres.

Now, as a bookseller, I’m the one enabling my mom. I’ll bring her titles I think she’ll be interested in, or ones she’s asked me about. I pass on the books I’ve particularly loved, making sure her TBR is just as big as mine. Right now she’s catching up with the middle of Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache series (I suspect she’s already read these, but she’ll happily read them again), and she just finished The Woman in the Room by L. Jane Hastings, a memoir of a female architect in Seattle that was written up in the Seattle Times. She’s got Percival Everett’s Erasure started, and several Rachel Linden books. She picked up Amy Tan's The Backyard Bird Chronicles. Her stack of started and unfinished-as-of-yet books is almost as tall as mine. I’m not sure if I can get away with giving her another book for Mother’s Day (unless there’s one she asks for). I feel lucky that I get to share this passion for books with my mom, and grateful for all the many ways she’s encouraged my love of reading throughout my life.

If you’re looking for a gift for Mother’s Day (coming up on May 12th), stop by Island Books to peruse our stacks of books, curated gift items and wide range of cards. And ask your mom — or the mother figures in your life — what they’ve been reading lately. The answer might surprise you!

— Lori