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orcelito · 2 months

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I think I cried harder today over my dad's jackets than I did at his deathbed. That was a miserable time of course, a memory that will likely be seared into my brain until I die, but I cried... I think a normal amount, all things considered. More than I ever usually do of course, but I typically don't cry At All. All this free crying is certainly surreal.

The jackets, though. I was put in charge of doing his laundry, because we don't want to pack up dirty clothes. I was expecting it to be unpleasant bc my dad's dirty clothes - gross. But really, it was much more unpleasant in that... those were his. It felt wrong to touch them. Felt wrong to treat his jackets as gross. Because they were just his jackets. They weren't even in the hamper. And then I was remembering him wearing them, and then I was crying. Again. And again. Weeping over these damn jackets.

Then I found a shirt on his bed that still smelled like him. It smelled like a Hug From Dad. And that set me off crying even harder.

In total, I think I cried like 6 times within 40 minutes. It took me that long to finish sorting the damn clothes bc I just. Was a wreck. Like, what are you supposed to do when you're living life like normal, vaguely hopeful bc you're taking steps to secure your own happiness, and then 4 days later you're sorting your dad's laundry because he fucking died. Suddenly. Without a goodbye.

And you have to worry about his lack of a will (even under an ideal situation, only 2 heirs and no conflicts between us, probate's a fucking Bitch), and arranging the funeral, and prepping his obituary, and picking out pictures, and writing a speech bc you want to talk at his funeral, of Course you want to talk at his funeral, but even just thinking about anecdotes you could share has you crying yet again.

I've cried more times in the past 3 days than likely the entirety of last YEAR. And that's WITH my cat, and uncle, and family friend dying. Those all hurt, my uncle most of all, & I was real fucked up over it. But this? This was my Dad. Likely the person I'd have named 2nd closest to me in my life, second only to my sister. He wasn't perfect, but he did so much for me throughout my entire life. All he wanted was to raise us to be happy and independent. And he accomplished it, we're getting by without him, but we still wanted several more decades with him. He was only 57. We should've gotten several more decades with him.

But here we are now. Playing investigators to his life, digging into all his shit, trying to find documents and take inventory of all his things, and learning Many things about him in the process. In his lockbox of sensitive documents, like his SSN and birth certificate and all that stuff, we found an old letter. About a decade old now, written in my hand. Right at the very top, we found that he'd kept the letter I wrote to him telling him frankly about my struggles and the things I wanted him to do better. He kept it. He tried to take it to heart. He looked at it again, sometime more recently than all the rest of the documents. That was on top.

His love for us is evident everywhere. The pictures he has hanging up all over the place, majority of them with us in them. The old fathers day cards placed on display in his bedroom bookshelf. The gifts we gave him, even stupid little knick knacks, placed around his apartment with pride. I wish we'd taken more videos of him. I don't want to forget the sound of his voice. I don't want to forget his smell either, the smell of a Hug From Dad, but I still tossed that shirt into the wash even though it felt like saying yet another goodbye.

It's the suddenness that hurts the most, I think. We were planning on having him help me finally get my license this year. My final words to him, the last thing he would've seen from me, were messages asking up on whether he'd called his car insurance company to make sure there wouldn't be problems. I should've called him more. I don't know if I'm going to learn from this.

I cut my 2 weeks off early to have time to grieve and to work on things for the funeral and settling the estate. The last thing I'd wanna do right now is selling fucking bubble tea in a job I already decided to leave. So here I am without a job, though with potentially two life insurance policy payouts to come. Inheriting half his 401k. Inheriting couches, knickknacks, keepsakes, paintings, art pieces, maybe even his guitar and other furniture if we can figure out what to do about space (I don't have room for this furniture, I don't know if I even have room for the couches, but God do I want to keep so much of this furniture). It has me even considering keeping one of his guns, just one. A tiny little revolver, it sits so comfortably in my hand. I don't even want to use it for anything. I just want to have it, keep it stored in a drawer with its ammo kept separate. I don't like guns, but this is a part of him. He loved collecting guns. He was about as responsible with them as someone can be, keeping them locked in a lockbox and impressing upon his children the importance of gun safety (I've known the basic gun safety rules ever since I was a little kid. Of course, of course, of course.) It reminds me of him. It's horrifically easy to have a gun in Indiana. I apparently don't even need a permit to carry anymore. (I have no intention to ever carry this in public.)

It's all a cycle. Business, grief, thoughts about my future. Round and round, like the most nauseating carousel in existence. I don't know how I'm still so functional. My skills with compartmentalization have been my lifesaver.

And im just thinking about the story my dad's best friend shared today. About a friend of theirs who lost her father. She reached out after hearing about my dad to share his words with her: "it's okay to grieve, but don't make his death your life".

He explicitly referenced himself in this, saying if he were to die suddenly that he wouldn't want us to define ourselves by it. Grief is expected, but he wants us to be able to move on. He's always wanted us to establish ourselves and make ourselves happy. He wouldn't want to be a weight holding us back from that.

So every time I start to feel guilty for thinking about having nicer furniture or using his life insurance payout to fund the rest of my college, I remind myself of that. Thinking about the material isn't a bad thing. I'm only human. And in the end, he'd Want me to be thinking about it. He never intended to die, certainly not without warning like this, so he would've only encouraged me being pragmatic about it all.

He only ever wanted us to be happy. So I need to do what I can to live up to that.

I love him. I miss him already.

#speculation nation #negative/#this got really long on accident. but i think typing this out was really helpful for me.#getting the thoughts out. processing. the works.#nearly cried several times just from writing this.#...and honestly i might reference this again when i start seriously writing my eulogy.#things suck a Lot right now. and i really wish they were different.#feels like i picked a bad choice in a video game and am now seeing the Bad Ending or whatever #all i need to do is reload a previous save. it's all still there. perfectly preserved in my memories.#but... that's all gone. as suddenly and unfair as it is ive been thrust into a new chapter of my life so thoroughly.#it's not all bad though. he wasnt prepared for dying so it's been hell to prepare for him #we dont know if we'll even be able to get into his fucking iphone. stupid piece of shit.#but he had life insurance. he had a union job. and That comes with benefits #(something about a year's salary going to the family. aka half a year's salary to Me. and isnt That mind boggling.)#as much as it hurts im going to be realistic about it. im going to do what i need to finish my education.#and im going to use it as a springboard for finally becoming a 'proper adult'.#the kind who could own a nice kitchen fridge. one with an ice machine on the front of the door #and freezers in the drawers.#maybe then i could think about getting motorcyle lessons. not from my dad as i originally wanted #but i wanna keep the family biker spirit alive. i wanted it even before he died. and now i want it even more.#ive had so so many thoughts. it's only been 3 days. ive had to emotionally numb myself several times just to Get Through It.#everything is exacerbated. my mom wants to go to the funeral. we will have to fight her on this. my dad Hated her.#and i certainly dont fucking want her around either. not then. not when im talking about my dad.#(my dad. my Dad. i saw him die. i felt him cold. i do not regret it. it still hurts me.)#it's overwhelming. i loved him so fucking much. even with his flaws he was truly an amazing father.#i'll... shut up now. if you read this far. well. hug your loved ones a little tighter. you never know when youll lose them.

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quarklynx · 8 months

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So I started reading Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

...I get it now. They're gay but they're not, but they're soulmates but they hate each other's guts

#lynx thinks #orv spoilers #kinda #i read the entire webtoon in two days and then started reading the webnovel version when i ran out of that #so all in all im at chapter 183 now #this bitch really does just throw himself at a situation to solve it huh #he just keeps dying and then finding new ways to not die #I'm so invested tho #the webtoon really helped to get me into it bc it's paced so efficiently and compellingly #and the story is fascinating #im now realizing that some other webtoons ive read may have been slightly inspired by this story #but this one is way better than those ones #i do wonder whether it actually gets gay or if it's just the oodles of subtext and more overt implication #i also am curious if it's finished or not??#questions for morning me to consider tho. this story has kept me up past 2 for several nights now #i work on my sewing commission for most if the day so the evening is the main time i get to reaaaad ovo #... it's so late already tho. how bad could it be to just read one more chapter?

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cupidhoons · 21 days

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PAPARAZZI — PSH MINI SMAU

SYNOPSIS ! Park Sunghoon is your biggest fan — from the very beginning of your debut up till now, he was at every concert and fansign. Hell, he even has a fan account dedicated to you! However, ever since he became an idol, it's been harder to keep his active fan account active — leading it to become a flop. But when Park Sunghoon accidentally posts something that wasn't supposed to be shown to the media, it gets all the attention

OR When your boyfriend, Park Sunghoon accidentally hard launches your relationship before dispatch does (and the media goes crazy)

DISPATCH'S NEW COUPLE ! idol! hoon x fem idol!reader

GENRE — established relationship, idol! au, fluff, romance, comedy, down bad! bf x baddie! gf LMAO

WARNINGS — profanity, death threats/dying jokes, misspellings, fans take part in this, hoon is younger than reader, warnings will be stated as this au goes on!

SUPPORTING IDOLS — miso from dream note used as y/n's fc, y/n is the 5th member of aespa, enhypen (whole) + more!

STATUS — upcoming

NISHIONS JUST TWEETED... Hi don't yell at me please i know i have catfish on going but this is Only a short smau 😭😭😭 anyway This is for @sainns my lovely (crazy) hoon stan 😊🥰🥰😍😘

TAGLIST IS CLOSED

PLEASE DO NOT SPAM LIKE CHAPTERS I PUT OUT!

profiles ; enha | aespa

WELCOME TO KPOP TWITTER

000 prologue

001 sunghoon is a LEWSERRR

002 omg my gf!! it's me and my gf!!

003 the revival of the y/n fanpage

004 dispatch is mad

005 TRUCKS???? AGAIN????

006 srry im not bitchless 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

007 #HOONYN 4TH GEN IT COUPLE!!

008 y/n defenders come thru 😍🙌

009 balling or BAWLING 😭😭😭

010 we're happily married!

000 epilogue

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sn0tcl0wn · 2 years

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moving again 🥲

#im fine i just hate the moving process and theres no ac in my house so im literally dying rn #the new place is nice n i might have a bigass attic room so that's cool #theres also a pool thank GOD #anyway this is why i havent made any art and never did those movie reviews or wrote those chapters like i said i would #i keep trying to make time but even when i do i dont have the energy or atmosphere needed to do any of that lmao #personal

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snowsinterlude · 4 months

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the ballad of money, power, and glory.

(coriolanus snow x reader x lucy gray baird)

summary: being lucy gray's best friend, you were always updated on her life, not knowing how she truly felt for you. and now, with coriolanus snow being your new friend, it was odd seeing them fighting so much over your attention, with you not knowing that both of them were obsessively in love with you.

based on this ask

c.w: lucy gray baird, coriolanus snow, implied aromantic reader, yandere behavior from both of them (nothing too serious), unrequited love, drama, jealousy, love triangle, obsessive love. contains some movie/book accurate mentions but nothing very important, violent content, lucy is mentioned to have been your first kiss, commedy in the end.

chapter one: money.

"god, you gotta see her, snow." lucy beamed, her smile going from ear to ear as she talked about you. "she's so cute! i think she's the love of my life, truly." she said

snow frowned at her words. in the capitol, it wasn't seen in good lights to have someone talking so passionately about other person of the same gender. he rolled his eyes internally, his arms were on the back of his back as he walked behind her. supposedly, you were going to be waiting for them at the train station.

he walked, and walked, and walked. all of those minutes were awfully torturing his soul as he watched lucy gray talk more and more about you- as if she hadn't done it during the entire hunger games already. like on the zoo, when he thought she would be crying from fear of dying when, in reality, she was crying from fear of not seeing you for a last time.

he remembered it perfectly, better than he remembered the biology classes he had. lucy bawling her eyes out silently, still sobbing as she looked at him and explained how much she owed you- how much she loved you. it was like she couldn't think of anything other than you.

"she is always so pretty, so sickeningly beautiful. i can't stand the thought of losing her, snow. i wanna be with her." she said, her eyes red and puffed while her nose was as red as a tomato.

"have you told her about it?" he asked, face leaned on his fist as he observed the singer cry.

"no, snow." she answered, sniffing. "i've made a mistake," she chuckled, wanting to slap herself.

"what did you do?"

'i only noticed i love her now."

remebering that, snow started thinking that you should be the most beautiful girl of district 12- or that maybe you didn't had a single flaw on your skin por something like that. maybe you were one of those who hypnotized people at your surroundings to make them percieve you like the most desired thing they wished for.

but then he saw you from afar, waiting for lucy gray while your eyes roamed through the crowd. he didn't asked for you, no, never. he never asked you to blink like a doll, to look at him with those shining eyes and god, whatever it was that snapped inside you made him obsessed with the thought of having you as his main prize.

his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of lucy gray baird hugging you tightly, kissing your face multiple times as you laughed, hands on her waist as you kissed her face too. he cleared his throat, awkwardly.

"ah, snow. that's my best friend, my soulmate, y/n" she said, and you chuckled before shaking his hand.

"pleasured to meet you, yn. im-"

"coriolanus snow, i know." you said, kissing the back of his hand in a theatrical manner. "hello."

"you know?"

"yeah, my dear lucy told me all about you. and, let's be sincere, you were on the tv during the interviews on the hunger games." you said, smiling while shaking his hand "i'm happy you helped her!" you said

the spark that shone in his heart was fueled furiously by your words. 'your desde lucy'? what's that, a movie?

that was the first time he felt jealousy.

chapter two: power.

lucy gray baird was your best friend since kindergarden. what could you say? sandbox love never dies.

well, her love for you seemed to have grown sharp as a way to protect you and herself from the ones that could hurt you. that's why she glanced at snow menancingly as he forced his place between you both at the bar. when you were dancing with some older group of old ladies, she finally spoke up.

"what are you doing?" she asked, not looking into his eyes, and she didn't needed to for him to know she was angry.

"what do you mean?" he asked, faking innocence.

"don't act innocent, coriolanus." she growled, frowning "she's mine."

"i don't recall asking for that information." he said, smiling at the sight of your happy face dancing with other elders.

"you will not take her away from me." she said, getting up and walking to you only to playfully grab your waist and your hand, dancing with you while coriolanus watched.

you were so dazzling beautiful in his eyes, he just had to have you. it wasn't his fault that lucy gray thought and felt the same way about you.

with that in mind, lucy gray baird punch on his face was unexpected.

"what the fuck, baird?!"

"i told you to leave her alone! you are a fucking peacekeeper, coriolanus! when will you stop that?!"

"'that' what???" he asked, voice loud enough for him to frown at it.

"don't feign dumb, you disgraceful blond. you know she has sensible hearing and you bring her in to fucking SHOT at trees?" she screamed. the singer had the most defiant frown on her face, making it clear just how much she was willing to go for you.

his expression seemed to calm down, his stare on her became confused. "i... i didn't know- she didn't tell me-"

"oh of course you don't know. do you even bother asking?!" she asked, her eyes boring holes into him. "get away from her, snow."

and she left him behind just like that.

of course he wouldn’t know how sensitive you were when it comes to your hearing. he would never get to know you the way she did. but behind that façade, she hated herself for introducing him to you.

at this moment, she hated snow as much as he hated her.

chapter three: glory.

that wasn't on your plans.

you were aware of your friendship with lucy being a bit too... sweet. you didn't care about it. she was still your best friend and you were still the girl who saved her from that ginger girl.

when you met coriolanus snow, you could already see history repeating itself. lucy was jealous and coriolanus was obsessive. this match would end up being your death, probably.

you didn't really liked them the way they wished you did. you were aware of how much coriolanus liked you, from the moment you kissed the back of your hand till now.

and yet, you were still not into the singer nor the victor, you were fine on your own and decided that a long time ago. you wouldn't be a good girlfriend, couldn't even take care of yourself, how would you take care of someone else?

for that motive, and others, that i won't be able to speak about, you never liked anyone. and people started thinking it was lucy gray's fault, with her cunt m constant bragging about being your first kiss. and she was, but you not liking anyone wasn't her fault, you truly just couldn't seem to find someone who was just right to you.

with that being said, you were the one angry at them right now. what the hell that has happened between them, envolved you, and you weren't having it.

"i don't love any of you," you said, for their own shock.

chapter four: the ballad of the unloved ones.

sitting still on front of you, lucy gray baird felt like she was punched on her heart, losing air from her lungs quickly than actually needed. coriolanus, right by her side, felt the urge to throw up as he recieved the unhappy news of how you didn't loved them.

it was the truth, though. but you still held them on each of your arms and let them take in the affirmation of how you felt about them.

"but-" lucy begun, shaking a bit from the anxiety on her chest.

"-no, lu. i'm sorry," you said, "i don't really feel like loving anyone. i never loved anyone, not in this way though." you cooed, giving her the comfort of your kisses on her forehead.

"but maybe, if we j-just-" coriolanus stopped in his tracks when you shook your head negatively, your fingers drawing patterns on his scalp, and he almost meowed at it.

"sorry, dear. i only love you both as friends." you said.

and they understood you after a long talking, a bunch of silent tears and sobs from their delusions.

by the end of the day, they were at the bar, both looking pathetically red from the way they cried after it.

"sorry for punching you on the nose," lucy said, and she looked like a ghost, finger tracing patterns on a cup. "i don't wanna lose her," she goes.

"sorry for shooting the mocking jays on that evening," he said, sipping on his cup. he was refering to the evening where she punch him.

"you did what."

"uh. i shot the mocking jays."

"coruolanus 'm gonna shoot you in the ass." she growled.

they were back to being friends, and made sure to protect you. just because you didn't reciprocated none of their feelings it didn't mean they would start bitchin' about it (even though they did for like, two weeks.)

so, them both heard festus with his friends talking about you- it wasn't nothing good. and which better way to end him than punching him?

yeah, they were still your best friends. you still loved them dearly with each part of your being.

but just as friends.

#young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #young president snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #x reader #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray my beloved #lucy gray x yn

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s0fter-sin · 2 years

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so, turns out my bouts of restlessness is actually me being understimulated

#someone add another tally to the autistic side of the ‘am i autistic or just severely deprived bc of my chronic illness’ board #ive always called it restless bc thats how it felt #i turn on and off my tv bc maybe i want to watch something but nothing feels right #i read the first chapter of multiple different fics but i cant slow down enough to read through it with the characters voices #or take in anything i just speed read #i open every single one of my wips thinking maybe i can pull something out my brain when its so scattered but nothing happens #im constantly picking at food none of my music is right or fast enough or loud enough or new or familiar and i go thru drink like im dying #nothing happens fast enough and i get irritated by it and pretty much everything else #i know im definitely some kind of neurodivergent #but whenever i try and bring it up mum just shuts me down bc im ‘too obsessed with labeling things!#i have too many behaviours and do too many things for it to just be being sick and alone for so long #on another note #how the hell do i make it stop #do i blast myself with stimulation?#i usually just wait for it to go away #but if i could actually fix it so it doesnt last hours thatd be nice #coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt

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vhstown · 7 months

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ain't no love; pt. 1

"ain't no love in the heart of the city"

— miles g morales x gn!reader series

SUMMARY: Miles Morales is just a kid without a father; the Prowler is just a "rotten" vigilante. Both of them start coming into your life — one in the middle of the semester, and the other by total accident.

SERIES MASTERLIST 📼 PART 1 / PART 2 →

chapter summary: [READER POV] The one day you decide to skip breakfast, your deskmate comes in. AP Calc has never been more unbearable — and interesting.

content/warnings: brief mentions of death, depictions of hunger, a little bullying </3

word count: 4.8k

a/n: first series idk what im doing BUT WE ROLL (criticisms accepted lmao) proofread courtesy of @qiuweyballs you're a real one

You were starving. In AP Calc, no less, with probably the least talkative bunch of students in the whole school, the period before lunch. Whoever made your schedule was a monster, and whoever put this class together was even more of a monster. Everyone was dead silent, which was usually fine, but not when your stomach was threatening to detonate a nuclear grumble. Maybe it’d even echo given how big the classroom was. It was too early in the year to have a mental breakdown, though — you’d save that for midterms.

Even the teacher found the silence awkward, muttering to himself as you walked into the dreary classroom. He was a bit of a pushover, Mr. Wellston — a newbie who really had no idea what he was doing besides fixing his unevenly cut hair every two seconds while everyone pretended to know what was going on. God bless AP Calculus; you didn’t even know how to do the starter activity on the board.

But your teacher’s ridiculous inadequacy didn’t matter right now. The most important decision you had to make was what poor soul you were going to look at sideways when everyone turned to the source of the growl. Being nice wasn’t exactly an option when you were 3 seconds away from dying of starvation.

Thankfully, you were at the back, and the only seat next to you was empty. It wasn’t so bad, you tried convincing yourself as other students started to fill up the seats in front of you. Maybe you'd even forget about how hungry you were if you engrossed yourself in "one of the most riveting fields of mathematics", as advertised by your freshman year math teacher. Just one hour. You could hold back your hunger for one hour.

"Attendance..." Wellston murmured, looking around the room without much attention. It was reasonable to assume was here as usual, except for one kid who'd been absent since the first week. "Morales" — you didn't know his first name, not like you had the chance to learn it.

Scribbling down whatever activity there was, a part of you was glad this kid wasn't here today. It was one less person to hear the result of your unfortunate choice to not have breakfast this morning. You'd never spoken to the kid, but everyone knew why he wasn’t here. The renowed "hero", PC Davis had passed away — his dad. It was all over the news: "PDNY OFFICER DIES SAVING A CHILD", around mid-freshman year. You couldn't guess what was going on with the kid almost 2 whole semesters into sophomore year, but you couldn’t exactly think too hard when your pen had barely touched the page, and your other hand was clawing into the side of your shirt.

You were sure your stomach was going to growl, and loud. And your teacher was looking at you. Pretty much every muscle in your face was straining. You probably looked insane, which you’d actually rather be right now. The worst he would make was a bad joke, but the sheer panic that rose in your chest when Mr. Wellston started to walk towards you made your heels dig into the ground, ready to bolt out the class. You were exhausted, anxious, praying to anything you could think of that your teacher would just turn around and stop looking at you and—

Creak... Everyone's eyes, including Mr. Wellston's, turned to the door. You could make out someone with a black jacket — teacher? They wouldn’t let you wear jackets inside. Not important. Water.

"Nice seeing you here, Morales," Wellston said, his expression as unamused as he could attempt. The pushover was feeling confident today.

You drank so much water that it got stuck in your throat for a moment, making you scrunch up your face. "I'd take off that jacket if I were you,” Wellston continued.

The boy obliged with an incoherent mumble, stepping into the classroom and slipping off his jacket. His eyes landed on the seat right next to you. Even if he wasn't looking at you, something about his gaze made you look away immediately. Great. 53 minutes until lunch. Why did he have to show up today? Why did you wake up late and skip breakfast? A part of you was telling you it’d be better to not blame it on this guy either — maybe it was your gut. Ha-ha. Maybe you were insane.

Screeech! The slap of a notebook next to you snapped you out of your mini-spiral. You were now all the more aware of the boy next to you. His attendance was so low that it competed with your will to live, so you couldn’t help but look. His hair was in two braids slipping just past his collar, but that’s all you dared to notice. They were kind of cool, you admitted to yourself. The muttering was quickly shut down by a grating "Focus!" from Wellston, and you tried to get back to your work.

Calculus, calculus... When was the last time you’d gotten a question right? All you could do was keep uselessly pressing the fraction button on your calculator, watching the empty boxes stack up. It felt like he was staring at you. Math, come on, you know math. What was the probability he was looking at you? What if he was just glancing at you? What was his eye colour? Black or dark brown, probably. You could check — if he was staring, of course. Not his eye colour. That'd be weird.

That tight feeling built up in your stomach like the foreshock of an earthquake. You pictured yourself slamming your head into the desk, far too vividly to be normal — like an insane person. No need to traumatise the “new” kid on his first day back.

"Alright class, considering we have a full house now," You stopped yourself from imagining Wellston’s head slammed into a desk. "I suggest you all try to solve this problem. It's the hardest question that's ever come up on Calc BC, and you're getting secret access to it."

Yeah, like you cared. This man did not have a lesson plan, as usual. Now you had to fight the urge to look at the kind of cool kid next to you, fight your hunger like a famished Victorian child and fight the stupid calculations forming a jumbled mess in your brain. You were fighting a lot of things, and losing miserably. Just looking at the question made your brain hurt, and you could see it in the rest of your class too. All Calc BC nerds who were just now realising their mistake in taking this class with this particular teacher, probably. Visions was a scam.

"Does anyone have an answer?" It hadn't even been two minutes; it was like the man just wanted to feel smarter than everyone else. Something about him today was even more annoying than the pitiful jokes he usually came up with ― just because a "new" kid came in? Maybe this was to make up for the first day of class where he totally embarrassed himself mumbling all lesson, the bell ringing overtop of him.

The awkward silence and the slight cocky curl to the corner of Mr. Wellston's mouth made you question why they hired someone who was fresh out of college to teach you the classes that were supposed to get you into college. Your frustration only grew when you were going in circles with your attempt.

"No? Guys, you that you have a midterm soon." Helpful.

"This is more simple than you think." Explain it, then?

"Nobody? Really? Okay, you really should start paying attention, the―"

"Six." You almost forgot about the kid next to you until he spoke up. He put down his pen, giving Wellston an expectant look while the whole class was silent.

"…Six what?"

"Litres per hour."

The man quickly shuffled to his computer. Of course he didn't know the answer either.

"Six litres per hour," Wellston confirmed. No other kid had a chance to retort. Wellston seemed surprised for once. A part of you was surprised too at how simple the answer sounded when it came out of the "new" kid's mouth. You noticed that the boy didn't even have a calculator.

"Well, it looks like you all have something to learn from Morales here," he continued, something almost like contempt in his words. "Do you want to explain how you got that?"

The boy went about explaining it pretty simply, almost like he was reading off of a script. It was concise, different to what you'd learnt. Something about chain rule, which you truthfully had no idea how to actually use because someone didn't bother to go through it properly. Even if you were still somewhat unsure, it sounded easy enough.

"Interesting method..." Wellston murmured, trailing off for a moment. "Well, that settles it then. Do you guys understand how we got six?"

We? This guy... Aside from the fact that he was looking at you a little too much for comfort (probably because you were still clutching your stomach like you’d been shot) you had another reason to be annoyed by this teacher and his stupid hair. Everyone just returned his question with silent nods and mumbles, people taking opportunities to actually look at the calc-wiz.

You took a chance too, looking over at his seemingly unbothered face. You were almost right about the brown eyes. They were more coppery than anything, maybe even a little green. If he was staring before, you couldn't tell, his gaze trailing his desk with disinterest. Why did his eye colour even matter?

Forty minutes of class to go. You felt like you could eat your calculator at this point. The mystery kid didn't seem to need one anyway, and you weren’t getting much use out of it.

BRIIIIIIIIIING!

"The bell doesn't―" The screeching of chairs cut him off.

Like that would work this far into the semester. The Morales kid was already gone by the time you'd stood up. Letting out a drawn-out sigh, you debated between your tiredness and hunger. Would you try to fight to the death to get to the front of the lunch queue? All you wanted was food, maybe a nap afterwards, definitely no more calculus.

That couldn't happen, of course. For some reason, you were the only one left in class. You heard your name, wincing a little as you stopped in your journey out of the door.

"I just want to speak for a moment, spare me a few minutes?" You figured this was coming. It looked like he wanted to speak to you about something all class; his expressions weren’t exactly mysterious like that new kid. You wanted nothing more than to strangle him with his ugly patterned tie as you walked over to him.

Mr. Wellston leaned on his desk by his elbows, lowering his voice as if he was about to tell you something serious.

"You're not doing very well in this class." Okay… not that serious. "It’s the longer questions, I think. FRQs.”

Your grogginess made it impossible to focus on Wellston’s rant, but what you did pick up on was his weird accent. You guessed he wasn’t from Brooklyn, but the way he was talking right now let you pick up on the strange intonation in his voice you otherwise wouldn’t care to notice. Almost European-sounding. First that kid's eye colour and now your teacher's accent... what was it with you and random details today?

"So..." he continued, looking up at you with his head still low. "I'm going to start an extra class after school. I want you to come to it." Okay, this is worse. You couldn't have lunch, and now you couldn't even have after school.

"When is it?" It better not be some unreasonable time.

"Well, I've only got Friday afternoon free. You know how it is, meetings..." If he was trying to be apologetic, or convincing, he was failing at both. "I'll call you in later to discuss it further."

You just nodded, the grip on your backpack tightening. "Okay."

"It's important that you come!”

His voice was drowned out by the flood of students in the hall as you shut the door, turning on your heel to head to the cafeteria. The line was probably impossibly long by now. You couldn't care less about that extra Friday class. Forget college. You'd be a bum, or work at a WcDonalds. You'd probably make more money than Mr. Wellston there anyway. Forget Visions.

Forget that Morales kid who was standing outside the door all that time while you were too frustrated to notice.

You slumped down onto an empty table as you tried to rid your mind of him.

The probability that he'd show up to class with his cool braids and coppery-green eyes again was too low for you to care anyway.

"Soy Miles. Miles Morales."

Calc-wiz, or Miles as you just found out, was also in your Spanish class, and was also sitting directly behind you. It seemed like he was coming into more classes than he had been all semester — good for him?

"Morales… ¿Eres hispano, Miles?" (Are you Hispanic, Miles?) Miles simply nodded while Mrs Hernández flicked through the worksheets, licking her finger to set them down on individual desks. Spanish was one of the classes you actually liked. Apart from your classmates, Mrs Hernández was funny, and a good teacher, even if she was a little strict.

She paused for a moment to look at Miles again, eyebrow raised. "¿Guatemala?"

"Puerto Rico." The woman's raised eyebrow fell along with the rest of her expression, eyes narrowing in disappointment. She was always talking about where she was from, Guatemala. You found it kind of endearing, though you weren't sure if she'd get any teaching done if there was another kid from there.

"All these years y nadie de Guatemala..." (and nobody from Guatemala...) She simply frowned, cracking her knuckles while making her way back to the front. Most of the people taking AP Spanish were Hispanic, just trying to get extra credits, but it seemed like Mrs. Hernández was out of luck when it came to finding her natural favourite. "Vale clase, quiero que miren este articulo sobre―" (Okay class, I want you to look at this article about―)

All that class you felt like Miles was staring at the back of your head, of course. If he wasn't uncomfortably silent, he was conversing with Mrs Hernández, and she came over more than once to talk to him behind you. As much as you wanted to overhear, they were talking too quietly and quickly — and in Spanish. What they were talking about wasn't your business — most likely about his absence. You had also no idea what this article was talking about. It was something about art, but most of the words you were reading were unfamiliar as your highlighter hovered uselessly over the paper.

It had almost been a week since Miles first came in. You constantly saw him get pulled out of class or talking to teachers — except in AP Calc; it seemed like he was doing just fine there. He could speak Spanish fine too, but was behind on everything else. Other than teachers, he never really talked to anyone. You occasionally saw him with his earbuds on in the hallways, but more often his jacket was what got him chased down by teachers; the kid didn’t really seem to care. Good for him. He was probably more ahead of you anyway given the way your studies were going.

“Oye, look a little alive!” You noticed Mrs Hernandéz standing over you, and that your highlighter bleeding through the paper from pressing too long. A half-hearted “lo siento” (sorry) is all you could offer. “Extraño (strange) — What's different today, chicos? Is it because you’ve got a new friend here?” She crossed her arms, eyeing everyone with her brows knitted together.

The atmosphere around Miles was strange. Not only was he known for being missing since freshman year, but also for his late father. It wasn’t a secret, as much as he didn’t talk about it. Everyone could tell from the way teachers whispered to him and how he disappeared to the counsellor’s office that he wasn’t treated like any other student here. In fact, he didn’t even live in the dorms according to what you’d heard. He was quiet, but the rumours were undeniably loud. You tried not to involve yourself — you hadn’t even spoken to him yourself, anyway.

“He’s not the only Puerto Rican. You gonna forget about us, Señora?” The voice made you hold back a sigh. When Rafael started speaking there was no stopping him. You figured it was time; no matter how far he was moved from his friends, he always found a way to talk to them from the other side of the classroom. He was also right next to you. You had a few reasons to want to drop this class, and each of them were all going “yeah” in agreement to what Rafael had to say.

“I think you’ve forgotten that you have an article in front of you, Rafa.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at your teacher’s words, and nickname. To your dismay, Rafael noticed you immediately.

“You makin’ fun of me, bro?” He turned his head to stare at you.

“Rafael,” Hernandéz warned.

“Nah, Señora, you don’t get it, I should be sitting over there.”

She wasn’t amused by the way he was gesturing to his friends. “I’ll kick you out.”

“Come on man…” He just threw up his hands and sunk into his far too tiny chair. You prayed he wouldn't start rocking on it and make that god-awful creaking sound. Mrs. Hernández simply turned to ignore him and continue with class.

“Why’s he special anyway?” Rafael mumbled to himself. “Famous cause of his dad?”

Tension – it was so thick you could cut it. The only thing that was cutting through it, apart from your Spanish teacher’s rant, was Miles’ gaze. You could feel it burning right through you. It seemed like Rafael, the moron, for some twisted reason, wanted Miles to hear that.

If you had anything to say at all, it was too late to give Rafael a piece of your mind. Considering how quickly he'd shut you down, it would be useless to stick up for some kid you barely knew. Nobody else heard Rafael anyway; it'd just pit everyone against you. Still, a part of you felt bad. Even though you didn’t really know Miles, he was in a lot of your classes. You’d gotten used to his presence over the past week: moving out of the way so he could get to his seat, occasionally picking up each other’s fallen pens, giving unshared glances to see how the other was doing on the work.

He seemed nice enough despite the lack of words you'd exchanged, but when you turned a little to fix your chair, the expression you caught was anything but. It was almost scary, if you could make out anything from his darkened features. There was a strange sense of focus in his eyes, like he was calculating something – deliberating. You didn't try to guess what, keeping silent and trying to listen to Mrs. Hernández talk about the article while ignoring the deadly gaze simmering behind you.

If you were stronger, scarier, more influential, maybe you’d punch one through Rafael right now. Just looking at him was irritating, and it's not like you hadn't thought of it before. Maybe you wouldn’t have to, though, because it seemed like Miles was thinking the exact same thing. As much as you wanted to learn Spanish and not have a fight happen right next to you, it’d be nice if he was able to teach Rafael to shut up instead of the material he didn't seem to care about.

Miles didn’t look particularly strong — he was kind of scary-looking right now, but that didn’t mean he could take on a 6ft tall football player, no matter how pissed off said football player made him. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but Miles stayed put for the rest of class; it felt like a sniper was right behind you.

The all-too-familiar creak of the chair made you automatically grit your teeth.

“Oy, mi pana, you got gum?” Rafael murmured to you in his worst friendly voice. It was 10 minutes till the end of class, and he was asking now? You still had no idea what pana meant since he moved next to you, but the way he said it always made you feel icky regardless.

You quickly shook your head, getting a sigh out of him. You hoped he’d give up, but he just leaned over to whisper to you. “What do you think of that dude, huh?

“What?”

“Strange, yeah?”

“He’s okay.” Your defence was quiet, but it was the most you could do as you heard Miles scribbling right behind you.

“He’s drawing, dude.”

You looked at him almost incredulously. Rafael just rolled his eyes.

“Why do you care?” Your voice came out louder than you wanted.

“¡Silencio!” You gave Mrs. Fernandez, another one of your muffled “lo siento”s, shrinking into your seat as her eyes locked onto you. Snickering from Rafael’s friends only fuelled the embarrassment surging through your cheeks. Miles shuffled in his seat behind you, followed by the sound of paper being crumpled up. You wanted to crumple up the smug expression plastered on Rafael's face right now.

Class ended with another stack of homework in your backpack, and you were more than happy to leave. Free period — you could get a start on the homework. Or talk to Wellston about that extra class. The thought made you wince, but you didn’t exactly have a choice. You had to see him by the end of the day.

“Ay, Milo!” You turned to see Rafael and his little group approaching Miles’ desk. “What’s good?”

“Nothing.” He kept his voice low, pushing his chair under the desk. The boys just laughed as he got up, a grating mix of malice and mirth.

“Right, right. Puerto Rican, eh?” It sounded like Rafael was just talking for the sake of talking. You were also standing for the sake of standing too, of course.

Miles let out a mumble as a confirmation of sorts. Heading for the door, he was blocked by Rafael.

“Ay, where you goin’? Let’s talk, huh? Got a free period?” You could see Miles’ eyes narrow, a flash of impatience in his demeanour before he let out a breath. Rafael was trying to get a kick out of this. A kick out of some kid with a dead dad.

“Someone’s waiting for me.”

“Huh? What’d you say? You got friends?” The start of more laughs were already forming around Miles.

You didn’t know what came over you. Maybe it was the regret of not saying anything earlier, or the strange intrigue you’d felt since a week ago. Peeking your head through the door, you took a step back into the classroom. “Miles, c’mon.”

The gnawing feeling only intensified as you felt four sets of eyes on you at the same time. You’d rather it be hunger than the anxiety coursing through you at that moment.

“Comin',” he murmured, shoving past the three boys towards the door.

The two of you left the classroom, hearing a faint “what the hell man?” as the door fell shut. Miles lingered behind you as you approached the next turn in the hallway.

“What’s your name?” He’d already stepped in front of you.

No thanks or anything? Well, he didn't really owe you anything. It was "the right thing to do", like the many anti-bullying posters around the school encouraged you to do. God damn Visions.

“You uh… know my name.”

“Wanna hear it from you.” His voice had a little twinge of an accent that you hadn’t noticed before. You tried not to think too hard on it. Too many details for too little of an interaction.

“You’ve gotta introduce yourself first — pretty sure that’s how it works,” you tried to joke, something like embarrassment replacing the lingering anxiety in your stomach.

“I did — in class.” Miles’ face was unreadable, but there was something like amusement in his voice.

“Not to me specifically, though.”

The two of you stood in the hallway as people ushered past you. A freshman almost hit you running past, making the two of you retreat to stand beside some lockers. Damn freshmen. You were a freshman only last year, but shoving past them in the cafeteria wasn’t exactly fun. Miles seemed unbothered, as he usually did.

“You seriously don’t know my name?” you continued, almost frowning a little.

“Let’s say I don’t.” He leaned back against the cold blue metal of the lockers, tilting his head at you. The tiny mannerism only made your embarrassment grow. “What’s your name, pana?”

“…I still don’t know what that means.” The frustrated sigh you let out made the corner of his mouth curl up.

“And I still don’t know your name, pana.” No wonder you didn’t bother to talk to anyone. It seemed like you never had the upper hand, first with Rafael and now with Miles. Truthfully, though, you knew which you’d rather talk to.

“Sounds like a food,” you continued, shrugging.

“Could be,” he pretended to muse. And to think you thought he was nice. You hadn’t decided to be annoyed yet, though.

“You know my name, Miles.” You must’ve looked funny the way you crossed your arms and furrowed your eyebrows, because that got an entertained breath out of him.

“Who’s Miles? Haven’t introduced myself yet.” His smirk wrote guilty all over his face.

“Milo, then?” It was a bit harsh, but his cockiness made you say it without much thought. The apology was written on your face already, and you unfolded your arms, deciding you couldn’t have Mrs. Hernandéz’s sass today.

“You wanna be called pana forever?” He slipped an earbud into one of his ears, the blue light flickering into life. At least you didn’t tick him off.

“Not like I care,” you murmured, trying to take a step away.

“Seems like you do.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you asked, trying to keep your tone in check as you glanced down the hallway.

“Do you?” You felt like you were talking into a mirror, one that reflected back a person that got all the more mysterious and annoying when you did.

“Yeah, actually.” Mr. Wellston’s class. The thought made your eyes narrow, probably in exhaustion, most likely in irritation. “Need to speak to a teacher.”

His brow raised in mild interest. “You in trouble?”

“I wish. It’s about some extra class I have to take.”

“Calc?” You turned to look at him again, and his expression was more knowing than curious now.

“How’d you guess…?” It sounded more like a statement, your tone more disappointed than surprised. Were you really that bad at Calculus? Maybe you did need this class, especially if calc-wiz thought so.

“…You have lunch today?” he thought to ask instead. For a moment, you were confused, until you remembered calc last week.

“Shut up.” Your cheeks burned, hand balling up the fabric of your uniform. God. Damn it. All.

“Aight, sorry.”

More silence. You should’ve blamed the growling on him.

“Why the class though? You failing?”

“I’m not failing… Just need some help, I guess” Your shrug wasn’t very reassuring.

“Anyone else goin’?” The longer he kept inquiring, the more you figured Mr. Wellston’s attitude was building up.

“No clue. Bet everyone else is gonna join, though. He’ll probably tell everyone anyway.” The people in your class were quiet, but desperate to out-do each other. Maybe the problem wasn’t you, but the fact that everyone else was trying so hard.

“He didn’t ask me.” The corner of his mouth dimpled into his cheek in thought.

“You’re good at calc anyway.”

“Haven’t been here a while, so I gotta catch up, right? Lemme come with.”

You tried to think of what to say as your hand found the back of your neck, but he was already walking past you. Miles looked back at you to see if you were following.

If he had somewhere to be, it didn’t seem to matter. You noted the slight rhythm to his step, wondering what he was listening to, and if his eyes were green or brown. Ripping away your gaze from him before you could chase that thought, you tried to dodge all the freshmen running around as the bell went for next period.

You had more questions than answers so far — both in your backpack to do this period and in your mind. Aside from Miles, you wondered what that extra class would be like, and what Wellston would say. A part of you hoped that Miles would be in that class with you, despite your less than favourable introduction. Maybe you’d figure out why the answer was six litres an hour. Maybe you could be friends.

What was the probability of that? Some questions couldn’t be solved with a calculator. But Miles didn’t need one, after all.

thank you for reading. im so tired of looking at this but its okay part 1 !!! hooray !!! next chapter is miles pov .... need more Substances in my Bloodstream before i post that though LMAO

reblogs appreciated!!!! go back to the series masterlist here or to my atsv masterlist here :)

#miles g morales x reader #42!miles x reader #42!miles morales x reader #atsv fanfiction #earth 42 miles x reader #prowler miles x reader #miles g morales #miles g #42!miles #miles gonzalo morales #prowler miles #atsv x you #atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #vhstown

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manicpixiefelix · 3 months

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 9.

Summary: In Oliver's time of need, you and Felix put the past altercation behind you both to be there for him when he says he needs you both. None of you are given time to breathe, however, as end of year exams begin and you and Felix have to remember how to be good students, all the while Venetia appears to be getting bored and is getting more desperate to have you come back to Saltburn.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: discussions of oliver's father dying, also exam stress

A/N: 3265 words. a bit shorter than the past few, but chapter 10 i think will end our time at oxford so im already starting on that as we speak and it will be out soon!! a more chill one, apart from, of course, the ollie's dad thing. plus we get some Venetia in here!! i love her, she's such a menace. already excited to share more with you all <3

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Oh God, oh fucking God, Oliver looked so small.

Felix had opened the door looking downright helpless, and from behind him, Oliver's voice broke as all he could manage was 'hi, Y/N'. You can hear his voice is thick with tears and barely restrained grief. When you to Felix, questions in your eyes, he has no real answer for you, just steps aside.

"What's wrong?" Immediately you're by Oliver's side, one hand on his knee where he's curled up on himself, sitting in the middle of Felix's floor.

"I didn't know what else to do," Felix admits weakly, more for Oliver's sake than your own as he closed the door. It's dark, blinds drawn, quiet in the mid-morning. Oliver doesn't look up from the floor.

"Needed you here," Oliver mumbled against his knees, "both of us." He sniffles faintly, shifts his feet a little closer to himself. Felix is fidgeting, still shifting his weight from one foot to the other by the door, watching you both. Oliver looks up at him through tear-stained lashes, and finally Felix sinks down, across from both of you.

Still, you have no real idea of what's happened, but when you look to Oliver, he chances another glance to Felix before focusing back in on his shoes.

"His, uh," Felix starts awkwardly, still watching Oliver, as if unsure if this was how he wanted to break the news. Oliver gives a jerky nod of his head, and another sniffle, and Felix looks to you with that same, grim expression he'd worn at the door, "Ollie's dad died," he says softly, "he just found out."

Oliver presses his face into his knees, like even hearing it like that upsets him, his whole body trembling. In an instant you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you for a tight hug.

"I'm okay," he tries to insist with a watery voice, clearly holding back tears, and Felix reaches out to rest a comforting hand on his shin.

"You're not alright, mate, and you don't have to be," he assures, quickly scooting himself over to Oliver's other side, mirroring you with his arms around Oliver too, resting his head on Oliver's shoulder.

"No, I promise, it's just shock, it's -" Oliver continues, desperately trying to reign in his emotions, "he was a- a drunk, and off his face the rest of the time, I probably should have expected something like this," but his heart's not in it.

"He's still family," Felix mumbles against his shoulder. Oliver is very quiet, but you can both feel when he shifts, even a little, his head raising to rest his cheek against Felix's hair.

"I told Oliver he should look into getting an exemption for his exams," Felix says after a few moments, to which Oliver immediately tries to protest, while you wrack your brains for solutions. Of course you agree, a death in the family would warrant -

"I can't, I already told you I can't," Oliver insisted. He looks frantic, gaze never straying from Felix as he sits up, "I'm on a scholarship, I can't miss the exams!"

"Is there anything you could do?" Felix pleads with you, the two of you sitting astride of Oliver and seemingly ignoring his own pleas for the moment. But even in these moments where you deliberate, Oliver's desperate gaze clings to Felix alone.

"I can look into it, I've got to make a trip to admin later today anyways -"

"No!" Oliver finally snapped. There were tears pricking his eyes as he held out his hands to you both, as if demanding space and silence, staring dead ahead, unable to look either of you in the eyes, "this is all I have. I don't get a second chance at being here. I don't get a second chance at being anywhere. I know I will be fine," he takes a deep, sharp breath, wetting his lips, "tomorrow."

"Fine," Felix finally breathes, cutting through the silence. Both of you still focus on Oliver, tense like a time bomb, but slowly letting himself relax.

"Thank you," he mutters, but doesn't curl in on himself this time. He stretches his legs out in front of him, then his arms, fingers reaching and twisting after being all coiled up together for so long.

"If - if," Felix begins tentatively, "you wake up before your first exam and you're not fine, will you tell us and let us take care of it for you?"

"You mean let Y/N break into my academic records?" Oliver asked wryly, turning to Felix, but there was little malice behind it. Felix, glad to see Oliver hadn't taken it as an insult, grins sheepishly.

"I don't ask how they do what they do," he hesitates, "but yeah, probably," he glances over Oliver's head at you and you hold up your hands, wiggling your fingers.

"A magician never reveals his secrets." Both boys snort a laugh at that, and Oliver leans back carefully, laying on the rug.

"If I do end up feeling like that, I'll tell you, but I promise I'll be okay."

"Tomorrow," you remind him, laying back to join him and petting him on the arm in solidarity.

"Tomorrow," Oliver agreed softly. Felix is the last to join you all in laying back, looking over at you and Oliver rather than at the ceiling like the two of you.

"So would you like to do anything today? If you just want to stay here and do nothing, we can do that too -"

"I don't want to stay around here," Oliver blurts out, "I just want to get off of campus and out of my head for a day, with you guys. Is that- can I -?"

There's something almost childlike in the way that he speaks, the way that he clings to your friendship in his time of need. Neither you nor Felix could say no to him, not that you wanted to. Yesterday's altercation was forgotten, today you'd both do anything to make Oliver happy.

Lunch in town, a movie that the three of you talk through at the back of an empty theatre, and late afternoon in a Tesco, buying ingredients for dinner that you and Felix vow to cook for Oliver in one of your dorm's shared kitchens. Your phone's been buzzing throughout the day, particularly insistent, but you don't feel the urge to pull yourself from this afternoon, these moments to check it.

There's something about browsing the aisles together, something domestic and comforting about arguing over pasta ingredients and whether it was worth it to buy pre-made sauce or to make your own. Oliver watches you both so fondly, all hints of his earlier distress having left him, so it seems. The day felt like a success.

The pasta turns out to be far more of a success than any of you were anticipating, honestly; between you and Felix you made one decent cook. Sitting on the communal sofa, bowls all balanced on your knees, you and Felix are eating for a few moments before you realise Oliver's just been staring at his, strange look on his face.

"Promise it's edible," Felix says, half his mouth full, nudging Oliver's shoulder. You, however, finish your mouthful before speaking.

"Everything okay, Ollie?"

"Haven't had a home cooked meal for years," Oliver sounds almost like he's breathless from the realisation, and certainly like he's holding back tears. Both you and Felix, somehow on the same wavelength without even trying, both move your bowls, and then Oliver's to the coffee table, wrapping him up in a hug. Felix, of course, may have been a bit overenthusiastic, and all three of you end up tipped onto your side, squishing you into the old sofa. When you all right yourselves, laughing nonetheless, Oliver's beaming even as he's blinking away tears.

The night ends with Felix walking you and Oliver back to your respective dorms. By your door, you hug them both, giving Oliver a kiss on the cheek.

"I know exams are intense, but don't be a stranger, okay?"

"I won't," he nods a little bashfully, grinning at the dirt.

"We love you, we have every faith in you."

"I know," he says with a half smile, "if I do shit and get kicked out, how will I see you guys anymore?"

"Don't talk like that!" Felix gasps in mock horror, hand over his heart, ever the dramatic one, "do well of course, but don't talk like that!"

"Good night, boys," you chuckle, letting yourself into your room, hearing their banter pick up as they headed out towards Oliver's, the night so much warmer and brighter than the day had started.

Finally, flopping onto your bed, you reach down to grab the charger to plug it in when you finally see who's been texting you so insistently.

Venetia.

ven my love: can't believe youre still losing scraps against fars XD

That was last night, wasn't it? God, what a snitch Farleigh was sometimes, you roll your eyes to yourself, continuing to read the messages she'd been sending after getting no reply from you.

ven my love: dishonor on you dishonor on your cow ven my love: looking forward to summer obvs :-* ven my love: miss u ven my love: is it tru that youre fucking felixs newest toy?? ven my love: the one farleigh hates lol ven my love: is that why u and far got in a tiff? ven my love: ignoring me i see ven my love: youre no fun :(

Sighing deeply, you think carefully as you read through the texts once more before starting your reply.

Y/N: miss you too ven

Her response comes less than a minute later, before you could even properly address any of her other comments.

ven my love: FINALLY Y/N: fi nd me were with ollie all day. i have a life outside of you ven my love: boo no u dont i never agreed to that ven my love: and whats so special about ollie?? ive heard what farleigh thinks about him Y/N: fars is biased ven my love: and you and felix are the pinnacle of impartiality.......

You could almost see her rolling her eyes behind her phone, sarcasm practically dripping from the screen, knowing Venetia. She had a point, but you didn't want to acknowledge it. However, she didn't even give you time before your phone chimes with another text.

ven my love: he's felix's new eddie isnt he

There's something that reads as smug in the message and you have to snap your phone shut to avoid the sudden rage building up inside of you. Part of you would always, unconditionally love Venetia, you knew as much, and part of you would always have an unconditional distaste for Eddie for reasons you refuse to think deeply about, but Felix had fucking loved him. Their shared betrayal shattered parts of him that he still hadn't fully recovered from, and you may not have loved Eddie, but you'd never forgive him for how happy he made Felix, only to rip that away by fucking around with Venetia.

ven my love: ignoring me again ven my love: god you're SO sensitive

Venetia's callousness about it all was one of the few things that set you on edge, and she knew this. Felix pretended to be above it all, but Venetia took some small semblance of joy knowing she was one of the few people able to get under your skin when she wanted.

You finally reply, scowling at your phone the entire time you wait for her expectedly blasé response.

Y/N: one day fi is gonna deck u for what happened with eddie and im not gonna defend you im gonna laugh ven my love: felix is a baby about what happened but he wouldn't hit me and u know it :p Y/N: then i will Y/N: don't test me ven you know id do it too ven my love: touchy touchy... youre so mean

Is all she sends back for the night. Though you go to sleep unfortunately angry, you wake up surprisingly refreshed, and with a single text, from Ollie this time, thanking you and Felix for yesterday, and once again reassuring you that he was much better today.

Exams keep you all busy for the next few days, nights at the pub traded in for all hours in the library amongst the books and struggling to keep each other on task. Oliver becomes something of a recluse, but always answers your texts when you check in on him.

Farleigh's incredibly unhelpful when it comes to studying; he's always been incredibly academically gifted, and is somehow breezing through his first year exams, seemingly only coming to your study sessions for the company. It frustrates Felix to no end, who's had his head buried in his notes far more than anyone else in your group had expected. Some of them tease him, but once they realise how serious he is about doing well in his exams, they leave him be.

As much as his reputation was easy going, he was still Felix Catton; he wouldn't let himself fail with so many eyes on him. That was something you had in common, even if the eyes on you weren't immediately apparent.

Studying with Felix is quiet when it's just the two of you. You quiz each other in the quiet of the library for classes you share, compare notes and quietly bicker about lectures you both only half remember. Often he gets tired of it all before you, so you read out from whatever textbook you're trying to get into, and let him draw in the margins of your notebook.

Geometric patters with no rhyme or reason, swirls, creatures that resemble no living animal despite what he says, rough sketches of eyes focused with brows furrowed, lips bitten or speaking, things he shrugs at and sheepishly has no explanation for when you finally look up from your textbook.

It's almost midnight, you're slowing down as your eyes are stinging for how long you've been focusing on your business textbook. Felix has forgone even messing with your notes and is now slumped over, chin on the table as he gazes out into the middle distance. Beneath the table, he's fidgeting idly with your free hand, playing with your fingers idly as he listens to you rattle off -

"Now moving on, we come to the most effective strategies for profit maximisation within a consumer-first business model -" around a yawn, but Felix can't help but interrupt.

"God, why the fuck are we even taking Econ?" He puffs out his cheeks petulantly.

"This isn't Econ," you yawn again, and he flops his head to the side, cheek flush against the notes he was ignoring, looking particularly tired and childish, "it's, um, Business Marketing, I think?" Felix blows a loud raspberry, and you realise that you're probably not going to get anything else done.

"Why did I sign up for Business Marketing? Doesn't sound like me."

"I signed up for Business Marketing because I thought it'd be good for my future," you rattled off with a put-upon air, closing your textbook and attempting to clean up your scattered notes with one hand, "and I said Felix you're going to hate this, just like you hated it back in first year, but you insisted, no, like a foolish hero," you rolled your eyes, "refusing to let me suffer alone."

"Fuck past-Felix," present-Felix pouts, "can't believe he's done this to me." It's enough to make you laugh, however, and you give him a gentle pet, thanking him for his sacrifice even if it didn't seem worth it to him in that current moment. Finally he sits up, letting go of your hand and taking the hint to start collecting up his own things.

"We should get to bed, so tomorrow-Felix doesn't hate you during his nine-am Econ exam -" Felix cuts you off with a loud groan, throwing his head back in despair.

"Why the fuck am I taking Econ again?" He demanded to know, shoving his things into his bag with the kind of vitriol the poor papers really didn't deserve.

"Because you promised your dad you would."

"Fuck, right," he groaned, "remind me, next year, I'm only taking art and theatre classes. My exams are going to be interpretive dance, and Jackson Pollock recreations," slinging his bag over his shoulder, he levels an unimpressed look at where you're doing badly at repressing your amused grin, "I'm serious Y/N."

"I know, Fi," you snicker, you can't help yourself, petting him on the shoulder as the two of you head out of the library together.

"It's going to be avant garde and it'll be the easiest exam I ever do; spunk and a black light on canvas," Felix, seemingly having slipped into that state just past tired where he starts speaking nonsense, keeps going, "out of spite," he adds.

"Is this for the interpretive dance or the Jackson Pollock recreation?" You smirk, playing along with the bit, "and will it be your spunk or random peoples' spunk? Talk me through the application process."

"It'll be my submission for both;" he says, far too sure of himself, "just me, dick in hand, in front of the exam people," he deliberates for a moment, "black light in the other hand," and he nods very firmly, as if set on his plan, "it's provocative, it's confronting and will make them reconsider what art is; I'll get a perfect score." Then, under his breath, "fucking nine o'clock Econ exam." And you pat his back in solidarity, arriving outside of his dorm. With a heavy sigh he wraps you up in a hug, and kisses you on the forehead.

"I'll be by at eight-thirty to make sure you don't miss it."

"Fucking nine o'clock fucking Econ fucking exam," is all Felix says with a shake of his head, heading inside as you chuckle to yourself.

In bed, once again winding down for the night, you notice another text from Venetia, the first in several days.

ven my love: still mad at me? Y/N: depends on what u want now ven my love: i can work with that ;) ven my love: come manhandle me im bored Y/N: and im several hours away from you and more importantly an exam ven my love: i'll pay for your train ticket. first class xx\ ven my love: i'll hire a carriage and make duncan pull it like a horse all the way to oxford and back. ven my love: i'll only wear nice lingerie and you can have your way with me in the back like in pride and prejudice ;) Y/N: thats not what happens in pride and prejudice ven my love: it is in my head. kiera knightly is so fit Y/N: youre thinking of that scene in the titanic ven my love: thats kate winslet ven my love: but yeah i am ven my love: for my birthday can you hire leo dicaprio to come to my party so i can shag him in the back of a carriage ven my love: come on you can afford it Y/N: ill shag you in the back of a carriage or a car or anywhere you want when i next see you Y/N: for free ven my love: ugh fine luv u. come home soon xx

And honestly, even with only a few exams left to go, you can't help but agree. Soon can't come soon enough.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #venetia catton imagine #venetia catton x reader #venetia catton x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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hello-from-the-night-archives · 5 months

Text

hello from the hallowoods dashboard simulator

😈 valerie-meme-stone

I'm not ready for my spotify wrapped to just be stonemaiden. like i get it spotify i know i'm gay

53 notes

📝 the-poetry-panopticon Follow

Unfriendly reminder not to sign up for a Dreaming Box subscription! The Botulus Corporation is not to be trusted! Here's an article explaining the language in their contract and why it's concerning! In addtion, they use AI generated images in the Prime Dream, which we should all know by now is unethical.

14,034 notes

🥗 bisexualranchdressing Follow

dang this is crazy. i thought wildfire smoke was bad but what the fuck is this????

🌅 nerdy-tragedy-theorist Follow

well according to color theory

🌅 nerdy-tragedy-theorist Follow

never mind i've got nothing

739 notes

⚡ evil-electrician Follow

friendly reminder to stop spreading misinformation about the black water! people are saying that it brings people and animals back to life but that's not exactly true! although their body may be back, they're not the same person and they will likely become violent and dangerous. please stay inside and be really careful what you and your pets eat or drink.

🐈‍⬛ cats-not-capitalism Follow

fuck you op i'm keeping my undead cat

⚡ evil-electrician Follow

good luck keeping your fingers

48,230 notes

🐧 morally-grey-penguin Follow

1,383,248 notes

eccentricelina-deactivated04232030

i must not go to sleep in the lake today. afternoon nap is the mind killer

eccentricelina-deactivated04232030

mmmmmm cozy

eccentricelina-deactivated04232030

where is my skin

eccentricelina-deactivated04232030

going back to sleep honk shoooooo

635 notes

🌮 mysteriously-crafty-nacho Follow

reblog this post to go north with the person you reblogged this from

54,092 notes

🧊 botulus-corporation Follow

The Botulus Corporation is with you during this difficult time. Join our happy dreaming family where you and your loved ones will be safe from the rain. Tumblr users get 30% off on a Dreaming Box subscription!

🐨 chief-koala-typhoon Follow

73,932 notes

🌿 shiny-wolf-tragedy Follow

it fucken rainny

🐼 dreamland-panda Follow

love that they'll be a literal apocalyse and tumblr users will just make memes. never change tumblr

72,138 notes

👁️‍🗨️ the-magnus-brotocol

choosing between the irl amazing digital circus or probably fucking dying was not on my 2030 bingo card but okay

👁️‍🗨️ the-magnus-brotocol

at this point i just gotta expect that if the year is divisible by 10 then something terrible will happen

94 notes

🐺 werewolves-are-hot

hey do you think i can get a real werewolf boyfriend now that monsters are real

🐺 werewolves-are-hot

any cute werewolf boyfriends in this part of the woods

429 notes

🌷 pleasant-arcade-land

oh man it's been a couple months since I last updated this fanfic huh! so I just drank some black water by accident and now I have a few extra fingers, and honestly that took some getting used to, but it's actually pretty convenient now and is really helpign me get more words in lol im still here writing homestuck fanfic in 2030 hehehehehe anyway new chapter here

38 notes

🌑 the-void-whispers Follow

so, it looks like tumblr might be dying soon due to, well, *gestures wildly.* You'll have to kill me before I join Twitter now that the Botulus Corporation bought it (and no, I am not calling it B, that is just stupid) so if you want to hear from me you will simply need to look out for passenger pigeons. in the meantime, ill be here until tumblr straight up dies and i have a crying session about it

🦌 gamer-guy-bath-water Follow

we do not grieve ice when it melts, or celebrate the sapling when it rises from the soil. they just are. life and death and rebirth are one constant state. and without change, there would be nothing to watch

⚔️ sword-lesbian-enthusiast

add that to the list of banger quotes from tumblr memes

82,362 notes

#my post #hfth #hfthw #hello from the hallowoods #unreality #fake post #hfth spoilers

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bonefall · 7 months

Note

Are there any changes to Smokepaw (ShadowClan Apprentice in TNP) in BB? He is my all time favourite Warriors character for literally no reason, he existed twice, the second time to fall off a cliff and die, but I love him. I feel like he was a huge waste of potential, in that first time he appeared I thought of Blackstar as a sort of parental figure to him. Think like Firepaw and Bluestar, maybe? Or maybe more like Firepaw and Yellowfang? I'm sure that was just me serious projecting onto like less than a page of screen time, but I am so attached to him. I even made an AU where there was a conveniently placed river that swept him away to the Sundrown Place where he was taken in by Midnight.

Does BB have anything for my little guy?

Smokefall! Given an obligatory Sardonic ShadowClan name after he fell off a cliff and forced the entire journey to halt in its tracks for almost a month!

because shadowclan is like, ridiculously small and the family tree is a brick, Smokepaw (TNP), Smokepaw (Field Guides), and Smokefoot (Po3) are reworked. SmokeFALL survives, Smokepaw is now BILLOWCLOUD, and Smokefoot is SMOGFOOT.

Smog and Smoke are siblings. Billowcloud is not related to them.

Anyway, Smokepaw got REALLY hurt in that fall, but did survive

A (currently unpicked) Tribe cat actually climbed all the way down to get him. He had to be carried the rest of the way.

But once safe, he really couldn't move or else jeopardize his recovery. That, paired with a lack of travelling rations and a few pregnant cats close to delivery halted the Journey.

But Smokepaw still got ribbed relentlessly for "holding everyone up." Poor guy. ShadowClan humor.

Talonpaw got really close to him in that time. In fact, a LOT of cats developed close bonds in this "intermission," including many of the cats who would ultimately support Mudclaw's claim in WindClan.

Brambleclaw and Hawkfrost, as well.

In general, this is a really important hiatus because it's adding some PIVOTAL breathing room for cats to bond free of Clan divisions.

Clan Culture is never really the same after this. It's a change a long time coming.

He is also one of Birchfall's friends. This entire apprentice/kit generation has a very odd view on Clan divisions, because the Destruction of White Hart and the subsequent journey were so formative.

It was actually Smokepaw's "idea" to make Paw Soup. It came from a suggestion towards some WindClan apprentices, that they should try to make an ancient gumbo recipe that hadn't been seen since the start of Heatherstar's campaign.

Birchkit and his big bro Spiderpaw butted in, RiverClan apprentices didn't want to be left out, and the rest is history.

They never did make that gumbo but they made something new.

At the Lake, he also prevents Talonpaw from dying to Jacques and The Dreaded Susan. By also getting his ass beat.

(But that's probably gonna be offscreen because im not dedicating several chapters to it like canon when theres a civil war that should be in focus)

Smokefall becomes the next Educator of ShadowClan, and the mate of Talonclaw. Eventually Smogfoot surrogates a kit for them-- probably Pinenose.

The couple shows up at various points throughout Po3 and OotS as very important friends of Birchfall, and general friendly faces in ShadowClan which is a major ally through the arcs.

Sadly, though, they meet a gruesome and tragic end in AVoS. The Kin is a cult, and once it takes power, it immediately targets the one who teaches history. Smokefall. Talonclaw refuses to abandon his mate.

His position is taken by the infamous Berryheart, who is the educator through TBC. He is survived by several grandkits through Pinenose-- Slatefur, Puddleshine, and Happyface.

#BB!Smokefall #BB!Talonclaw #Better bones au #an obscene amount of cats are going to die to the Kin #in canon shadowclan has too many mass death events and not enough cats to actually get through them all #but for BB I'm like.. prepping for it #And to BEGIN with ShadowClan is RIDICULOUSLY small #Like. Obscenely small. And in the modern era it only got large because two queens produced an insane amount of children #It's essentially 3 families it's fucking baaaaaddd #So like. Even if I didn't want to save Smokepaw I NEEDED him because this is ridiculous #But I did want to. Because I like him. And I don't like that most of the TNP deaths are shadowclan for like no reason

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adaptacy · 6 months

Text

A Found Flame {Pt.2}

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Previous Chapter) – (Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3)

A/N: Gonna cross-post this to AO3 eventually once I have more of an idea of how the plots gonna go cause you all have convinced me to full-send it and make it a longform thing. just adding it to the list of wip.... a sincere apology to my tcm fics.... anyways! i love my little depressed magic-cancer nerd and im glad im not the only one. here's more of him :) [it wont all be angst, but i gotta set the scene and the stakes, yanno...?] ALSO 'a found flame' is just the working title, idk what the official one is gonna be but i'll let yall know when i figure that out

Word Count: 3.1k

Stepping outside grants you an opportunity to taste the last flavors of the fading winter, only feeling the quick spikes of a chill every few minutes, and even then, it’s only thanks to the setting sun. You still wear a purple velvet shawl, as per the request – well, demand – of Gale. He insisted many moons ago that you shouldn’t ever risk getting sick when you can take measures to avoid such a fate, and you’d decided it was much simpler to go along with it than to argue your safety. That plan was cemented when he purchased you a finely tailored purple shawl, the edges of the hood and cloak lined with lynx fur, dyed a dark pink to complement the thick purple velvet that made up the majority of the shawl. A gift that nothing short of surprised you, even had you fooled into believing you’d been dreaming when he presented it to you. Why he was so particularly fearful of the cold, you weren’t sure, but you deeply appreciated the gift, and even if you did enjoy winter’s nip, the shawl was both gorgeous and comfortable, and you’d be insane to leave it behind.

Gale was also particularly sensitive to cold weather, from what you could tell, which likely had a role in his passionate bias against the chilliness of post-snow air. Frankly, you were fine with the occasional runny nose in exchange for a chance to wander down a snow-dusted forest trail, and you didn’t mind a shiver here and there while you caught free-falling flakes that Waterdeep was ever so rarely granted.

The garden, however, was much like Gale – hardly a fan of the cold. Gale did not have a green thumb, but he still shared similarities with the plants you tended. Those plants that, currently, were dead and buried. While you’d managed to convince him to try his hand at herbalism and gardening, he had more of Bhaal’s touch with the sprouts than the ‘magic’ touch he so often joked about. It was amusing, and a little pitiful; the exasperated sigh and the troubled frown that followed your breaking of the news, that his poorly packed and overwatered plants had passed. He was dramatic, and managed to find the humor in the situation, though vowed to let you handle anything to do with seedlings and crops from that point onwards.

It was unfortunate, as you appreciated his entertaining company (even if it came mostly in the form of griping, displeased that he had to get so up close and personal with dirt and worms) around the garden beds, but it allowed for moments like these. Truth be told, you had no intention of gardening. You would have to wait another twelve dawns until any useful plants would be back in season, so planting anything this late in winter would be a waste of both time and resources.

Instead, you aimed to explore a small forest trail that you’d just recently discovered, not far from the tower you stayed at. To say you lived there felt like too strong, too certain, of a term. It was the only place you slept, and nearly all of your time was spent there, but you knew it wasn’t home. It was Gale’s home, and you were a mere guest. A sixteen-month-and-counting guest, but a guest nonetheless. You worked, your apprenticeship laboursome and sometimes really quite demanding, and Gale repaid your loyalty and assistance by giving you a place to stay. You’d just never planned to stay so long.

In all honesty, you expected it to be a very temporary arrangement. You suspected Gale felt the same way. But circumstances changed, and so did minds, and you didn’t see yourself leaving anytime soon. It helped that you got along quite well with your boss-slash-roommate, despite the differences in personality and age. You were comfortable with the way things were, and Gale had just recently begun to sprout ideas of passing his own spell-casting knowledge on to you, with today’s lesson being a prime example. When you weren’t helping out around his home, or running errands for him, or tending to the garden, you were most usually subjected to reading long passages from books that were once very far above your understanding.

If Gale was a master of anything, it was surely knowledge. You’d found it odd, at first. Spending all of his days wasting away in his tower, just reading, rotting into a hermit, you’d assumed. But you’d soon gained an appreciation for his boundless mind, and felt almost honored that he’d decided you worthy of learning from him. Being a wizard’s apprentice had never been in the plans, not even as a fleeting hypothetical, and yet you found yourself in that exact scenario – and enjoying it nonetheless!

Glancing down at the small woven basket hanging from your arm, you frowned, lost in thought. Gale taught you a lot, and he still had plenty left to teach, but by no means did that translate over to you really knowing the man you shared a house with. He taught from books and scrolls, and on a few spare good days from his own vast experience. Even with all of the lectures he gave, you found that any details about him that weren’t related to magic, or your lessons, were all quite lacking. What you did know about his personal life was almost purely from observation.

Well, a few times when Tara had made a passing comment about some personal detail and surely was later scolded for it, but those were few and far between. If anyone were to blame for your curiosity, it was most certainly the man himself. He loved preaching the importance of curiosity, exploration (despite rarely leaving the confines of his study), and seeking knowledge, and you’d be a rather poor apprentice to disregard such lessons. Or, arguably worse, cherry pick when you applied those lessons to real world scenarios.

Most recently, your nose for curiosity had picked up on the notably pungent scent of Gale’s behavior. It was unusual, slightly withdrawn, perhaps a little panicked if you truly squinted between the lines. Gale was predictable, for the most part – it was one of his traits that had earned him your trust in the first place. Though as of recent, he’d been rather strange. And not the typical Gale kind of strange – an unsettling, uncharacteristic strange. One that you knew better than to ask questions about, but one that certainly sprouted confusion.

You neared the edge of the forest, giving the pale trees a smile as if to promise your peace. Pausing just before the tree line, you peered into the woods, interested as to what you might discover. You proceeded, following a very faint trail into the woods. You had a pretty solid confidence in your navigational skills – otherwise you most definitely would’ve gotten completely trapped in the maze of a city that was Waterdeep every time you ran any sort of errand – so you weren’t particularly concerned with getting lost.

Allowing your thoughts to return to Gale, you reminded yourself that you weren’t really lying to him. You definitely weren’t going to the garden, but you still planned on harvesting plants. You’d known him for almost a year and a half, and you knew the gist of what he’d been through, what with his mentorship from Mystra herself – which was so cool, and he was way too casual about it – and his strange appetite thanks to the Netherese orb that had become one with him. All that aside, however, you didn’t know many details about his past. For as chatty and sarcastic as he was, you couldn’t shake the feeling he had a good number of secrets he withheld from you, and big ones at that.

Of course, Gale was entitled to his privacy, and you didn’t want to intrude or push his boundaries, but it was impossible to ignore the signs of unease. His constantly drifted mind, his long breaks between lessons, his increasingly frequent requests. Or the way that he’d direct you to read a passage from some folktale or other, only to remain silent for several moments after you finish, gazing longingly past his balcony. He’d been consuming more artifacts than usual recently, and gained a sudden eagerness to push real world practice into your schedules. Not that you minded the inflow of new information, but it didn’t seem to come from a place of excitement. Instead, you figured anxiety; judging based off of the common rapid bouncing of his leg, the messy-and-messier spread of his books and trinkets – especially when compared to how well-kept the place always was whenever you’d started working under him – or his new tendency to forget what he had and hadn’t asked of you, or which lessons he’d already covered, or hell, where he had last placed his staff.

Well, what better way to get someone to open up and relax than with a hand-picked bouquet and some herbal tea?

Even if he didn’t spill his guts to you, he certainly needed a pick-me-up. Sure, you already did a lot for him, but he did a lot for you, too. Maybe even more than he realized. He deserved a treat.

– – –

“Though it may be bold of me to say, I estimate they’ll be a fine caster someday.”

“Bold indeed, Mr. Dekarios. Awfully bold. They quite nearly began trembling at the idea of a mere fire bolt!” The small beast chirped back, seated firmly atop his desk, pawing at a small fuzzy ball that swung from a thin string, easily entertained by the simple contraption.

“Even I stumbled; all beginners do. Time is all they need. ‘Time heals all wounds’, is that not how the scriptures read?” He asked, sticking his tongue out and running the tip of a long harpy feather over it.

As he dipped that same tip in a vial half-filled with a thick, clear liquid, Tara quickly outstretched a wing, the end of it not-so-accidentally hitting her companion in the face. The startle nearly caused him to knock over the bottle of magic ink, his torso leaning forward as he just barely managed to steady it with both hands, and he glared at his familiar out of the corner of his eye. She merely stretched out her other wing, feigning obliviousness before eventually looking back at him. “You are still the same fool who summoned me all those years ago. You are a prodigy, Mr. Dekarios! You were half their age then; to compare your ‘stumbles’ to the incompetence of a commoner such as them is exhaustively inconceivable.”

“Tara, I implore you to exercise patience. They are a fine apprentice, and they certainly have the potential for brilliance. Am I not a competent mentor?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, intending the question to be at least somewhat thought-provoking, but the only reaction he received was Tara turning her head away and murmuring something too quiet for Gale to hear. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he knew her well enough to predict it was something snarky, and he didn’t bother investigating. He dipped the large quill again, unable to recall if he’d already wet the tool, and the liquid dripped off of the tip, shimmering in the glint of the fading sun as it rejoined the rest contained in the bottle. “Why is it that you repudiate all of their attempts to bond with you? Surely you don’t think them ill-mannered?”

“‘Ill-mannered’, he says,” she mocks, her tail flicking in irritation. “It is not their civilities that I have quarrels with. It is the expectations I deplore.”

“Expectations?” Gale repeats, his palm flattening against his desk, pressing out the sides of a contorted scroll, the tip of the feather hovering over the yellowed paper.

After solving her own deliberation, the tressym turns around, her wings folding against her sides, her tail curling around her paws. “Have you no fear that your confidence is misplaced? Mr. Dekarios, do you not worry that they may fall short in your plans for them? That they are not up to the task you have decided to burden them with?”

Gale’s irritated gaze softens, his hand relaxing, coming to join his other hand in resting on the desk. The clear liquid on the quill drips onto the parchment, becoming a black dot in an instant, the weave-infused iridescent ink soaking seamlessly into the paper. “I fear nobody could ever truly be capable. But my options are limited, and my few select choices are each disheartening in their own cruel ways.”

“Evidently, you have already made up your mind. Why is it that you allow them to remain oblivious? You know better than anyone how dire the circumstances are.” Tara’s paws slide forward, her belly laying flat on the desk, and she plants her head atop of her mitts.

Gale moves his hand, letting the paper curl up without the weight, to gently scratch Tara’s head, her pitying purr drawing a sigh from his own chest. “I am but a ticking time bomb. Hardly much of a man these days,” he chuckles dryly, looking around the dust-riddled mess that he still called a study. It would be nothing short of anarchy if it weren’t for his apprentice, and he’s seen it in far worse shape, but it doesn’t quite shake the quiet guilt that rocks in his stomach at just how far he’s fallen. Gale is usually quick to excuse his carelessness as an incurable consequence of his age, but he’s well-aware that his energy is not merely being lost alongside his youth.

The artifacts he consumes have only ever satiated a part of the orb’s appetite. Never quite satisfied – a commonly reoccurring trait of those Gale finds himself engaging with – the sortilege feeds off of him as well. The incantations he recites and the thaumaturgy he practices only grows stronger – more powerful than Gale could have ever predicted or wished for – while his body withers away as though his very anatomy is actively being shredded, and relentlessly so, to make room for spells that he now dreads casting.

It doesn’t help that his learned reliance was only ripped away from him when he truly needed assistance. When the man who once considered himself the smartest in all of Faerun was clueless about his own condition, the only person who could possibly have the answers disappeared.

Now, Gale was left to clean up the pieces. He understands this is his own doing – that he was, and still is, a fool. Once blinded by greed, a greed that led him to being blinded by love, a love that led him to being blinded by desperation, a desperation that led to him being trapped by fear. A fear that now has settled, more or less. Present as ever, but no longer unfamiliar, no longer a new addition to Gale’s emotions.

His hand returns to the paper, and Tara steadies her sights on the bottom of the quill, watching as it twirls, imprinting promises and bittersweet apologies onto the scroll. Words he couldn’t possibly utter aloud, but words that couldn’t be more genuine. The recipient deserves more than a written explanation and cursive laments, and he’s aware of the injustice he’s manufacturing, but he is a terribly faded man who is cursed by a deficiency in time and yet finds himself with so much left to do. He decides it is better a raven on her doorstep than his ghost, lacking any explanation.

Each day, he wakes to find his chest a little warmer, his hands a little shakier, his hair a little thinner. And each day feels like his last. He is entirely helpless to the foe that resides inside of him, of all places. Incapable of defending against something that has already breached his castle walls, and even more useless as it has latched under his skin, reducing him to nothing more than a habitat. He hosts an aberration that has grown far, far too large for its enclosure, and who threatens to rupture its cage with every breath that he dares to draw.

He’s held out for long enough. He’s lived longer than he ever imagined possible, but he knows his limits. The truth stings in places untouched by the Netherese’s reaches; his forced composure starts an ache in his face, but he knows better. With a sharp inhale, Gale rolls up the paper, setting down the large brown feather as he retrieves a thin, fraying string, tightly wrapping the letter up. He even finishes it off with a neat bow, a force of habit, and he sets it aside, leaning back in his chair.

The moon is just barely visible now, approaching the stars and creeping over the mild coverage of the stone railings on his balcony, and the wizard watches the white giant rise. Some unburied, deep sense of longing reflects in his eyes, where the moon also resides, though she is much smaller and much dimmer. There’s movement on the desk, but Gale’s eyes aren’t yet drawn away from the beauty of the night. Then there’s a weight in his lap, and a purring against his stomach, and he lowers his hand to rest on Tara’s back, gently stroking, enjoying the silent tranquility.

‘Mystra’s moon’ he used to call it. He’d tell her he could see her in the shadowed curves, but he isn’t sure if he ever really did. Maybe in a dream, long lost to him now. The moon that watched over him tonight was certainly not Mystra’s. It was bright, encasing the room in a beautiful blue, and the gaze it returned was a soft one. Free of judgment, free of stress, free of difficulty.

“I reckon I’ll be up there soon,” he exhales, feeling his familiar curl up in his lap. “Ruling my own section of sky. Perhaps I’ll even have purpose. I can’t help but wonder what it’s like.”

“Peaceful, I suspect. An eternity of peace, at that. What a prospect.”

“You’ll join me some day?”

The feline purrs out a quiet chuckle, her tail curling around her body so the tip rests on her nose, bundled perfectly atop his thighs. “Of course. I can only go so long without a self-warming bed.”

Gale smiles, his hand falling still on her back, though his thumb continues to run up and down her fur. “Give them a chance, will you? They can’t do it without guidance.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Tara reassures, her tone much softer now than when she spoke of his apprentice earlier. “Do wait for me up there. I’ll be by your side before long, Mr. Dekarios.”

“I set out tomorrow night. I’ll inform them of what they need to know.”

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale bg3 #gale dekarios x reader #gale bg3 x reader #gale dekarios angst #gale bg3 angst #gale dekarios x reader angst #tara the tressym

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djljpanda · 1 year

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wednesday x gn! fluff<3

From when you and Wednesday started dating she would let you read her series of novels she wrote. And you would always love the little details and it can get gory it was still good. But one day you notice she was done writing a new chapter so when you asked to read it she only said no putting it away with the others and never speaking up about it.

You knew it was part of her story as it was with all the other finished works so you had to find out what was on that paper.

So when you and Wednesday planned to hang out and to see no one in the dorm you had a wonderful idea to snoop for the paper and when you grabbed the case you put it on her table as you were about to pull a Pandora.

You notice a few more new papers so you took them out and started to read.

On these papers you can tell her main character was having a love interest and as you kept reading about the love interest and the interactions of the two you can tell this character is based on you.

As you were about to be done you jumped as you heard Wednesday call out your name. "Y/n why are you reading that you know I told you no. And why are snooping in my room but I do like you taking this time to advantage but still" "Love im sorry but i got curious" "Did you know that curiosity killed the cat" "Please Wednesday Im sorry but I don't get why you were embarrassed for me to see a character based on me" "You read it" "Again I know but that was sweet Wednesday" "This is why I didn't show you in the first place" "But it was good I wanna see if the love interest is really the backstabbing lover" "Well they might be".

After talking about it you promised to never snoop and she promised not to kill of your now second favorite character. "So who is your first favorite" "Well your main character I love how she is so mysteries, dark,smart, but yet she has a warm spot" "I guess (Character Name) wont be dying soon anyways" "Please no spoilers". You smiled and laughed as Wednesday only looked at you, How can she ever stay mad at you.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday 2022 #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x fem reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday addams x gn reader #wednesday x gn reader #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday x fem reader

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rowaelinsdaughter · 4 months

Text

KEEP MY HEART CHAPTER I

a/n;; everybody, this is HAPPENING OMG!!!! this is going to be my first story and this is my first fic with my OC (read the information here). this fic is written in 3rd person so there is no use of "you".

i was thinking and maybe im going to write fics using my oc, as i said in my post of the OC, i want to improve, i want to change, i want new things, new experiences... and this is my first step. so i hope u guys enjoy this. (reblogs are appreciated and this doesnt mean im not going to write character x reader, my requests are still open)

WARNINGS;; spoilers for heir of fire, mentions of death

manon blackbeak was eager to come back. she has been hunting crochans for weeks and finally, she reached a cottage in the north of fenharrow and now, she was prepared for blood. hiding in the closet, she listened to the three men that had broken in.

she heard them open the door to the room.

“come out, little crochan,” one of them said.

with their backs to the closet, manon slipped out and quietly closed the bedroom door.

“wrong kind of witch.”

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

the moon was up in the sky when ayla moonsinger approached the cliff where a certain moon-white haired witch was waiting. she looked how her hair danced with the wind and by the pose, she knew manon was enjoying the wind. knew there were few sounds she enjoyed more than the groans of dying men, but the wind was one of them.

step by step, she got closer to her figure until her arms were hugging manons waist, feeling them a smile appeared on her face, one that never allowed to show in front of the matron… or anyone except for the thirteen. her coven. she twisted around to face ayla and took her face between her hands.

hazel eyes and golden eyes looked at each other. looked into their souls.

“hello witchling” manon purred.

ayla leaned her forehead until they were touching. manon was the first one who initiated the kiss. their hands explored each other's bodies while their mouths were a mix of teeth, lips and tongues. ayla was the first one who broke the kiss first, caressing her cheek, manon left kisses on her neck making ayla laugh with delightment.

“manon, your grandmother is coming here soon…”

“let me feel you, i haven't seen you in months”

“i know… i missed you too”

a low whistle sounded from behind and manon snarled, ayla turned around and found asterin leaned on a tree, a smirk displayed on her beautiful face and her braid falled down her shoulder.

“calm down you wolf, it's only asterin.”

manon rolled her eyes and left a kiss on her cheek. if asterin was here that meant the rest of the coven was also here… and the blackbeak matron would be here anytime soon.

they were all positioned when the matron arrived. voluminous midnight robes flowed around her with the wind. the memories flooded her mind like it was yesterday.

her parents dead. her screaming. the matron slapping her face. “you’re coming with me”. her first day, week, month, year. the anniversary of their parents. the old houses of terrasen honoring her house, honoring the last member of the family… her. her first crochan. her first kill.

she hated her. hated the way she was and the way she treated everyone, specially manon and the thirteen. and she hated how she needed to act to survive. because that was not what she learned, she wasnt that way. she wasn't cold hearted, she wasn't cruel. there wasn't a day in which she didn't regret the person she was sometimes. what would my parents think about me? she usually asked herself, and in the long nights where she was hunting, in the nights she couldn't sleep next to her mate, she looked to the stars and searched for the lord of the north and mourned a family, a city, long forgotten.

two hours passed until the matron got out of the caravan where she had talked with a duke. “we are leaving now,” the matron said. manon jerked her chin to the thirteen and they fell in line, ayla between asterin and sorrel. “you two will protect her with your life, is that clear?” and that was 100 years ago. a lifetime now that the magic was gone.

ayla watched manon and her grandmother talk. about what? she didn't want to hear it.

when the matron was gone, ayla and the thirteen approached manon, the first one caressing her lovers back.

“apparently, the king needs riders. wyvern riders for his cavalry” her smile was wicked “we are traveling north”

tagging;; @danikamariewrites @thehighladywrites @throneofsapphics @shadowdaddies @ladybambifae

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alovesongtheywrote · 3 months

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hi i just binged nightmare academia and i’m deeply deeply obsessed with you and your writing. it’s 2 am in the morning. (worth it)

♥ Summary: dkfhskdfj big thank you, that's genuinely such an honour- i really hope you like this chapter!! im posting it at 4 am bc night owl solidarity <3 In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, a community recuperates and Spencer comes back to you. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings: gun violence, grief, hospitals, and mentions of alcohol

♥ A/N: fun fact: on the ao3 cross post, this chapter and the one after it are named after hozier lyrics. im a basic bitch, it's work song

♥ Word Count: 2297

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

There was a shooting near the community center.

You weren’t there at the time. You weren’t even close. You were at home when it happened, and you were at home when you found out. The little jingle for breaking news stories cut through the ambient sounds of a droning weather report, replacing it with something more intense than a report on the rain.

In an instant, images of the community center surrounded by police cars, wandering officers, and caution tape filled your screen. You froze, blood turning to ice as you watched the police mill around your second place of work. You could feel your extremities growing colder and colder as your mind slipped off into shock. Someone had been shot. Someone was hurt. Part of your community was bleeding.

The rest of the broadcast sounded like static, but you got the gist. Whoever was shot was in critical condition. There was “no threat to the public.” Police had already apprehended a suspect.

Before you could fully process what had happened, you were scrolling through the contacts on your phone.

Your first call was to the community center. For once, it went straight to voicemail.

Your second call went to Sheryl- the receptionist who shared a shift with you. She was shaken, but alright, and she confirmed that all of the community center staff were in the same condition. Scared, but okay. Shocked, but alright. They were going to be fine. You thanked her, comforted her, and let her hang up first.

Your next call went to Missy. She didn’t pick up. You moved on, making a few other calls to a few other community center students, checking in on everyone you could.

Frank did not pick up.

Adam did not pick up.

Most of the others did. Most of your students were freaked out, but fine. Everyone seemed to be okay and alive, but you couldn’t get a hold of Missy, Frank, or Adam.

You couldn’t fucking breathe. You didn’t know if your friends were alive, or dead, or hurt, or arrested, or fine, and you were terrified. The universe seemed to hold its breath as you gasped for air, spiralling as your horrible little brain dragged you through the worst possible scenarios.

Funerals. Hospitals. Dead friends whose potential had been stolen from them far too fucking soon. Courtrooms. Cops. Tunnel vision fallacies that got innocent people arrested. Fuck.

Tears streamed down your cheeks. You needed to call someone- not even for the wellbeing of your friends, but for the wellbeing of you. You couldn’t tell if you were already having a panic attack, or if you were on the edge of one, and either way, you were not having a good time. You needed help. You needed someone to calm you down and get you to breathe like a functioning human person.

You thought about calling Reid.

Before you could scroll down to his contact, your screen lit up. Missy was calling you. You picked up. Things only got worse from there.

Frank had been shot. He’d been walking by the community center and someone had shot him. A man in a dark jacket and a motorcycle helmet had shot him. Missy didn’t see his face.

Frank was in the hospital. In critical condition. Maybe dying.

You got up and got ready to head to the hospital, floating through the motions as more information came to light. You couldn’t feel your fingertips.

It wasn’t a random attack. The assault was carried out with the precision of a hit.

You didn’t know who would order a hit on Frank. Neither did Missy. True, he was a former inmate, true, he had once violated the law, but he hadn’t done anything that would make someone take a hit out on him.

The police thought Adam had done it. Adam was near the community center. He was in custody now. He needed a lawyer.

“Do you think you can represent him, Doc?” you could hear the desperation in Missy’s voice. You could feel it in your chest.

“I uh-” you tried to clear your tear-filled voice. You failed, “It’s a conflict of interest. I was his teacher, recently, the prosecutor can use that against him if I try. I can get help, though. I have connections.”

“You’re gonna wanna hurry and send them out. The cops were real rough with him, it’s not looking good.”

You cursed under your breath, shoving your shoes on and grabbing your keys, “I can sort it out from the hospital… I can- I can do that, right?” “If anyone can, it’s you. Just get here soon. Please,” Missy’s voice got smaller and smaller as she spoke.

You broke traffic laws getting to the hospital.

Hospitals still fucking sucked. They were often crowded, decently noisy, and overwhelmingly white. You still hated hospitals, and if you could, you wouldn’t enter another one for the rest of your life.

But that wasn’t an option. Not for you.

You and Missy didn’t leave each other’s sides. You couldn’t. In the sterile environment of the hospital, you were each the other’s lifeline. You both needed it. You looked like the human embodiment of anxiety, and Missy the embodiment of grief. Tears spilled down her cheeks, dragging tracks of mascara with them. She curled into herself, into you, appearing small and fragile. In the pull of a trigger, the strongest woman you knew became a precious breakable thing.

She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve any of it. And even though you also looked and felt like shit, you were glad you were there.

The cops wouldn’t stop looking at the poor woman like she was another fucking suspect instead of a witness. They looked away from her when she was with you. She could focus on her grief when she was with you. You were just happy to be there for her.

Over the phone, you arranged a legal defence for Adam. You didn’t pull away from Missy to do it. The two of you just sat in a blindingly white hallway, clinging to each other in a sea of sterility as you called in a couple of favours.

Once situated, your lawyer friend called you to report that 1) the local police were really pissing them off, and 2) the case against Adam was weak, but not a guaranteed failure. His history of incarceration and intrusive thoughts could be used against him- however, the nature of his past crimes, his friendship with Frank, and his work to improve his life could be used in his defence.

Overall, the case wouldn’t be too difficult to win. Adam just needed character witnesses- ones that a jury would like and trust.

You, a reputable university professor, could be one of them.

You very quickly realized that Spencer, a notable FBI agent, could be another.

Missy urged you to call him. She even gave you the decency of space. She didn’t need to do either. You were always going to call Spencer.

Of course, Spencer didn’t pick up the phone. Pushing down the urge to just hurl your phone into the wall, you took a deep breath and left a message. You hoped your voice wouldn’t betray how absolutely fucking shaken you were by the situation.

It did.

“Hey, Reid. I’m sorry, it’s been a while, I just… look, it doesn’t matter right now. Something happened. Things are bad, right now, and I uh. I’m gonna need your help, if you can- if you want to help me,” you let out a shaky breath that sounded a little too much like a sob, “You know where I am. I’ll see you.”

After you left your message, Missy looked at you with a shaky, watery smile. You raised an eyebrow in question, and her smile just grew.

“You didn’t tell him what happened.”

“I know. It’s uh, it’s a lot to tell someone over the phone.”

She let out a little laugh, “He’s gonna think you’re hurt or something.”

“Oh, shit-” you murmured, pulling out your phone to make another call.

Missy put a hand on your arm, stopping you, “Don’t change it. He might get here faster if he thinks that.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, you are down bad.”

The two of you stood there in the hallway, and as you stared at each other’s tear-stained faces, you both started to laugh. The sound morphed back and forward between pained sobs and wheezing laughter until the two of you were too tired to make another sound.

You stayed with Missy for another few hours. Nobody would tell either of you a damn thing about Frank’s condition. The two of you remained in place until a well-meaning nurse practically forced you to leave.

You drove Missy home. The car ride was silent. You were both out of things to say. For once, you were all cried out. Missy was in a similar condition, dark mascara tracks still painted her cheeks. She didn’t make a move to wipe them away.

It was in that silence that you pulled into a parking spot outside of Missy’s apartment- the one she shared with Frank.

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’m… I’m gonna be something.”

“You can stay with me, if you want. Just so you won’t be alone.”

She stared out at the building, at its golden lights glaring out into the velvety dark of the night, “I… I think I need to try being on my own. Just for me.”

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, “Okay. But please, call if you need anything.” She smiled over at you, “I just need you to get Adam out of this mess. The sooner they stop looking at him, the better.”

“I know. I’ll do everything I can, I promise.”

“I know you will. Adam will be out in no time, eh?”

You offered her a little grin, “Do you want me to walk you in?”

“I’ll be alright-” she popped open her door, “But do you think you could give me a ride to the hospital tomorrow? I just-”

“Of course. Anything.” She gave your arm a pat and hopped out of the car, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc.”

You just waved goodbye. The last time you promised to see someone later, he disappeared from your life. Now, he wouldn’t even pick up his phone.

You had to try really hard to avoid crashing on the drive home. Tears blurred your vision. Your breath came in sparse gasps. You really should’ve pulled over, but you just wanted to be home.

You got there safely and spent the night alone.

The next day, you woke up early, took Missy to the hospital, and made your way to the university. And then you had to spend the rest of the day acting like everything was normal and nothing was wrong.

It was a weird sort of hell- an inferno of your own creation. You had spent the past few months pretending that everything was okay, acting like everything was fine. Now you found yourself lost in the performance, drowning on the stage beneath the bright lights.

You had to give your lectures as if one of your students wasn’t rotting in a police department- like another one wasn’t in the hospital, suffering from a gunshot wound after being attacked by a mysterious assailant. You had to act like you were a-okay with the knowledge that there was nothing you could do.

In other words, you had a terrible fucking day, and at the end of it, standing alone in your office, you had one thought.

There was wine in the trunk of your car.

The moment Spencer got your call, he ran back to that university town faster than he’d ever run in his life. He could hear the fear in your voice over the phone. He could hear a hospital monitor beeping over the phone.

So he ran. He ran as fast as he could trying to get back to you. The closer he got the more dread he felt. The closer he got, the more news stations reported on a shooting near your community center.

It was only after he got back to that town that Spencer realized that he did not know where you lived.

He tried the hospital, but you weren’t there. Spencer wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not. The community center was closed, so you weren’t there either. There was only one place left for you to go- and it didn’t make much sense after the message he’d gotten, but it was all he had left.

Your office was empty. The lights were off and the door was locked. Even the ghost wasn’t there. Feeling dejected, Spencer wandered over to his office. He was expecting to find it in the same condition as your office. Abandoned. Empty. Untouched.

It was not that. Someone had clearly been there recently. The lights were on. Someone was logged into the computer. Even more damning, the bookshelves no longer contained the vast collection of books that he’d left behind.

They were full of smut.

Softcore smut. Hardcore smut. Monsterfucking smut. Enemies to lovers smut. That Fifty Shades parody that’s canon in the universe of Criminal Minds was notably absent, but that was about it exceptions wise.

Spencer hadn’t done this. He hadn’t filled the bookshelves with horny literature. There was only one person who would.

“Spencer?”

Speak of the devil. Reid turned, and there you were. The world caught its breath, and the two of you suddenly felt less incomplete. The black holes stopped eating your guts. Spencer was right where he needed to be.

You were there, together, where you needed to be.

“Where the fuck did you come from?”

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife, @80katie, @ms-ks-world, if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know!!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #x reader #nightmare academia

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