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#there is so much old art the task is a little daunting
Dancing In The Dark [Javi Peña] 02
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summary: Javier Peña knows all the answers to all questions but one... what if?
Part 01
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pairing: javier peña x fem!reader 
word count: way too many... 8K, I'd say.
a/n: thanks to everyone who took time to read and reach out to me, know you are appreciated. i don't know why i am so worried about this story not being good, so excuse me for taking too long to update. also, this is a slow burn. oh yes, let me know if you want to be tagged in this, and also this is a LONG chapter.
warnings: cursing, bad spanish, Javi is an ass, kinda slow burn (is this even a warning), Javi threatening Steve as a joke, some parts alluding to intimacy of sexual nature.
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For Javier Peña, keeping others at an arm’s length wasn’t anything more than a personal, deliberate choice.
A tactic of self-preservation, if you will; the kind of thing that made him seem unapproachable, perhaps even intolerable, in the eyes of those around him. 
Not that Javier cared about any of that. 
Still, from time to time, Javier would catch himself staring blankly at the bottom of his glass, trying to convince himself that it was the bleak and unpredictable nature of his profession that had somehow dulled his senses to emotions and feelings, leaving him in a perpetual state of detachment. 
Even though, deep down he knew better.
He knew that was just a convenient lie—a perfectly fine excuse he clung to, rather than facing the harsher truth he’d rather not acknowledge: Javier Peña had lost the ability to connect with other human beings. 
Or perhaps, he never really had it.
In his humble opinion, making sense of it all was akin to attempting to piece together a puzzle in pitch darkness: a task both frustrating and inherently messy, and frankly, one he had little interest in tackling.
Thus, he let it be. Let those pieces sit there, untouched and unbothered, like old relics in some museum he had no intention of visiting, existing somewhere in the back of his mind.
Acknowledged, yes, but never fully explored.
Life, of course, hadn’t been stingy with opportunities for Javier to change; chances were there, plenty and ripe for taking. Yet, the mere thought of peeling back layers of himself, or revealing more than what was on the surface, was as daunting and alien to him as the concept of surrendering to sleep at night. So, Javier chose the path of least resistance, choosing to witness it all from a safe distance, hiding behind the emotional barricades he had constructed around himself. 
And he was okay with that—or so he told himself. 
Erecting these barriers was much simpler and less daunting than the Herculean effort it would take to tear them down. 
And perhaps that was precisely the reason why he approached interactions with others much like he approached his profession: detached and with calculated precision. Javier knew it was overkill, this meticulous weighing of every word and every gesture, yet he couldn’t seem to shake it off as he navigated through life as if it was a minefield of syllables; a chess game where he was forced to always think several steps ahead if he wanted to keep the upper hand. 
Even at his apartment, with his badge and holster cast aside on the scratched kitchen counter, his detachment lingered. Javier saw relationships of any kind as scars, much like those covering the counter’s surface—better left alone and not bothered with. They were just reminders of the chaos he preferred to avoid and silent echoes of past mistakes he’d rather not repeat.
And then you came along.
Just when Javier had seemingly turned solitude into an art form, you had breezed into his life as if it were an open book—one he didn’t even realize he’d left on the table, pages spread wide for anyone curious enough to peek. And you were so quick and swift, and so reckless in your determination to weave yourself through his barriers that he didn’t even have the opportunity nor time to fortify them or add another lock to the myriad of others already in place.
He still gave his best efforts to evade you, push you away. Tried to employ every tactic at his disposal in the hope that you would tire out and retreat like all those who had come before you, seeking—but never finding—that part of him they thought could be fixed or understood. He hoped, vainly, that with careful planning, he could keep you at arm's length. Keep the unsettling precision with which you saw through him just far enough away that he could still catch his breath.
But you had remained, armed with a patience and an understanding so deep it bordered on the absurd, quietly waiting for him to give in.
And give in he did, laying all his arms down with a quiet acceptance, watching with a mix of awe and disbelief as you settled in his life—something so out of character that not only bewildered him, but also those watching from the sidelines of Javier’s pathetic excuse for life.
Steve Murphy, in particular.
And that confusion only grew as Javier made his way inside their shared office with a sort of silent stoicism that adorned his expression like a second skin — plastic container clutched in his unyielding grip. Without any grand gesture, and ignoring Steve's puzzled expression, he then set the lunchbox on the desk before taking a seat and drawing out his Marlboros from the pocket of his shirt. 
Lighting up a cigarette — the flame from the match he withdrew from the box, briefly illuminating his face, Javier simply gave Steve a go-ahead nod.
Without hesitation, Steve did as told, a silent muttered profanity leaving his mouth—more out of awe than any contempt, eyeing the line of empanadas laid out before him.
“These look fresh.” he commented, briefly lifting his gaze to look at Javier.
Javier, a thin stream of smoke trailing from his mouth, hesitated for a beat before replying, "Yeah, she stopped by... late last night—or this morning—depending on how you look at it."
A shadow of concern flitted across his face, swiftly concealed by a veil of smoke and apparent disinterest as he squeezed his left shoulder trying to ease a phantom pain that had been clutching him since this morning. 
“Oh, you guys into late-night meetings now?” Steve teased, arching his eyebrow — mustache quivering slightly with a suppressed chuckle as he proceeded to take a hearty bite of the pastry, exaggerating his enjoyment with a loud moan of approval. The sound was so fake and obscene that made some of the heads, mingling outside their office, turn in their direction.  
Javier’s response was as nonchalant as it was customary: a lazy flick of his middle finger towards his partner, accompanied by a brief, sarcastic smirk. Placing his cigarette in an ashtray, he then turned his attention to the overwhelming sprawl of bureaucracy shit across their desk, daunted by the task of where to start. Papers, photographs, tapes he yet had to listen to, manilla folders, and everything in between.
“It’s all on you, you know?” Javier started, still grimacing at the mess in front of him, “making her think that biking everywhere is a good idea.”
“So, you’re not even going to try and deny it? I’ll take that as a good sign,” Steve countered, ignoring Javier — his tone light, teasing, “was about time.”
“Did you not catch a word I just said?” Javier grumbled, snagging a folder from the heap and snapping it open with a flick of his finger, only half inclined to actually sift through it. “Giving her that bike was as dumb as her agreeing to take it.”
“Ease up, Peña,” Steve responded, his voice slightly muffled by another bite of empanada. “She needed a way to get around. It’s not like I handed her a grenade launcher.”
“Might as well have,” Javier muttered, barely concealing his irritation as he tossed the folder back onto the heap, unbothered. “Three in the morning, Steve,” he reiterated, pinching the bridge of his nose in a mix of frustration and fatigue. “She’s got a wild streak, and you're well aware of that. It’s downright reckless the way she doesn’t take things seriously.”
“Are you now angry with me or with her?” Steve chuckled, and when Javier responded with silence, he continued, “—gotta have a bit of faith in her, y'know? She’s clearly got guts. Cares about you, too.”
“Having guts in this city can get you a bullet, Murphy,” Javier muttered as he straightened up in his seat, cracking his fingers and squaring off with the typewriter as though preparing for a marathon session with all the reports he had been ignoring for way too long. 
“Oh come on, Javi, it’s just a bike. She’ll be fine,” Steve remarked with a casual shrug, licking the grease from his fingers with a smirk on his face. “I do wonder, though, she knows you don’t eat these? Not that I'm complaining.”
Javier's motions stalled for a heartbeat, the mention of your futile attempts to make him eat, drawing his attention away from the paperwork battle.
Looking up, a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "She’s starting to, I reckon," he replied with a hint of resignation in his voice before turning his attention back to the typewriter.
Steve’s nod was noncommittal, but Javier didn’t need his DEA training to be able to tell that his partner was only gearing up for another jab in his direction — the words almost spilling out of blond’s mouth, only if it weren’t for the shrill of the phone on their desk.
The sound was sharp, urgent, and impossible to ignore. And yet, Javier gave it nothing more than a fleeting glance, silently declaring that the incoming call was Steve’s problem, not his. However, when Steve made no effort to answer it either, Javier looked up and tilted his head — mustache twitching ever so slightly in a silent dare. 
Seconds later, Steve sighed a breath of resigned acceptance as he reached out, flipping Javier off casually with his other hand.
"Better be worth our time," Steve grumbled, more to the void than expecting an honest answer.
Javier, unfazed, lazily picked up his cigarette from the ashtray, taking a slow, deliberate drag. "Is it ever?" His voice was cool, detached, as he returned his attention to the rebellious typewriter before him, battling with the paper jammed within.
Like a bad habit, Murphy’s voice dropped its usual tone as he switched to the one Connie mockingly dubbed his 'agent mode' — each word laced with a sarcasm so thick, Javier half-expected it to physically spill out onto the floor. 
Curious at what made his partner sound as if he was seconds away from jumping off the first bridge, Javier paused his struggle with the stubborn paper and looked up just as Steve slammed the receiver back in its cradle.
“And?”
Murphy only let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head with a mix of weariness and disdain. “Bullshit,” he spat out. “Another merry-go-round, courtesy of the clowns upstairs.”
With a shrug, Javier’s focus shifted back to the obstinate typewriter in front of him, his determination to win the war against the machine evident in the set of his jaw. Finally, with a triumphant click, the stubborn and now, somewhat wrinkled, sheet of paper clicked into place. 
“Might be time to hire a secretary,” he muttered, the suggestion casual but his attention still partially on the keys before him, fingers nimbly correcting the machine's alignment without looking up.
“And give you another skirt to chase?” Steve shot back, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement as he leaned against the desk.
Javier couldn’t help but raise his head at that, meeting Steve’s gaze with a smirk that was both a forfeit and a challenge.
“If the skirt fits…” he trailed off to which Steve chuckled. After a second of silent contemplation, Javier sighed, dismissively waving his hand towards the chaotic spread of documents in front of them. "At this rate, we'll be buried under this bureaucratic bullshit before we even sniff out another rat in this city.”
Steve however, didn’t comment — giving Javier a wide smirk as he kicked back, propping his boots on the desk and clasping his hands behind his head as if settling in for a prime-time show.
"Really, Peña? Hiding from the heat behind a stack of reports?" he teased. "Spill it, amigo. She's out there, braving the night to drop off empanadas you pretend to eat? There's gotta be more. Give me something to work with here."
Caught off guard by Steve’s sudden comment, Javier felt a spark of irritation ignite inside of him, and just for a split of a second, he toyed with the idea of revealing the real reason behind your visit, but quickly shelved it as not relevant. 
“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” was Javier’s answer — the tone of his voice edged with dismissal. Something that Steve noticed straight away. “It's really not the way you're making it sound.”
“Oh, it sounds exactly like it to me,” Steve pushed back, his tone laced with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.  “So, what’s really going on, Peña?” he paused for a dramatic effect before continuing, “this… friendship of yours is slowly turning into one of Connie’s telenovelas.  Except, y’know, with less kissing and more guns, I suppose.”
Rolling his eyes, Javier shuffled papers laid out in front of him.
Unnecessarily.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he insisted, voice laden with frustration as he looked for an escape in the clutter of their desk. 
But, if anything, Steve was as relentless and stubborn as Javier, and when he leaned forward, Javier knew that the subject was far from over. “Come on, you’re telling me nothing’s going on. Not even a little fooling around?”
Javier’s expression was hard and he felt his patience wearing thin. “Believe it or not, some things are just as they seem. No, nothing’s gone down,” he responded with a  mix of finality and a hint of warning. 
Despite Javier’s tone and obvious irritation, Steve’s grin widened. “But, you wouldn’t say no if she offered, though, huh?”
At his words, Javier stopped his half-assed attempt at typing, straightening up to squarely face his partner. “We’re really doing this, Murphy? Keep at it, and I might just ram that damn lunchbox down your throat.”
Steve’s hands went up in a mock surrender, his attempts to stifle a laugh cut short by a familiar figure that passed by their office, followed by the unmistakable bark of Carillo’s voice, demanding his presence. 
With a fluid motion, Steve’s boots hit the floor as he rose, slipping into his jacket, and then, with a contemplative nod, he reached for another empanada from the lunchbox while simultaneously gathering his cigarettes and securing his firearm within its holster.
Making his way out, Steve paused and then, turning back to Javier, he flashed him a self-satisfied grin.
“You know, for what it's worth, I think she's doing you some good. Might even smooth out some of those rough edges—Lord knows you've got plenty of 'em."
Resisting the urge to throw something at Steve, Javier twisted in his seat to give his partner a death stare. “Want me to shove that empanada up your ass, gringo? How about the goddamn lunchbox, too?” he warned, but Steve simply laughed with a shake of his head before swinging the doors shut behind himself — a single word leaving Javier’s mouth as the blinds clattered against the window pane in the empty silence. “¡Pendejo!” 
Left alone, Javier expelled a weary breath, his gaze shifting back to the typewriter and the mountain of paperwork that, no matter how much he chipped away at it, seemed to only grow taller. And while writing reports was simply a chore, a necessary evil, it was one of the few things that could put his focus in place and stop his thoughts from wandering where he didn’t want them to. 
But wander, however, they did. 
With a blend of surrender and irritation, Javier abandoned his feigned attempt at the started report and leaned back, the chair emitting a crack of protest under his weight. He lit another cigarette, the matchstick's flame dying with a swift motion as he casually crossed his leg over. 
The fucking gringo had somehow hit the nail on the head.
Navigating friendships, particularly those with women, was a terrain Javier Peña approached with extreme caution, if he bothered to tread it at all, and usually only if there was something in it for him.
This wasn't to say he had never tried, though. He did, but whenever he allowed himself to dive deeper, the situation ended up being more trouble than it was worth, outweighing any of the benefits. A stark reminder of why he had erected emotional walls around himself in the first place.
Thus, he´d resolved to simply stick to encounters that would set his heart racing without demanding a piece of his soul; escapades that were like stars, streaking across his sky—each one bright, breathtaking, and inevitably, just passing through.
But you—you were a different story altogether. 
You were unlike anyone he’d met before, and the more he thought about it, the clearer it became that you weren’t after his protection or dying for his approval; you simply existed, side by side with him, in a way that allowed him to drop the act he fought hard to keep running.
You didn’t flinch at his emotional scars, nor did you throw a pity party for them. Instead, you simply accepted them as a part of him without questions asked, not more or less significant than the rest of him.
On one occasion, you had told him that he reminded you of an old bench in an abandoned park, weathered down by countless storms—a comparison that had left him unsure whether to thank you or take offense.
But then, you had met his confused expression with a grin and a slightly raised eyebrow as you wiped the counter with your torn rag in front of him.
“But there is something about finding those benches when you grow tired from walking, and sitting on them. The way the wood has been smoothed down by time and countless stories,” you’d said, going once again all philosophical on him as he instinctively lifted the ashtray so you could wipe the spot underneath. “They ain't the comfiest, but they feel… right. Like they’re molded to fit all the curves and edges of life itself. Do you get it?”
He had only stared at you for a heartbeat or two before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the bar, not allowing you to see that you, yet again, had hit the spot inside of him that he wasn’t sure was still functioning.
“What, is this  your way of coming onto me? If you want to sit on me, all you have to do is ask, nena.”
You had laughed then, a sound so honest and unguarded that made Javier respond with a grin of his own—his right dimple making a rare appearance. 
In the beginning, the way of dealing, or rather not dealing with his usual ways caught him off guard, leaving him puzzled rather than intrigued. You made him miss the thrill of the chase, the game of words and looks that usually served him well with women. Yet, in your presence, he found himself at a loss, realizing that beyond the flirtation, he hardly knew how to communicate with women at all. 
You weren’t there to play his games or to be yet another stripe to his sleeve. You were there as you were, and in doing so, you invited him to be just as he was, perhaps for the first time.
But Javier Peña would be damned if he said that the notion of making you just another notch on his worn-out belt hadn’t ever crossed his mind; that he had never toyed with the thought about making just just another nameless face in the long line of quick forgets. 
It was far from his proudest moments, not by a long shot, but he couldn’t turn back time, now could he?
So, he stuck to the small comfort of the fact that back then, whatever twisted bond you had now, hadn’t even begun to form. You were just someone in the crowd; a face he’d nod at on his way in, remembered only because he was bothered enough to leave a tip. And while you had occasionally sent a drink his way, particularly when he found himself drowning in his solitude at the bar, he had never seen you as more than just a pawn on the vast chessboard of his mind.
Insignificant and easily overlooked.
The latter, having nothing to do with how tall you were, but everything to do with how blind he had been to the depth and potential of the people around him.
Dragging his hand down his face in exhaustion, Javier tried to scrub away the memory of that night as though it were just grime, hoping to avoid going places where he definitely didn’t want to go. But it was in vain as memories, especially the ones he wished most to forget, somehow always made a way to cling with ruthless determination. 
Put a gun to his head, and Javier wouldn’t be able to tell what had driven his madness that particular night. 
Granted, it could have been the crushing guilt and sheer exhaustion from the botched operation—the haunting image of Helena, lifeless and shattered on the cold, unforgiving ground, clinging to his brain like a stubborn stain; a macabre film for which he held a front-row ticket.
Or perhaps, it had been the aftermath of whatever Steve had thrust into his hands back at the offices, swearing it would help settle his mind after the chaos had subsided. A dubious solution, yes, but in his desperation, Javier had grasped at it like a drowning man would a lifeline, hoping it would somehow fix it all. 
Javier couldn’t tell, and in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter, anyway. 
What mattered was what had followed after he’d stumbled out of the DEA building long after everyone else had left, contemplating his next move. Sure, going home, had seemed like the logical thing to do, but the city that sprawled out before him was offering a million ways to disappear if only for a moment. 
And he had been more than ready to fork over double, triple if necessary, for a few hours of numb escape.
Desperation had clawed at him; the need for something—or rather someone—who could stitch him back together and keep his conscience from bleeding out all over the place. If only for a while, he had wanted to escape with someone who didn’t know or care a damn thing about what his badge meant, or the heavy crap that it dragged along.
Javier had craved a distraction, potent enough to silence the loop of his thoughts until it was time for yet another handful of hours where he’d stay awake in his bed, hoping that maybe this time, the morning would somehow scrub his soul clean. 
It was a shot in the dark, but damn, it was the only shot he had.
But as he had stood in front of his vehicle, embraced by the humid air, Javier had hesitated in his intent. Had figured out that he wanted one more drink. Merely a detour, he had rationalized; a moment to gather himself before he ventured out into the night, seeking what he laughably considered some form of comfort. 
One step inside the bar and Javier was struck by its unusual silence. No chatter. No clinking of glasses. Just an unexpected emptiness that seemed to grow with the slight chime of the dreamcatcher hanging above the doors. 
Chema, the owner and the man with sweaty shirts clinging to his back, paused in his battle with a jacket clearly not meant for him—his eyes briefly flaring with the surprise of seeing Javier framed in the doorway.
"We're closing," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of countless nights like this one. 
Javier nodded deftly, feeling his fingers twitch by his side and was about to turn around and leave, but then he saw you behind the bar — your hand poised mid-polishing the glass you were holding, watching him.
Pausing mid-step, Javier spared you a second, waiting for you to echo Chema’s words, to send him to hell, destination he was convinced was his eventual due, considering the sins that clung to his soul. But with a small smile, and a grace that defied the grimy and quiet atmosphere of the bar, you placed the glass down and slung the cleaning towel over your shoulder and gave him a nod.
It was a gesture so faint and so subtle, that if Jaiver hadn’t been a trained DEA agent, he might have missed it. 
“Está bien, Chema. I’ve got this one,” you addressed Chema, and Javier was surprised by the authority in your voice. “Go on home, I’ll finish locking up.” 
Chema, for a moment, looked torn—his weary eyes darting between you and Javier, assessing. Then, with a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the day's burdens, he conceded, "Nos vemos mañana, sol," before retreating through the back, leaving behind the silence that had momentarily filled the space.
Now, with the room emptied to just the two of you, you looked away from where Chema stood only moments ago before nodding towards the entrance — the words trailing off before they fully formed.
“Would you do the honors…”
The sentence hung in the air, unfinished but understood — Javier´s movements almost reflexive as he turned around, flipping the sign on the door to ‘closed‘ before sauntering towards the bar.
Easing himself up on the stool across from you, the leather beneath him creaked, echoing the weight that sat on his shoulders. “Gracias,” he breathed out. “Hope it’s no trouble for you.”
You dismissed the concern with a casual flick of your wrist. “Chema’s got bigger fish to fry than me serving a guy with a gun and a badge after hours.” With an ease, you retrieved a tumbler and the bottle of his favorite, quickly filling the silence with the sound of whiskey sliding inside a glass. “Rough day? Seen you guys running around the entire day?”
Your question, seemingly casual, carried a weight of genuine interest as your eyes lingered on him. Yet, Javier only exhaled a deep, weary sigh as he fumbled with his cigarettes before slotting one between his lips. “Believe me,” he started — words laced in the wisps of smoke, “you don't want to dive into that rabbit hole tonight.”
You offered no reply, just a fleeting shadow of a smile as you pushed an ashtray towards him, then turned back to your previous task, humming a tune under your breath. It was a melody that tugged at the edges of Javier's memory, familiar yet distant, a stark contrast to the wiretapped conversations that had filled his recent days.
Looking away from you, Javier took a deliberate sip of his drink—its warmth tracing a path down his throat, a stark contrast to the chill that settled in his stomach with every covert glance you dared in his direction, each one a silent plea to fill the space between you with more than just silence.
But Javier had long forsaken the art of small talk, finding little value in the exchange of pleasantries that often amounted to nothing more than noise. Besides, he reasoned, any breath wasted on forced pleasantries tonight would be better saved for when his fingers—and his dick, most importantly—were inside someone. 
But then again, the fact that you probably were lingering behind your usual closing time in order to serve him one last drink, made him pause. 
Perhaps, you did deserve a sliver of decency from a man who had none.
Javier grimaced. Looked down at his cigarette as he rolled it around the ashtray, as if by focusing on it hard enough, he could fish out the right words from the depths of his mind. It was only then that he had noticed the faint traces of dried blood in the splintered skin of his cuticles, and he flinched, the day's images flashing vividly before him.
“You’re itching to say something, aren’t you?” 
Your voice wasn’t sharp, and yet it sliced through the silence, jolting him from his brooding reverie. Lifting his gaze, Javier found you there, a silhouette framed by the dim light, head slightly tilted as if you were trying to read his thoughts.
Yet, Javier was not one to yield the upper hand so easily, especially not under the weight of your openly worn curiosity. "There's no itch, as you so eloquently put it," he retorted, the words edged with an unintended sharpness. "I'm here for a drink, not to bare my soul."
"But the wheels are turning, aren't they?" you countered, your lips curving into a smile as you whirled your fingers, emphasizing your point. It was a provocation wrapped in the guise of innocence.
Javier couldn't help the reluctant smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, amused despite the situation. “Is it a habit, being this noisy?” he asked, taking another sip of his whiskey and chasing it with a long drag of his cigarette.
Your smile widened, unfazed by his barb. “Yes.”
"Figures," he muttered, almost inaudibly, his confession seemingly meant for the cracked pavement under his feet rather than for you. As he did so, his fingers instinctively curled into a fist, as if to shield the tales of his skin—those visible marks of his profession and the truths he wasn't prepared to lay bare, not to you, and perhaps not even to himself.
And for a moment, it felt as if you might leave the conversation attempts as you  turned your attention to the bottles on the shelf behind you. 
But, alas, the quiet didn’t last. 
“Look, if you want to unburden…,” you started, momentarily abandoning your meticulous alignment of a gin bottle on the shelf. Your voice carried a sincerity that seemed to fill the spaces between the words. “Consider me a willing ear. Rabbit holes are sort of my specialty.”
He responded with more silence, focusing on extinguishing his cigarette, watching the ember fade into ash. And then, almost in spite of himself, he answered, "I don’t think you could handle the kind of stories I’ve got.”
“Try me,” you countered, glancing over your shoulder with a grin that seemed to challenge him. "I might look a bit naive to you, but I'd been crossing through Colombia for years before I ended up here. I might understand more than you think."
Caught off guard while reaching for another cigarette, Javier’s eyes found yours with an intensity sharpened by years of reading people for a living. "Years, huh? That's quite the narrative for someone who seems, what, barely twenty-five?"
Your laughter, light and unburdened, sliced through the dense silence, an unexpected melody that seemed out of place against the backdrop of the room's stagnant air and the soft buzz of the cooler. "I gladly accept that as a compliment, agente."
"It's Javier," he interjected, the words slipping out more as a plea than a correction. It wasn't about setting the record straight; it was about shedding a layer of identity that had become a burden rather than a badge of honor.
"Well, Javier," you retorted, your words tinged with a playful undertone, effortlessly weaving through the newfound gap in his armor. "It seems my height is more deceiving than I thought,” you spoke, bending easily to lift a crate with dusty beer bottles. “But in case you’re wondering, my back has already started to ache for no reason and the left knee works up every time it’s going to storm,” you then added, giving him a wink over your shoulder. 
Smirking, Javier took a slow drag from his cigarette, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before releasing it in a steady stream through his nostrils, his gaze lingering on you longer than he’d intended. And strangely enough, his fingers twitched around the tumbler he was cradling whenever you’d push yourself on your tiptoes, filling up the higher shelf of the cooler — the oversized shirt you wore, an eyesore by any fashion standard, lifting slightly, offering him a glimpse of everything he'd somehow missed until now.
You weren’t his usual type; that much was clear. Yet, he wondered how it would feel to lose himself in you, to dip his toes—and his dick, most importantly—in the waters he hadn’t even acknowledged that he was thirsting to dive into until now. 
Like scenes of a film he hadn’t realized he’d been collecting, Javier’s thoughts unspooled.
The effortless way you'd send a drink his way, the doe-eyed looks you offered as you navigated the space around his table, to clear away the remnants of his solitude. Your smile, subtle yet unmistakable, as you wove yourself into his exchanges with Steve, carried a blend of reserve and innocence—a paradox that both intrigued and unsettled him.
He wondered what traces of that would linger if he had you to himself. Would you still look at him with those doe eyes, or would the night reveal a different side of you—one that knew how to say his name in a whisper or a scream, far removed from the innocence you displayed in the light of day? Would you take God’s name in vain when he’d lower himself into you? Would you surrender to control, allow him to explore the uncharted territories of your consent and curiosity?
"Playing it close to the chest, huh?" you threw out suddenly, snapping Javier back from his not-so-innocent reverie of you beneath him, your voice laced with desire, calling his name, pleading for more. The thought was so intense, he shifted uncomfortably, trying to alleviate the unexpected tightness of his denim.
“Can’t be too careful,” he answered, leaning slightly forward and giving you a smile that he hoped would do the work for him, as it had many times before with others. And the way you mirrored his posture, elbows resting on the counter, sparked a flicker of anticipation in him. 
Javier was a man led by gut feelings, his life a series of snap decisions, for better or worse. And right now, every instinct was screaming at him that perhaps he was closer to taking you home than he'd thought.
"Hate to break it to you, but you're not exactly a closed book as you think you are, Javier," you noted, and fuck, the way his name rolled off of your lips...  
"Really now?" 
Instead of an immediate reply, you slowly straightened, smoothing down your shirt in a gesture that hinted at a way of trying to find composure before reaching for his now-empty glass in front of him.
And suddenly, Javier couldn't help but feel like he was being thrown for a loop with you. Your behavior was both frustrating and alluring; a dance he wasn’t accustomed to, but the fog of desire clouding his judgment made him more than willing to learn the steps. 
"You pick up a few things working a place like this," you finally answered, washing the glass with a practiced ease. "Faces, stories, the things people try to hide—it all comes out eventually."
Javier couldn't help but let a genuine smile break through. "Thought I was better than that."
"Maybe to those not paying attention.”
"Have you been watching me?" he teased lightly, yet with a hint of genuine curiosity.
You shot him a look that could only be described as a mix of exasperation and amusement, murmuring something under your breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. 
A breath of a pause hung in the air, thick with anticipation, and for a moment Javier was almost convinced that he had you.
But then he saw it—the furrow between your brows, the nervous bite of your lips, as if you were trying hard to remind yourself of something. With a finality, you then snapped the cash-register shut, your gaze lifting to meet his for a second before you reached for the keys tucked away beneath the bar.
Reluctantly accepting the night's end but still hoping for the beginning of something new, Javier stood up too, smoothly sliding his wallet from his pocket, but you interrupted him before he could snap it open.
"—Oh, that one’s on the house!" you declared, the dim lights of the bar flicking off one by one in the background.
“Come on, you have to let me settle the bill?” 
“You’ve seen me close the cash register, no?” you threw back before grabbing your belongings from the hook near the backdoor, slipping into a jacket that looked several sizes bigger. Come to think of it, you always dressed as if you had raided Chucho's wardrobe on your way out rather than dressing your own size.
“And what’s in it for you?” Javier found himself asking, echoing the very same questions he had for you when you first waived his bill, now, a long time ago.
You stopped at his question, taking deliberate pause in your step as you moved to turn off the last remaining light near the entrance, casting the two of you in the soft glow from the street outside.
"Do you always assume people want something in return?" you questioned, holding the door open for him, urging him to move past you and into the warm embrace of the night air, yet the conversation was far from over. "Or, is it just that you're so used to transactions that the idea of simple kindness feels foreign?"
"Kindness?" he repeated, skepticism coloring his tone.
"Yes," you affirmed, turning to face him directly, your stance resolute as if preparing to defend the concept. "Some people do kind things just because they can. No expectations, no strings attached."
Javier halted, his gaze fixed on you as you secured the door, the sound of the locks clicking into place echoing in the quiet street.
"You're kidding, right? Seriously, what’s your deal?”
"I don't have one," you replied with a casual shrug. "Sometimes, what you see is what you get."
He let out a low chuckle. "And if I wanted to repay the favor?" he asked, the suggestion catching itself in the air.
You hesitated for a moment, twisting the strap of your backpack as you looked up at him — your eyes honest.
"Y'know Javier," you began, your voice a mix of firmness and gentleness, "when I tried to talk to you, I wasn't trying to—I just…" You hesitated, searching for the right words. "Look, I might be completely wrong here, feel like you always try to pretend not to know who you are when you’re not playing the role of a hero. And being hero comes hand when you want something or someone who won't ask too many questions when the weight of the badge gets too heavy?"
"Fantastic," Javier muttered—his jaw tensing as he rested his hands on his hips looking at you, “You’re what? A bartender, a shrink, and a philosopher all rolled into one?"
"No, Javier," you corrected, slinging your backpack over your shoulder higher. "I'm the kind of person who does and would ask questions."
He tried to speak, but your intense gaze made it damn near impossible to hold eye contact. Your words, although not direct but honest, hit him hard, like a punch to the gut, anchoring him to the spot, and he suddenly felt like he had been chased into a corner.
There was no point in denying. Javier still wanted to take you home, that was clear. Wanted to show you exactly what kind of hero he could be while building you up and tearing you apart with everything he had, until you begged him to stop.
Yet, the words that would convey such desires simply wouldn’t come. They sat there, lingering on his tongue, suddenly feeling out of line. Inappropriate.
So, he ditched the complex thoughts for something straightforward. "Didn't peg you for this. You’re not what I expected." 
You paused, a silence stretching between you as your eyes held his—searching, weighing. Then, as if his honesty had bridged a gap, your lips curved into a smile, warm and sincere, lighting up your features in a way that caught him off guard.
“People rarely are,” you responded. “And you know, despite your beliefs, you’re a good man, Javier.”
“You don't know me," he retorted with a scoff, half-defensive, half-defeated. It was a shield, that much was true—a way to keep the world at arm's length, and now, it seemed, to keep you there too.
"And you forgot that I've got a pretty good view from behind the bar. Don't need a step stool to see what's going on," you said, your voice cutting through the tension with a hint of lightness. "But, i think I should really head home now.”
Javier's response was a noncommittal grunt, his eyes drifting towards where his truck sat on the other side of the forgotten and empty road. 
"Let me at least drive you home?" The offer tumbled out before he could weigh it, surprising both him and, by the looks of it, you as well. You halted mid-step, looking up to face him with a mix of surprise and contemplation in your eyes.
"Appreciate it, but I think you had other plans for the night," you responded after a brief pause, your voice soft yet firm. "And I don't want to get in the way of those."
"Are you sure?" 
"Yes," you affirmed, your decision clear, though your voice carried a softness that Javier knew he didn't deserve. "Goodnight, Javier," you then called over your shoulder, stepping into the balmy embrace of the night.
Javier stood there for a moment, a mix of emotions churning within as you moved further away, your figure gradually swallowed by the darkness. And then, with a weave of his fingers through his hair, he uttered the words that felt both right and wrong at the same time. Words which, in his darkness, danced the right moves:
“Goodnight, nena.”
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kensboytoy · 4 months
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A Boy and His Doll (Ch. 1)
Title: A Boy and His Doll
Fandom: Barbie (2023)
Pairings: Ken/Original Character (M/M)
Ratings: General
Chapter: 1/?
Summary:
An underpaid middle school librarian gets the surprise of his life when his childhood doll waltzes out of Barbie Land and into his workplace. When the two reconnect, both start to realize they have been chasing the wrong things in life.
A/N: 
This is singlehandedly the most indulgent thing I've ever written. I have selfshipped since I was a kid, yet Ken has blown every other crush out of the water. He means the world to me and I hope this fic can be a glimpse into why I adore him so much!
Quietly shelving books that preteens had shoved in various nooks and crannies around the library, things almost seemed peaceful for once. It was just before the final bell was due to ring and everything was finally quiet since class after class had descended upon the tiny library like wolves. The teachers tried their best to handle the large class sizes in an environment outside of the classroom and, well… At least there wasn't a ton of trash to clean up today. Just ripped up books that would either have to be taped up again or tossed in the ever-growing destroy pile.
Why were kids so destructive these days? Oswald sighed to himself as he ran his fingers along another torn cover. He didn't blame the kids, really. Junior high was rough, after all, and he certainly knew that the larger class sizes each year meant that so many of these kids were falling behind. Sometimes he wished he had pursued that teaching credential like he had dreamt of since he was young. That was a far and distant dream nowadays. Many of those silly childhood dreams were. Teacher. Cartoonist. Writer. This job barely paid the rent in Los Angeles, adding teacher expenses alongside student loans would be the final thing that would send him living in his car.
[Continue Reading or Read on AO3!]
The young librarian plopped down in his shoddy swivel chair to begin the process of rebinding all the destroyed books now piled up like an unstable mountain on his desk. It already took him through his lunch hour earlier, so he would just spend the rest of the day working on the daunting task. Somewhere in the faculty fridge, his salad was only getting more wilted and pathetic. It could wait. If he didn't do this now, it would just be another project to work on for hours after school and he loathed staying too late. Classifieds like him with no teaching degree weren't exactly encouraged to have more hours than what was on the schedule and the school had already warned him that there was plenty of time in the day to get all his job duties done.
Oz rolled his eyes at the thought. Administration was just so out of touch with what actually made the school run. When you get paid enough money, you stop caring if kids actually are thriving in public education or not. He let out a soft sigh as he booted up what was now considered an antique: the old Cover One machine. Lazily, he reached around in his drawer for his X-acto knife and gave a blank stare as he pulled it out. No blade. Seriously? How these little thieves got into his locked drawers was seriously impressive, yet mildly infuriating.
"Just take the whole thing next time," he muttered under his breath while reaching for his bag. Years of art supplies were stashed away in there, so he held his breath in prayer for a blade refill. "Shit!"
Of course it was loose. When did he ever have the common sense to put things in their proper cases? He carefully pulled the blade out and was thankful that the cut wasn't deep enough to bleed for more than a few seconds. A quick sucking on the tip of his index finger would heal him enough. Into the holder the blade went and Oz was back at the task of dissecting this book apart. As the blade sliced through the cover, severing it from the spine, Oswald winced. He was always so careful with his own books, always keeping them pristine while reading and never dared to even dog-ear the pages, he felt a bit guilty for the inanimate object he was holding. Hopefully books couldn't feel being tossed around and ripped apart. So many of them sat lonely and untouched on the shelves that he wondered which was a worse fate for something designed to be helpful to humans.
The librarian hummed to himself as he carefully cut off the dust cover before preparing a piece of adhesive to slide against the now bare spine. With the Cover One now warmed up, Oz delicately wrapped the book in wax paper before placing it in the machine. He firmly held the book steady until there were a few beeps signaling that it was done. Out the book came, almost for a breath of air, before he plopped it back in to let it settle for the next eleven minutes. He mused that he could try and fix some of the paperbacks while waiting for it to cool off when he heard the thick library door push open.
Figuring that it was one of the quiet kids coming in to retreat from the chaos of class dismissal, Oz’s face softened into a smile while he stood from his seat to greet them. However, when he saw the fully grown figure in a… cowboy costume? Oz paused. Having adults on campus wasn't unheard of, there were in fact many parents on a daily basis who came in and out even though they really should have stricter security measures at the school. But this person didn't really look like a parent trying to pick their kid up from school.
Was there an assembly Oz had forgotten about? Some weird yo-yo man teaching tricks to bored kids even in this day and age? Or maybe he was a cowboy teaching kids for a career day or something? But that costume didn't scream a real, genuine cowboy. Oz had grown up with vaqueros in Gilroy, watching them skillfully take care of the farmlands out there. And they did not look like this delicate, untouched pretty boy who had just strutted in.
Curiously, he elected to watch the stranger for the time being as nothing about the man really warranted him to freak out quite yet. It was actually a nice surprise. Oz sat back down in his chair and continued to work on his book repairs, his emerald eyes flashing up every now and then to see what the cowboy was up to. The man looked lost, like he had never been in a library before. He was staring at the ends of the isles, desperately searching for where a certain subject would be. Alright, he was starting to look pathetic enough that Oz had to help him out.
"Can I help you?" he inquired, sneaking up behind the cowboy.
There was a soft yelp from the blonde before he whipped around, baby blue eyes wide in fright. Oz was looked up and down before the stranger stood back up at his full height, eyes narrowed.
"You must be the keeper of these books?"
The question sounded almost impressed. Oz, obviously amused, gave a small nod.
"The one and only. What can I help you find?"
That caused the cowboy to look more relieved as a wide smile stretched across his goofy looking face.
"I'd like your books about men, please."
Oh. Oh? Well that was interesting. Was this man…? No, no. No need to make speculations. Just because Oz was gay didn't mean that every guy was. Though, with that outfit…
Oz shook the thought from his mind quickly, not wanting to assume that this pretty man was talking about the wide selection of queer books they had. He led the man to the non-fiction section before turning his head back up at him.
"Well, you'll have a lot to pick from, but I'd start here. Try the biographies and autobiographies if it gets too overwhelming," the ginger haired man offered with a smile. "If you have a better idea of… men, well, I can help you narrow it down."
The cowboy scanned the books for a moment, still seeming so puzzled. Oz might have to hold his hand through the entire library process wouldn't he?
"Do you have books about… the patriarchy?"
Oz blinked in surprise. Huh. Yeah, this guy was a weird one. Didn’t exactly scream incel but the request was a bit amusing coming from a handsome boy. He quickly walked down the isles to the war section and pointed out a few very outdated pieces of literature the school still somehow hung onto. The man ran his index finger along the spines before grabbing a few that interested him. Pleased with his selection, he beamed at Oswald. There was something charming and almost innocent the way he smiled. Like a proud child picking out their first book. Oz couldn’t help but feel a flutter in his heart at that.
"How about horses?"
Now that was a normal request. Fitting for the cowboy! Oz returned the smile and showed the cowboy their small selection. Wasn’t anything fancy, really. Perhaps an elementary school would have a wider selection. Back when he was a horse girl, that was the ultimate treasure trove of knowledge. Middleschoolers didn’t care about that sort of thing too much. ’That stuff’s for babies’ would be the usual complaint. So, the school barely kept anything fun in stock. Booooring! A total snoozeville. It’s like no kid could harbour a special interest anymore.
Oswald carefully pulled out the only book that was specific to horses and watched the man’s eyes go wide. Eager hands snatched it up, thumbs dancing along the cover as if he was trying to actually pet the horses plastered all over the book. That goofy smile never faded from the stranger even for a second.
“Yes! Yes…” The man was giggling. “This is perfect - do I have to pay for these?”
He suddenly looked very worried, full of cautious optimism searching Oz’s face for an answer while protectively clutching the handful of books to his chest. Oz let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.
“Normally you’d need a library card but, uh, you’re not a student. ‘sides, no one will miss those books if you took them. I think the last time anyone even looked at those books was more than a decade ago. They’d probably end up in a landfill soon anyways.” Playfully, he shot the cowboy a wink and pressed his index finger to his own lips. “Just keep quiet about it, ‘kay?”
There was that sweet smile again followed by frantic nodding.
“Of course! Your secret is safe with me, bookkeeper.”
“School librarian, but I kinda like bookkeeper better,” Oz laughed.
“Well, bookkeeper, I shall take these fine books and bid you ado,” the cowboy grinned, tipping his hat to Oz.
As the cowboy turned to leave, Oz reached out to grab his hand. It was so instinctual - like he was afraid of saying goodbye to this stranger. He couldn’t just let him go so easily. Maybe he could ask him what his deal was. Anything to spend another minute with him.
When their fingers grazed against each other, his mind exploded with visions that suddenly froze every muscle in his body and completely immobilized him.
Visions of him being very little with a doll in his hands. The only doll he ever had growing up. Ken. His Ken doll that he found in a pile of cheap toys at the flea market his family vended at. The one that caught his eye underneath the mountain of stuffed animals he normally would jump at the chance to pick through. Still in his tattered box. Oz never thought he’d be able to afford something so nice. His usual toys were old and discarded ones no longer wanted by their owners. Broken, unbranded, or simply just cheap fast food toys that other children grew tired of. The kind old lady selling the doll had given it to him for all the change he had rattling around in his pocket that day once she saw the quiet child’s nervous excitement just holding the box.
How very careful he was taking such an exquisite toy out of the box. Delicately opening the packaging and saving what he could before holding Ken tightly against his chest. Tears had rolled down his cheeks from just how happy he was to own something so nice. A little dollie all of his own. He’d be oh so careful to love and cherish this Ken for as long as he could!
They were inseparable. Ken was always in his coat pocket wherever he went. Despite being so young, Oz made sure to play with his toys as gingerly as possible. Ken was handled especially tenderly. Always getting a nice long bath in the sink after spending the whole day outside. Then getting tucked into a makeshift bed made out of tissues or scraps of fabric samples Oz’s mom let him have. All set up nice and cozy on the dresser next to his own bed so that he could keep Ken closeby. With Ken around, nightmares didn’t stand a chance.
Memories like this had been long locked away by Oz’s deep-rooted trauma. Yet now they were pouring in uncontrollably.
“Ken?” Oswald’s voice cracked as tears flooded his vision. It was so soft and uncertain. Surely this was a dream. It couldn’t be his Ken, right?
It looked like Ken had been hit with the same realization. His twinkling blue eyes were wide like a deer in the headlights as he searched Oz’s face. Immediately, his arms were around Oswald, holding him tightly. A laugh bubbled up from him and he just kept squeezing. So afraid to let go.
A memory. Ken had a memory! He wasn’t sure if he ever had one before, but it felt so nice. Brand new, a bit scary, but… he could feel something deep inside him that he had never felt before. The only thing he could compare it to was the feeling he had been chasing whenever Barbie looked at him. What was that funny feeling that made him feel so full?
“Oz! Wow!” He couldn’t stop himself from letting out excited little laughs of disbelief. “Is that really you? Look at how much you’ve grown…”
Clutching onto his old friend, Oswald was overcome with emotion. His smile was wide and shaky as he began to sob softly into Ken’s shoulder. Those were words he always craved to hear from loved ones since his transition. No one had ever said something so sweet to him.
Worried that he had upset his dear friend, Ken pulled back enough to closely examine the weeping man. Oz wasn’t frowning, no there was still a smile on his face, but why did he cry? Was he not happy to see him? Had he said something wrong?
“You should be standing in my curio cabinet at home,” Oz’s voice cracked, teary eyes looking up at his doll. “How…”
“You kept me?” It was Ken’s turn to be surprised.
“Of course I did.” Carefully, as if he were afraid that Ken would disappear like a fading dream, Oz cupped his doll’s cheek. “I tried to keep all my toys that my family didn’t haul off without me knowing.”
Family.
Ken remembered those people - they weren’t very nice. As the memories continued to trickle into his plastic brain, he could recall the nights Oz would cry after being berated by his aunt and uncle specifically. He had been so scared after his parents passed away. Hugging Ken close to him every night even though he was all grown up. How desperately Ken wanted to hug him back and tell him he was okay. To protect his boy. He could feel that protective surge swell in his chest, arms tightening his hold onto Oswald. Now he could properly hold his boy.
It was an unfamiliar feeling to be held like this. Sure, Oz gave plenty of hugs to his friends even as an adult. This was far different from that. His body tensed up for a moment like a frightened prey animal unable to move. However, the longer they stood in the embrace, he felt himself relax into Ken’s touch. The tears couldn’t stop themselves as soon as they cascaded back down his cheeks. Safe. For the first time in more than a decade, Oz felt safe.
“I’m so happy I found you again,” Ken murmured, dipping his head down to rest against Oz's.
“How is this possible, Ken? I - I’m not having one of those hallucinations again, right?” Nervously, the librarian pulled away so that he could stare into Ken’s eyes. It was so bizarre that Ken looked so human and yet still very dollike. “You feel real.”
“I am real!” Ken puffed out his chest and gave a bit of a flex to show off. “Does this not totally look real?”
There was a giggle from Oz as he placed a hand on the firm bicep that was being showcased. The fact that Ken was such a show-off was rather charming, he couldn’t lie. A true himbo like the human had always imagined.
“C’mon, dollie. I didn’t mean it like that.” He gave him a reassuring pat on his arm. “You know that my brain plays tricks on me.”
Ken’s boisterous behaviour faltered for a moment as he looked at his boy.
“You still see those… monsters?” he quietly asked.
“Sometimes. It’s not as scary like it was back then.” Oz gave a sheepish smile, feeling bad that he was causing Ken to worry so much. “I take medication to help now.”
Those arms were back around him, pulling him in for another hug.
“I won’t let them get to you. I can fight them for you now!”
How could Ken so easily make all the years of trauma slip away like it was nothing? Oz had been fighting for so long on his own, trying to make a life for himself in this crazy world. And now his doll was human-sized and a walking, talking being that somehow waltzed back into his life? He didn’t believe in fate. But this was one hell of a coincidence.
“But how are you here, Ken? I don’t understand.”
“That’s easy! Barbie was trying to find the little girl who was playing with her. Something about cellulite - whatever that is. Lots of transportation. And now we’re here in the Real World!”
Staring at him like he grew a second head, Oz cocked his head to the side.
“Barbie? I never had a Barbie. Did you… find a Barbie?”
Suddenly, Ken felt very warm. His face was red hot! That was weird. He was plastic. Was this another funny feeling he didn’t quite understand?
“Well, yeah. It’s Barbie and Ken, you know?”
Oz’s face softened at that.
“That’s sweet. My Ken has a Barbie. Huh.”
“Wh-what?” That blush was growing deeper. Ken looked nervous. But that funny feeling was growing when Oz called him his Ken.
“Nothin’. ’s just cute that you found your girlfriend. Is she here too?” He peeked out the window of the library, glancing through the crowds of preteens. Nothing loud and pink out there.
“She’s uh. Doing her own thing.”
Oz’s brow shot upwards and he tried his best to suppress his grin.
“Well, don’t let me keep you, Ken. Go on, go to her.” He pulled away from his doll, heart feeling achy at the thought of Ken leaving. But if Ken had a Barbie, he wasn’t going to keep him from her. Looks like his doll didn’t need him anymore.
It was Ken’s turn to grab Oz’s hand.
“I wanna stay with you longer. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” It was surprising to Ken that he was saying all this. Normally, he’d do anything to trail in Barbie’s shadow in the hopes she’d so much as look at him. But that didn’t seem to interest him right now. Not with his boy right in front of him. Something was telling him that he needed to stay with Oswald. “Please?”
Oz couldn’t say no to such a sweet face. How could anyone?
“Okay, okay. You’re really twistin’ my arm here,” he joked. Ken immediately let go, panic on his face. “Oh, no! I was just teasing! It’s an expression.”
The librarian turned his head to the stack of books on his desk. He should have stayed to finish the daunting work and not have even more on his plate for the next day, but…
Oh, come on! His childhood doll springs to life and he’s just supposed to go back to his mundane day job? Nuh-uh. He was going to spend as much time as he could with Ken in case he was plucked away back to wherever the hell he came from.
“If you give me ten minutes, I’ll wrap up everything here and maybe we could…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his head nervously. “Go back to my apartment or something?”
Ken lit up at that. Like an excitable dog, he was practically bouncing up and down. Then he realized he may be looking very uncool and tried to stand up straight to posture himself as calm and collected.
“That would be rad.”
“You can go over to those bean bags and chill for a bit - I’m sure you wanna read those new books you got.” Oz smiled, pointing to a circle of janky bean bag chairs that had seen much better years.
Oh right. The books. Ken had almost forgotten about the books he was carrying, fingers curling against the thick spines of each one. Somehow, he wasn’t that intrigued to explore the topics of this world that he had been so curious about not even ten minutes ago. That didn’t matter to him when Oswald was right there.
“I can read that stuff later,” he shrugged. “No big deal.”
Oz tried to bite back a laugh at the fact that Ken was trying to act so smooth after nearly bursting at the seams getting these books just a short bit ago. Was he wanting to impress Oswald now? What a silly doll. He simply gave a little nod and began to tidy up the books he had been rebinding, taking notice as Ken shuffled closer to try and take a peek. Oz didn’t mind the audience. Having his doll near him felt safe. A warm feeling that pooled in his belly that he hadn’t felt in so long. Maybe Ken could stick around longer before he went back to his dollhouse. Did Ken have a dollhouse? He’d have to ask a million questions about where Ken came from when they got back home.
The little flutters in his chest with Ken nearby were so bizarre. Was it excitement? Nervousness? There was a frenzy of emotions running through him all at once due to the fact that his doll was lifesize and following him around like a lost puppy. Such a sweet face. He could feel his own face grow warm with the threat of blush rising to his cheeks. Shit, when he went red, it was so painfully obvious! So he tried to hide his face with his long copper locks of hair and turn away from Ken as much as possible when tidying up. Maybe since Ken was so oblivious he wouldn’t notice his human getting flustered.
And he didn’t, thankfully. The doll was too occupied with watching what Oz was doing with his hands. How gentle they were with the tattered books lining his desk. Ken smiled to himself. Of course his boy was careful - he remembered how well taken care of he was when he was Oz’s doll. There was something swirling around in his own chest at the thought of it. Kens were merely accessories for Barbies and not typically played with on their own. Yet, with all the memories filling him, he now knew that he had been loved by his human. Looks like it wasn’t just Barbie that had someone! His half smirk was wide on his face with just how smug he felt. There was someone out there that loved Ken for being Ken. Wow!
“What’s that look for?” Oz chuckled, bag slung over his shoulder and car keys in hand as soon as he walked back up to Ken.
“Nothing!” Ken lied. Had to still play it cool. Couldn’t mess this chance up! “Just… ready for our hangout sesh.”
Oswald looked skeptically at Ken before he absentmindedly reached for the doll’s free hand. Their fingers laced together and Oz was pulling him to the door. It felt so natural that neither of them had questioned how sudden this was. Just bashful glimpses at one another like two shy kids holding hands for the first time.
“Alright, cowboy. Let’s go home.”
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satohqbanana · 1 year
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That demo was so pretty I now have shoujo glitter in my eyes! (More of my thoughts under the cut.)
First and foremost: you can play until the very first section of Egliette’s area. Which is cool. The demo only had you do the pocket mirror puzzle and the mirror teleportation room. Anyway, here’s some stuff I was left thinking after finishing the demo:
I still prefer the old pictures and old sprites. The old art style to me fits the whimsical atmosphere of the game without going overboard on cutesey. I think, however, Egliette received a proper glowup!
The UI graphics are so on point and even better! But I miss the old save files that loop from the last save to the first. Sobs. Also the character busts can slide in a little funny.
I liked the darkness of the old game better, but I think like the default darkness of the remake will make Lisette’s area a little easier!
I’ve been hoping for new art to the other parts too, but ohh nice Jess’ art remains.
Overall, I’m having mixed reactions. I’m all for AstralShift getting there as devs, and I’m proud of what they have accomplished so far. However, I feel as if, based on what I saw of the demo, the remake doesn’t offer too much. I keep looking for new stuff to do, new lore to read, new puzzles to conquer. So far all I have is a few settings to tinker with, which doesn’t really affect my gameplay, and some new art, which I’m not too fond of.
I’ll still play the full version nonetheless. I do love Pocket Mirror, after all. Furthermore, this is the opportunity AstralShift has to get further support as devs, so they can get more funding and make more progress on their new game and Pocket Mirror’s prequel sequel, Little Goody Two Shoes, which is a way bigger project.
However, while remakes do have the daunting task of carrying on the legacy of their predecessors, this is also the opportunity to impress us a second time, not by redoing what you’ve done before, but by showing what you’ve learned from the first time, do things better, and do things a little bit more differently. Because if the remake is gonna be more or less a 1-for-1 of the original, then there’ll be really no good reason to play it, yes?
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nanowrimo · 1 year
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Meet Our New NaNo Interns: Josie and Lena!
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We feel super lucky here at NaNo HQ to be able to work with some excellent interns! Today, meet our newest cohort of interns: Josie and Lena. You’ll be getting to know them better throughout November, but today they’re here to tell you a little about themselves:
Josie, Editorial & Programs Intern:
I discovered NaNoWriMo at an important time in my life. I was in sixth grade and was known by my teachers as a lover of books, writing, and art. I never thought about combining those interests in a serious way, outside of the silly little comics I would produce.
And then I discovered there was a month-long challenge to write a novel. Anyone could do it, even if I was just a spunky twelve year old! I instantly signed up and dove right into the challenge. I don’t really remember what I wrote that year, since that word document was lost to the depths of time. I know it didn’t make any sense. I also know I didn’t even win that year. But I had fun writing way past my bedtime. I had fun drawing my characters and planning out wild shenanigans for them to get involved in. This experience with NaNoWriMo was something that would happen year after year and I enjoyed sharing that time with other young writers. 
Now, I’m an adult. I never lost my love for books, loving them so much I ended up getting a degree in analyzing them. I never stopped drawing either.
It would be a lie to say I stopped writing. I wrote plenty and I have many essays and scripts to prove that. It’s just been a while since I wrote 100% for myself, outside of a graded assignment. I started to miss that feeling of being surrounded by other writers and getting lost in the world I created. I was reminded of those Novembers long past and found myself thinking, “Hey, remember NaNoWriMo? When was the last time you did that?”
Then I saw there was a NaNoWriMo internship opening for this fall, and well, here I am, your new Editorial and Programs intern!  I’ll be writing alongside each and every one of you. It’s a daunting task and I have a lot to learn, but I know this journey will be an enjoyable one.
Lena, Marketing & Fund Development Intern:
Hello all! As someone whose been following NaNoWriMo since the age of thirteen, now that I’m starting 21 as the first Marketing & Fundraising Intern, I’ve been nothing but excited to be on this journey. I’ve been in love with stories since I was small, reading, writing, daydreaming to procrastinate my writing, all the things. My mother is Yaqui, Indigenous to a tribe from Sonora, Mexico, that later fled to the United States. In my journey to accessibility, education, and action, I’m hoping to tell stories of my family’s history and of the future of our world. It doesn’t hurt if there are magic and dragons involved though, right? My go-to stories are fairytale and mythology retellings and re-imaginings, predominantly in the fantasy genre. Give me Legendborn, Percy Jackson, or Cinderella is Dead any day! In lieu of my college career, I’ve become a full-time caregiver for a loved one. Being a part of a team that is so incredibly accommodating to that in my dream organization and being able to interact at community events has been the greatest blessing. I’m so excited to further engage with all of you this November!
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paranormeow7 · 4 hours
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autism machine brain
some random thoughts. disclaimer I am between levels 1-2 and have generally low support needs. please do not take my personal experiences as written to describe the whole community!! if others have similar experiences to me, maybe with different words, feel free to share them. it’d be interesting to hear from people all around the spectrum. but do not take my words and use them to talk over others who are not me.
this is mostly about ideas of what is seen as ableist in the community and how it pertains to how I like to identify and describe myself. there’s a stereotype that is seen as ableist, that (usually low support needs) autistic people are like robots. honestly, I feel like one, and it comforts me to identify with them, as I feel like my brain operates and processes language/actions etc like one. specifically, a slow, old family computer.
I call myself slow, which may be seen as ableist language, because I am slow. Maybe due to catatonia (I think that’s the right word?) and like. cognitive stuff? like how it’s kind of hard to like. comprehend and process things unless they are perfectly laid out for me. it is not unlike writing lines of code. if the line of code is not written perfectly into my brain engine, I will freeze up and be unable to complete the action properly. Ive gotten better about this as I’ve gotten older, but I still usually need to be told the exact details of how to do a lot of complicated things, like schoolwork, especially math.
there are just simply too many steps and possibilities. I get overwhelmed and don’t know where to start, as there is too much room for error. even as I try to fill in the blanks and infer what I am meant to do based on what I know, it is simply too much of a risk to attempt something I understand so little. my brain short circuits and blue screens, and I end up sitting, staring at my task and thinking of nothing. this is not ideal for school!! but it is so hard to ask for help, because I feel stupid and disruptive. other kids just run on a newer and faster operating system than me. i am simply behind on software updates.
a big part of my experience as autistic is having an incredibly hard time figuring out how to do or even comprehend things that are new to me, foreign to me, too complicated and large for my mind to run efficiently. I don’t even really know if I’m explaining this properly. At this very moment I am scraping through those lines of code, looking for errors. I very much have a hard time deviating from my “comfort zone”, things that I have already been doing and repeating. repetition is comforting to me. I have already run these programs countless times, and they are proven to work.
My robot brain is my explanation as to why I have trouble improving my art, why I have struggle with disordered eating, why I sound so dry while texting and so awkward while talking. i need the steps broken down for me in such a specific way that is simply not possible most of the time if I want to understand how to do something new or in a new way. for example, I draw the same things over and over, and as such, I do not improve. need to learn fundamentals like lighting, space, form color etc. but attempting such a task is so very daunting. what if I do it wrong? what if I crash? where do I start? Or I try to make something for myself to eat. What if I ruin the dish? There are ingredients in this dish that are not proven to be edible by me. This is cooked in a way that may not be able to run on my operating system. Corrupted code, threatening to break the program. Instead of eating something otherwise healthy and nutritious, I may choose the same, simple food, or not eat altogether.
I am rather verbose, having collected many evocative words over the years, but when there is a concept that I have not attempted to explain before or must explain in a new way, my brain struggles to put it together. a jigsaw puzzle can only be put together successfully in one way. I am not a creative person. I cannot find new and creative ways to complete the puzzle. all I can do is put it together in the same way each time. I often upset people when texting with them, as I use the same responses, same wording, same punctuation etc over and over. To them, they may feel like I am simply uninterested or bored with the conversation. Texting can be stressful because I must rearrange the puzzle in a different way over and over as to not make the person feel ignored. It must hurt to see someone reply with the same mannerisms and phrases each time you speak to them.
I have compared myself to a generative ai before. That may be what I am, but I don’t think I am a very good generative ai. I am more like a factory machine being made to run the software of a generative ai. A machine that has been putting cars together over and over is suddenly asked to create a picture. it is so very strange to be an artist in this state!! again, I do not consider myself a creative person!! it is a lot of the reason I see my work as lacking the same spark and life to it as others work does. they can imagine all sorts of ways to create, all I can do is haphazardly rip apart what I already know, put it back together, run the program and hope it works.
I do love to learn. I do love to scrape and compile new words, new techniques, new food, new tasks to update my software. this is why I have low support needs, as over time I have been slowly integrating more and more features into my program. but it is still overwhelming and disheartening to see my classmates diligently working on an assignment that I rainbow wheeled through the too fast, too complicated explanation of, or see another artist younger than me create beautiful work using techniques that threaten to crash my brain trying to deconstruct, or eating something that I wish to try, but may threaten to poison my code.
I don’t want to be a factory machine, assembling the same parts over and over. I want to be a person, capable of creativity and confidence and working around error and operating smoothly without freezing or shutting down or overheating all the time, needing long cooldown periods, time spent laying in bed doing nothing when I could be lending my time to be productive and do things I want to do. but since I don’t have any other words to describe my experience, it is a comfort to at least be able to name the feeling in a way that others may be able to understand. saying you function like a vintage IBM on dial up also sounds better than saying you’re developmentally retarded.
or maybe my attention span will get better if I get off that damn phone amirite LOLOLOL
but sorry if this was incomprehensible. I feel like it was.
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boredgamecieranshippy · 5 months
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EGX WRITE UP
On The EGX trip I went around, following the said tasks; taking pictures of people playing, retro and old games we have played to the prior time we went. With me giving my thoughts and opinions on how I feel about the game, what I think about the mechanics and how it represents itself. While also exploring the merch and understanding how they present it.
New Games - This game my friend played was really adorable, with a mixx of 2D and 3D designs, with very simple yet cool and easy to understand level design and plot. The only issue I have with the game, is that its weird inverted character to face the enemy behind you is fine and all. However in my opinion I just don't like this style to begin with and even though yes it plays with the expectations and awareness of the player it is still very stressful and daunting to at least grasp upon.
We visited an old game we witnessed before, which drawn my attention for how pixel-like it was and adorable, with us been giving a possible choice to go to their uni, to create and make amazing and strange games.
Old Games -
Games that I prefer, for their very simplistic style and controls, story, nostalgia. pretty much what I prefer in a game, all other games are fine in their unique styles and I adore the news ones being created by basic and old is pretty much my preferred outcome when it comes down to games and how they work.
How do people who sell merch (Fan merch) get around it -
The way they're represented is that they're either in little tiny sections, or that they jumbled into one huge mess expected of you to know where to look and buy. In my opinion how fan sellers or sellers who sell fan art, to fan designs or just the actual creation. is that they Label them as Fan-art, while also asking for permission to then go in multiple loop holes, as in changing the style a little smidge; so it can get pass inspection and considered okay to be given to another. As as long as it has a little aspect of your own style to it, it won't be considered copyright.
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artdjg · 2 years
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ALL THAT’S FIT TO DJGITALLY SPIT
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ENTRY00013 / SEP 01, 2022 / PRODS & PROJECTILES VOL. 1
While prepping a forthcoming monograph of music packages (roughly 80% finished) I came across some old art friends. No, not humans and/or former clients I thawed out of storage, rather projects that were put in a corner.
No matter the amount of success, award, positive feedback or great review, it’s the gut punch of a failure that yells the loudest. They are the hammer to the thumb. The sugar lump to the mug. At best I tend to tip a sip towards half-full, but in my defense it’s a Big Gulp. The yell-slap of failure is not necessarily a bad thing. It’s generally the crunch of process, put out and perspective that adds a pinch of wisdom so often accompanied in the wince of reflection.
Perhaps I’ve shared some of these projects over the years. To be clear I won’t go deep into the caverns of details, folks involved, etc. There is not much dirt to be had, and besides that route is a silly one to take, especially at my next-level of nothingness. I’m still happy with my end of the creative results and had fun getting there. With many extra miles logged, it simply felt an apt and fun time to share in the month of September. That, mixed with past anxiety, failure, etc. pecking in perpetuity at the bird seed husk of my inner lining. Enough introduction. 
In 2011 I was contacted to create the initial layout and environment designs for a promising video game. Its premise: a steampunk style involving a strong female character traversing a universe of airships. I’m really unclear on the name and plot, but it was sold to me rather well and professionally. Overall, the vision appeared very legit to happen, and with the capital and knowledge to get off the ground (in other words, much more than the average project I was accustomed to). There were even work contracts and drafts for the potentiality of royalties. On the team there was a composer; a group of digital designers; script and code writers; project managers and directors, etc. It was a little daunting to consider the task of designing the environment of the game (as well as compute my ideas with the guys “building” the game as I know nothing about video games), but a very fun challenge to wed the way in which I make things to the screen world. (The project would turnout to serve as an early blueprint in the way I’d eventually construct music videos.)
A nervous meeting with the project leader over coffee and sketches quickly turned into excitement (not to mention a lost parking ticket for him - the garage was paid far more for this project than I would ever be). After bulking up on research, I soon set up a corner of the basement cranking out large handmade airship collages, structures and game level environment examples (above). Shared email files were well-received. Then ... then ... (as often the case with ambitious collaborative endeavors) ... crickets entered the frame. After a long stretch it had turned out that I (and the composer, I think) were the only ones who’d actually created anything. Life got in the way. Life faded from the project. Similar to the experience raked with a former romantic lean-to, weeks later I finally anxiously asked if this was actually ever going to happen. NO. Down with the ship I went.
Hours: Incalculable. Let’s just ballpark it at A LOT. Payment: 1 cup of coffee.
-djg 
Image 1: Core Airship Docking Station Image 2: Core Airship Docking Station (w/all ships docked, ships = levels) Image 3: Production Process (large cut paper collage) Image 4: Example Level Design (a ship interior)
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somsesh · 2 years
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A Love Hate Story
I don’t often get to work on book covers, so last year when Maithili Doshi reached me to work on one, I pounced on it wholeheartedly. Thankfully, the timeline was generous which allowed me to read the complete manuscript before working on the ideas. I couldn’t recall at first, but it slowly dawned on me that I had worked on a Ranjit Lal book before. This was way back in 2012/13 when I was still in my early stages of career. The book I worked on before was Faces in the Water. Unfortunately, I had worked on a very tight timeline which allowed me to only work on the execution of the idea presented by the Art Director. But this time, I read through the book, and was really charmed and intrigued by the hidden gems of Delhi and its ruins. I don’t want to spill the beans on the story, but I would say this much, it’s a delightful read in the Young Adult genre, full of teenage blossom of love, curiosity, and carefree living. 
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I was given a few rough directions by Maithili to seek, and I ended up plugging into it with visual cues that arouses love for Old Delhi’s charm, splattered with the terrors one witnesses in a polarised society. The idea was to not overdo the latter part, so a fine line to tread there. 
I was a little rusty when it came to working on a style for the book cover. I have never been much of an advocate for having a fixed style to work with. I love to bring a sense of experimentation when working on the first draft of an assignment. Quite often those first drafts don’t really make the cut, but it helps to see what possibilities can come through if you stray away a little from your comfort zone, and see if something can be brought back from the strayed path. The initial round of exploration was a little too rudimentary and brusque visually. 
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I had a good platform to build on, and I just needed to bring back some of my usual techniques blended into this intended imperfection of the first draft. I got back to the task, enjoying the feel of working on paper where mistakes are a part of the process. 
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I was relieved the colouring of the inked drawings didn’t turn out to be too much of a daunting process. I guess my earlier exploration helped me in locking the overall mood and colour palette I was looking for. I felt satisfied with how the finished version turned out to be. I think working with a good Art Director, and having a relaxed timeline allows you to soak into the pleasures of working on a book cover far more. Thankful to Maithili Doshi for trusting me with this book cover.
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eternal-armin · 2 years
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turning page - part ii.
armin, awake after the reversal, returns to his and [y/n]'s shared house. there will be no m/f/n versions since there didn't end up being mentions of the reader's gender. 2,705 words. [ i haven't actually finished season four, but i asked my incredible boyfriend @atomicrobin3 for the basics about the end of the season. i wanted to do something inspired by season 3, episode 13 of 'the good place,' so this is a universe where titan-shifters stayed titan-shifters, and where the curse of ymir was never destroyed. ]
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with a faint smile, you watched armin look over the books and knick knacks he always loved with stars in his eyes. it was somewhat relieving to see him so happy, and yet you were pained to know that he no longer associated you, or the time that you had spent together, with the spines he was touching so gently. why did this hurt so much? it felt selfish. “oh, wow…!” armin muttered, sounding about as starstruck as he looked. you already knew which book he was taking out. ever since childhood he had kept the same book, comparing it to the sights he saw, compiling lists of what he would see next from the pages, what he would document for the coming generations. armin thumbed through the pages, looking at it like one might look at an extraordinary piece of art. which to him, you supposed, it definitely was. “yeah, this… this is definitely my copy. i-i’m sorry for doubting you when you said that we lived together. it’s been a strange day.” armin joked, and you both shared a chuckle, which sounded painfully formal. “it’s alright, armin, i completely understand. you don’t need to apologize to me.” you waved away his concerns, presenting him with the best smile you could manage. the ring caught in the light of the sun which flooded the room, and unsurprisingly, he noticed—you folded your hands back together before he had a chance to ask about it. as much as you would love to tell him all about the past eight years you had spent together, waking up from a reversal was already quite a draining task. the overwhelming lack of strength after a titan like the colossal titan gets torn from you… you could never just pile on like that. “so, armin, how about i get some lunch started? we can do something light if you want.” you meticulously modulated your voice and tone. “i figured that going out to town to eat would be a little daunting. if you would prefer going out, that’s perfectly fine; whatever you would like.” old book still resting in his hands, armin glanced away for a moment in thought. “here would be fine, [y/n]. i wouldn’t want you to pay for my meal, at least until i can pay you back. nothing’s better than a home cooked meal anyways, right?” his eyes seemed so bright, and for a moment, the tension in your shoulders and the dull pain in your head washed away. the world seemed a little more colorful than it had been moments before. but it washed away, leaving as quickly as it had come. “right. please, though, don’t worry about money. we were,” you swallowed hard. “we were good friends. i would be honored to help you in any way i can. s-so, does a stew sound nice?” armin’s expression brightened once again. “that sounds perfect! how did you- ah, right. we’ve been friends for years, as you just said. sorry.” he laughed softly. you laughed along like nothing in the world was wrong. in all honesty, you were scared not to—silent spaces like that would make you start crying.
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leaning against the counter, your elbows ached against the unforgiving ceramic. your head hung in your hands. the stew was almost ready, barely an arm’s length away as it simmered on the stove. you wept silently into your palms, your shoulders shaking with the force of the quiet cries. you weren’t cut out for this at all, were you? all you knew was turmoil and stress while the man who was once your husband read in his room, not knowing anything about the things he gave up, or about the damned wedding band on your finger. and he probably wouldn’t for a long time. the silver ring that had once adorned armin’s finger was placed safely in a small box on the bedside table, inconspicuous, hidden in plain sight. before, when you still naively tried to sleep, you found yourself staring at the tiny wooden box. you had lost a big part of your life. somehow, the fact that armin had no clue what he had sacrificed just made it worse. the floorboards outside his room creaked. as if on cue, you stood up straight, wiping away your tears, swallowing back another cry. your body ached under the weight of so many false actions. you busied yourself by skimming the stew. “wow, that smells good,” armin gushed. “sorry for interrupting,” he added quickly. “no. no, no, no, it’s fine,” you said, your voice still trembling no matter how much control you tried to exert over it. once again you found yourself unable to face him, in fear of even the thought of looking in his eyes. you didn’t want him to see the distress you were harboring. a moment of excruciating silence passed. “[y/n], is everything alright?” armin asked, cautiously. instead of vague judgment, gentle concern steeped in his voice. perhaps he would’ve reached out and touched your shoulder, but he simply stood beside you, silently offering his solidarity. just being asked that one little question made you want to break down and sob. you shook your head, knowing if you so much as opened your mouth, you wouldn’t be able to stop crying. “w- what’s wrong?” armin did a better job of regulating his voice in that one moment than you had done all day. you didn’t respond, nor did you look up to face him, covering your eyes with your hand. the silence that encompassed the both of you, as humiliating as it was, also had an oddly pacifying effect. for a moment you felt like you could cry as much as you wanted, crumple into a ball and finally be able to bask in the feelings that exploded inside of you, instead of trying to bottle them up like disagreeable fireflies. but, not knowing if it would hurt more and not wanting to risk it, you didn’t. and neither did you want to embarrass yourself further. though he hesitated, armin’s curiosity—as it usually had before—got the best of him. “is it about the wedding ring?” cautiously, he tried to keep his voice neutral, not wanting you to think he was negatively judging you or placing some form of blame on you. your shoulders dropped, and so did your hand, resting parallel to the one on the counter. you took a deep, shaking breath, blinking away what tears remained in your puffy eyes. “yes.” your reply was simple, and, just as you had thought, one word brought a new cry to the borders of your eyes, and the world became blurred. “oh. i’m… i’m sorry, [y/n].” a hint of regret laced his voice. “who… who was it?” “he- he’s not dead.” testing the waters, you spoke slowly, calming yourself the best you could by breathing, playing armin’s instructions over and over again in your head. in and out. in and out. no need to rush. your plan to wait to tell him was crumbling in front of you. dissolving like paper in water. but maybe that was okay. you could figure this out, right? armin was hardly a shrinking violet when it came to other people being honest with him. “you gave me this ring, armin.” still cautious with every word you spoke, you measured your tone, your words, but couldn’t manage to remove any emotion that came out with them. “before the reversal, we were… we were married. we were together for almost eight years.” incredibly, a hint of a smile
twitched at your lips. all those golden memories washed over you, and for the first time in this new world without your husband, it didn’t hurt. “you proposed to me after four of those years, on the beach, after all the hell we went through together. we got married at the same spot. your vows are carved on the inside of my ring, and mine on the inside of yours.” confidence steadily took hold of you, and what a refreshing feeling it was. stepping out into a misty rain, your mind was clear. you looked up and out of the window, watching the shadows of leaves dance on the green grass as the sun began her descent in the still-cloudless sky. “for years, i had worked to create the reversal you just had. i wanted you to be able to see the world, unlimited by that damn curse.” you paused, nimble fingers unconsciously turning the ring on your finger. without fail, just touching it brought a sense of comfort to you. “you were confident that you would fall in love with me again. and i wasn’t. i… don’t believe in true love. i don’t believe that, in a world like this, soulmates could exist. or that someone could fall in love with the same person twice. so i’ve resigned myself to the thought that you will never love me again. and i’m okay with that.” you didn’t know if you were trying to convince armin or yourself. armin’s gaze lingered on you, on the tired circles under your eyes, the redness and puffiness that twisted your face. eventually he looked out the window too, watching the beautiful world outside the house. “i want to get to know you as much as i can, [y/n]. i… don’t know much about you yet. but i think that i want to love you again.” for the first time after he entered the room, you looked up at armin, eyes slightly wide from surprise. “for the longest time i never thought i would have an intimate relationship with anyone. i mean, you probably already know this, but i always thought i was too weak for it. o-or, too undesirable.” armin chuckled a bit. it felt like he was describing the plot of a book to the person who had written it. “for us both to love each other, and for me to want to marry you, you must’ve been incredible for me. obviously i cared about you so, so much, and if you had the patience to deal with me and love me back… you must be truly incredible.” you found yourself laughing. genuinely laughing. quietly, yes, though it was unmistakable. “i didn’t deal with you. i loved every part of you. i always did. everything you did or said, everything you were. everything you are.” “even the bad moments?” he asked, carefully, glancing down at you. you returned his gaze with a reassuring smile. “there were no bad moments. they were all good.”
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in the shade of a tree, overlooking the rolling plains and hills around the home, you and armin sat on a picnic blanket. a basket held a few small rolls of bread, some fresh fruit and veg, and a few sandwiches. the summer day was pleasantly warm, so you could wear a light linen shirt and cardigan and still be at the perfect temperature. it was armin’s idea to take advantage of the day and have a picnic. laughing and joking around, you had both prepared the food, together. you employed the puppy dog eyes to bring along some hot tea. even though the day was warm enough on its own, you could never give up an opportunity to make it warmer. he obliged with a sigh and a chuckle. “i was the one who asked to have a picnic, so it’s only right that you get to bring some of your favorite foods and drinks.” if only he knew that wasn’t the first time he said that. nor would it be the last. for the past year, ever since your break down at the kitchen counter, you had been feeling better. every day became a little longer [then, as the seasons changed, a little shorter], and you spent a little more time with armin, and you became a little closer. sometimes you felt like a kid again, falling for the sweet boy who never seemed to notice you until he went out of his way to save you. constant butterflies in your stomach, loving every moment his eyes were on you, feeling so giddy whenever he got close. he always seemed to be close to you recently, though it wasn’t like you were complaining. you had both become love-drunk teenagers again. and while it was heaven, sometimes you found yourself scared. what if it all ends again?
you wouldn’t be able to handle that. you scooted a bit closer to armin, reassuring yourself that he was still there. without hesitation, his strong arm wrapped around your shoulders, bringing you into a side hug. your doubtful mind was silenced, and you placed your hand atop his, letting your head rest on his shoulder. and although you couldn’t see it, armin looked down at you with caring eyes. at the person who, after all the time you’d spent together, he found himself in love with again. all over again, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. he smiled, looking back over the stunning view you were looking at, too. the silver wedding band, with your precious words carved inside, was back on his finger. he had memorized those words, again, looking at it late at night while you slept beside him, basking in the love he was rediscovering. armin smiled, laying his head atop yours. “it would be the perfect time to propose right now, i think,” he mumbled. speaking in his normal volume seemed more like it would disrupt the peaceful moment. “but i don’t need to do that. it’s strange that i need to keep reminding myself that we’re already married.” a strange mix of amazement and some sense of distant nostalgia traced his voice. a little chuckle escaped along with it and you couldn’t help but chuckle along. “whenever you want, maybe we can renew our vows,” you suggested, following in his soft tone. “r-really?” all of a sudden, you were overwhelmed with memories. a twenty-one-year-old armin, stunned that you said yes to his proposal, before enveloping you in a tight hug. you remembered weeping into his chest, feeling light as a feather with the ring fitting perfectly around your finger. “of course. i- i would love to renew my vows with you. you mean so much to me, it sounds like a dream.” your voice cracked, and your face flushed at the sound. this was it; the year that armin had promised had come to an end. “oh, [y/n],” the happiness that twinkled in armin’s blue eyes made you feel sixteen again. he barraged your lips with sweet kisses, to which you laughed and happily returned. his hands cupped your cheeks, still retaining caution, as if he were touching an angel, a delicate angel. “i—love—you—so—much!” he gushed between kisses. you could feel his smile and the heat on his cheeks, and you were certain he could feel yours. you felt like you were gonna cry, hearing those words again. tears brimmed at your eyes. “seashell, you’re crying…! what’s wrong—i-i’m sorry for not asking before kissing you, i really am,” armin rapid-fired, brushing away your tears with his thumbs. “no, no, armin, i’m okay. i-i just…” you sniffled, feeling rather embarrassed. “i haven’t heard that in so long. i missed it so much.” the smile you had made armin’s heart flutter. in all the blissful months since the reversal last year, he had never seen you so incredibly happy. “i love you too, armin. i love you so, so much.” you saw a similar happiness bloom in his expression. “you can hear it as much as you want now, seashell. i’ll say it whenever i can. i’ll always say it back. as long as you say it back, too.” armin’s smile seeped into his voice. he didn’t need you to say anything; the promise was clear in your eyes, which glittered with the light of the sun, and which he found himself getting lost in again. his arms wrapped back tight around you, and you returned the embrace, trying to contain your giddiness. it was the second time in your life that you had felt this light, this happy, this joyful, overwhelmed with pure love.
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avissapiens · 3 years
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Avis' Subject Symposium
A Crash Course in Trance Pt 1: Files.
(Art by Acro @sodalite96/https://twitter.com/sodalite96 Used with their permission. Go check them out!)
So often new subjects come to me and they don’t know the first thing about trance. None of its mechanics or methods, and so it can be very daunting for them; to step into such a wide abyss without knowing what to expect and what is expected of you. Many of them, even experienced subjects, expect that 100% of the work is and should be done by the Hypnotist. In truth both parties, the hypnotist and the subject, must be willing and able. But while it’s more readily apparent what must be done in order for a tist to be successful in their endeavors, many subjects/potential subjects can have a hard time understanding what it takes to get the most out of their trance, both from pre-recorded files, and from live sessions with a hypnotist. So, I’m here to give you what is in my opinion, the essential Crash Course to Trance, starting first with trancing to files.
Location
Find yourself somewhere nice, darkened and quiet, where you know you won’t be disturbed. This is already a hard task for a lot of subjects, living with other people always increases the chance that one might barge in on you, eyes glazed over, drooling all over yourself. Or that someone’s reckless pounding from above might shake the abyss so thoroughly that it takes you out of trance. But here is the thing I will stress. While physical quiet is a good idea as it allows you to focus on the words and suggestions streaming into your head. What matters so much more is internal peace and quiet. A location where you can feel at ease and safe and secure in yourself. A locked bedroom surrounded by mountains of pillows. Your favorite plush armchair that threatens to swallow you almost as well as the Abyss of Trance. The peaceful morning route on the train whose path you know so well that you can be lulled into trance just by the rumbling vibrations of the tracks beneath your seat. Wherever you can be comfortable.
The ideal location for trance I'm sure does exist in some government facility or therapists office somewhere, where you can be dropped into an isolation tank and be brainwashed clean. But most of us will never encounter that. So what matters then is the ideal mindset for trance, which is one of peace, safety, trust and assurance.
Equipment
This is one of the reasons so many love using files. Because its barrier to entry is so low. All you really need is something to play the file on and a place to listen. This is in contrast to working directly with a tist where you need, at the very least, A good internet connection, maybe a camera, Another person who you trust and who might be wildly inconsistent. Or working in person which probably will require a whole location and time-table to get set up. No, Files are relatively simple and they are no better or worse than live sessions for certain purposes. However, like all simple things, they can be elevated by improving its ingredients. A box cake from the store and a home-made chiffon are functionally the same, but their difference comes in the ingredients and technique.
So for trance I recommend spoiling yourself a little, at the very least buy yourself some decent quality over-ear headphones. Many file-makers (myself included) add frequencies and binaural beats underneath the main track. These serve the purpose of training your own brain’s waveforms to a certain frequency, thus more easily taking you into trance. But they can only be detected and properly registered with some good headphones. Additionally, The encapsulation of headphones provides a more immersive experience, isolating you and transporting you through the trance experience like you are in your own little world. Trust me. $600 studio headphones aren’t needed, But a good quality wired $40 headset goes a long way and is multi-purpose. A decent quality chair or mattress also will serve you well, not just in trance but in life.
Focus
Trance is a very tricky state that, like all things, requires practice and patience to master. Staying in trance is like a tightrope walk, teetering gently between the realm of consciousness and awareness, and the oblivion of total subconscious and sleep. It is the liminal space between the two, that subconscious space that makes trance and hypnosis possible. It is the state where your mind is most open to total suggestion and where magical things can happen. So how does one walk the line between these two modes of being? The answer is focus. Or rather Half-focus. Focusing without focusing. With descriptions like that it can sound like some kind of Zen riddle, but that is often what it feels like sometimes. Now this is not a laser focus like you would expect in a classroom setting, no one is being tested here. It's a more gentle and subtle focus. Like focusing on the world around you. Focusing on the wind on your face, the rise and fall of your lungs; On the way your body just goes loose and slumps over. The trick is to go in and to follow along, to listen and pay attention and try to comply with the suggestions given at first. Suspend your disbelief and engage with it unironically and without pretense. If you notice yourself drifting, don’t try to force it back to focus. Simply let it explore where it wants and to carry on organically. Nothing in trance needs to be forced. Simply focused on and allowed to happen.
Many subs oscillate in trance, their minds ebbing and flowing like a Sine wave; wavering in and out of trance, one minute aware, the next minute completely blank and asleep, and then for a brief moment in bliss. But it averages out to trance at the end of it. One must also not fear dropping out of trance. Focusing too much on that eventuality makes it a self fulfilling prophecy. Just Focus-not-focus-half-focus and enjoy yourself.
Apprehension
So many subjects look at files and their mind begins to spin with endless questions and anxieties. Worries about “losing themselves” or “changing too much” or “doing things they don’t want to do.” It’s a valid set of concerns for a new subject, uninitiated in the true mechanics of trance and only knowing of hypnosis what is shown in the media. Evil villains and monsters brainwashing our heroes to do horribly enticing and arousing things. So ingrained is this idea that it even crossed over into the allure of hypnosis files. And while I won’t say it's impossible for that to happen, I have 3 comments on it to ease your mind. First, with Files, one of the best things about it is that the subject gets to control practically every single aspect of the experience. When you do it, how many times you listen, and whether you listen at all to begin with. While all files should be clearly labelled with Content and trigger warnings and given an explicit summary of what they are and what they do, we know that is not the case. The amount of “Mystery files” I've seen on various forums irks me to no end. But it appeals to some people. However, for those who are not particularly fond of surprises you have the absolute power to review the file before you trance to it. You can give it a fully aware walk through, or just jump through segments to look for anything that doesn’t suit your taste.
Once you’ve done that however you might still be conflicted about some content. Not openly averse to it, but unsure. Dumbing down and IQ reduction are probably number one on this list. People are so terrified of somehow losing everything when they learn to stop overthinking things. For these concerns my second point suggests Introspection. Ask yourself “Why do I/Don’t I want this?” “Is it really as bad as my anxiety is making it out to be?” Because if you like something a lot, and really want it, then why should you deny yourself it out of fear? Even aside from dumbing, many desires are tinged with this air of guilt or fear. Terrified to acknowledge or grab hold of what we truly want and own up to it. In my estimation Hypnosis can be one of the best ways of dabbling with those desires because in trance there is no shame or judgement. Finally, my 3rd point says you don’t have to worry. If you really don’t like a suggestion you can always leave it behind. Your mind has built in fail-safes to reject suggestions you haven’t agreed to. A file cannot make you do something unless you want it, at least subconsciously. The old cliche goes “All Hypnosis is Self-Hypnosis” and what that fundamentally means is that as a subject you are the one who decides what happens. You consent and go along with things and allow them to happen to you. It is your desire, your focus, your arousal and your own subconscious that allows hypnosis to work. Subjects have more power than they know. I really hope it assists some people in vibing better with trance and files. I’ll be putting out another version for Live hypnotists later this month.
Thanks again to Acro for letting me use their Art, definitely go and support them on twitter. And If you want to support the creation of more hypnotic experiences that might help you practice that balance of focus then you can do so by subscribing to my Patreon, or to my Youtube channel. And if you want to interact more closely with me and my supportive community you can join my Discord server.
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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years
Text
Finding A Light
Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader
Summary: Ron was left broken in the aftermath of the wizarding war. In an attempt to build a better life, he feels he may have unknowingly met someone who could put those pieces back together.
Warnings: angst, mentions of death, grieving, fluff
A/N: Remus is very much alive in this series! This will be more than one part, I hope you enjoy!
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Ron Weasley was a man of few words when presented the daunting task of expressing his emotions, preferring to stuff them down and deal with the consequences later. He never outright says what he’s feeling unless it’s pried from him, and in those times it’s usually expressed through anger. He isn’t great with his words either, so it didn’t come as a surprise to Harry and Hermione to see him so closed off after the war had concluded its disastrous rampage.
It was a battle that anyone and everyone involved was more than likely to never forget, the losses and hardships engraved in their minds as a permanent reminder should their memory allow it as they age. Some had come out on the other side more fortunate than others. Some had handled it far better than others. Ron was not one of those people.
His long awaited ambitions on becoming an Auror were rapidly diminished and pushed to the very back of his mind for a good while. He had wanted absolutely nothing to do with magic beyond that very day, thought that maybe if he hadn’t used it, it wouldn’t remind him of his tragedies. That maybe that part of his life would be forgotten in time if he tried hard enough. So, his wand, his robes, his Hogwarts letters and what was left of his sentimental wizarding memorabilia were hastily shoved into a cardboard box, taped shut and stuffed away to collect dust. Out of sight out of mind was his reasoning, though it didn’t quite work out that way.
The loss of his childhood home paired with the devastating loss of one of his older brothers had been a weight too heavy to bear, pressing down on his chest with each day that passed. He nearly lost two of his closest friends amidst the chaos the Dark Lord left in his wake. Such a lifetime of pain and loss was something he never anticipated to experience all by the young age of eighteen, and it left him feeling like a mere shell of the person he once used to be. As if the years of extraordinary magical endeavors prior to that day were completely erased and replaced with utter heartache.
It took him four years to bring himself out of the pit he found himself stuck in and find some semblance of strength, if only for his mother, and he wanted to build a better life for himself. One without so much sorrow written into his story. He wasn’t entirely sure how to go about doing so, knowing a return to a normal life simply wouldn’t be feasible. Not that his life had ever been considered normal per say.
The emotional scars were something that would never go away, he understood that, but he didn’t think he could go another day having the same mundane routine night and day. He felt ready for more.
Now, at the age of twenty-two coming up on twenty-three, he found himself returning to Hogwarts with hopes to become a professor. His heart nearly beat out of his chest when he arrived, sick to his stomach with nerves as he stopped and stood in the middle of the newly constructed stone bridge. His letter crinkled under the pressure of his tightly clenched hand, luggage in the other, eager students curving their stride to avoid running into him. The castle was more grand than he’d remembered it to be, perhaps they’d made it bigger to house more young witches and wizards, perhaps it wasn’t. Either way, against his instincts, he forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat and continue forward before he convinced himself to turn around and apparate home.
He quickly found that things had been kept fairly the same as he roamed the grand halls in curiosity, as similar to the school he’d grown up in as it could be. The wondrous ceiling of enchanted candles in the Great Hall was a detail that briefly gave him watery eyes; the varying hues of reds, oranges and yellows coloring the Gryffindor common room, down to the house flags pridefully ornamenting the new quidditch pitch. He found himself turning to express his awe to Harry or Hermione on more than one occasion, but was only met with the unfamiliar faces of new students. His shoulders would slump as he exhaled a deep sigh.
It had taken him nearly two months to fully adjust to his newfound routine, to come to terms with the memories that flashed in his mind of their own volition. Whether they be good or bad, they had a habit of making themselves known at the worst of times. Over the course of that time period crumpled pieces of parchment had accumulated around the desk in his room, unsent letters to his mother of his wishes to return home. All of which were written hastily in either frustration or tears, or a mixture of the two. And of the ones he had sent, they were promptly returned with enchanted letters vocally telling him with the utmost of love and sternness that he will be staying, he needs this. Those letters kept him going on those days.
Amongst those days and nights it was strange not having his two best friends there, loneliness still having its hold on him.
Remus Lupin had made his return all the more welcome though, himself and McGonagall being two of the only familiar faces that he’d truly connected with. He felt it was an honor to be taken under his wing and trained, he always had been Ron’s favorite instructor of Defense Against The Dark Arts. He’d even go so far as to say he’s the best if he was being honest.
Regardless, despite his own personal conflicts, he was beginning to feel more comfortable residing there than he had ever thought he would. It was as if the nagging rain cloud dumping over his head was starting to dissipate for the time being.
“You did very good today, Ron,” Lupin says once his final class of the day has left, “the teaching of boggarts is never easy I’ll say, and if I recall correctly it wasn’t your favorite lesson.”
Ron chuckles at the thought, pushing his chair in when he stood. “Not particularly. I still have a nightmare or two about that bloody spider.”
Lupin laughs, nodding at the pleasant memory. Things fall quiet for a few moments as Ron moves to sling his bag over his shoulder. “Off you go, Mr. Weasley, enjoy your weekend,” he urges, grabbing Ron’s attention again before he gets too far. “Here’s your weekly report. You’re becoming a fine up and coming professor I’d say. I have no doubt that I will be leaving my classroom in the best possible care.”
Ron nods with a soft laugh, cheeks flushing a pale crimson at the reassurance as he takes the parchment from him, tucking it into his bag to be read later. “Thank you, Professor Lupin, really. It means a lot to hear.”
He smiles appreciatively before making his way across the long classroom, stopping in his tracks. He takes a breath to gather his thoughts before spinning on his heel to face him again, returning to the desk he sat at. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I suppose.”
He offers Ron a smile upon seeing the clear hesitancy written all over his face. Ron gulps, fumbling with the strap of his bag that rested on his shoulder. He could practically see the gears turning in the ginger boy’s head if such a thing existed. “Was it…was it hard coming back here? After the war, I mean.”
Lupin huffs out a soft laugh at the sudden ask of such a deep question, though he can’t say he was surprised. “I was waiting for this question to arise,” he says, lifting a hand to stop Ron from apologizing. “To give a short answer, yes. It took great thought. To give a long answer, one you may not like but I’m sure you already know, there will always be bad days after experiencing such trauma. It is not easy being born into a life where magic is real and not just a trick of the eye. While it can be wonderful it also brings with it a great deal of damage.”
Ron nods as he listens to his words, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Despite all of it, Hogwarts is a place that can be good just as much as it can be bad. You just have to take it in your stride. You’re stronger than you think, Ron. If you really want to be here, I believe it is worth it to try.”
Ron exhales deeply, taking a moment to process his insightful words, a certain wisdom he appreciated. It left him feeling considerably lighter than he had before, like he was a bit more hopeful of a better experience here. “Thank you.”
That’s all he can manage to say.
The blue eyed man in front of him nods. “Go on now, you’ve had a long day, Weasley.”
Ron found himself to be rather excited for this weekend. It would be his first time making a trip to Hogsmeade in nearly five years, though he’d been putting it off because the experience wasn’t quite the same when doing it alone. Third years buzzed around him with the excitement of their newfound privileges and independence, bouncing from shop to shop to fully take in all that it had to offer.
He, however, walked at a leisurely pace amongst the students bustling around him, taking a moment to fully appreciate everything he hadn’t seen for so long. Catching details that otherwise went unnoticed like the chipping pink paint on the curved windowsills of Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, and the happy young couples residing inside. The vibrant green moss that formed inbetween the crumbling cracks of the old cobblestone walkways. However, the sight of Zonko’s Joke Shop made his heart lurch in his chest the moment he saw it.
He averted his gaze immediately, swallowing thickly as he tugged at his shirt collar that suddenly felt a little too constricting. It had been Fred and George’s favorite shop to frequent, always buying new things to add to their inventory of pranks. But now that one half of the pair was missing it wasn’t such a fond memory anymore, moreso a taunting one.
The sound of a couple students joyously greeting with a chorus of ‘Hi Mr. Weasley!’ pulled him from his thoughts and he was quick to smile, giving them a half wave as they had already begun to walk away. He let his hand fall back to his side, huffing out a sigh as he continued to walk along the path towards the one place he looked forward to the most, Honeydukes.
The little bell overhead alerted his entrance as he opened the door, the air noticeably sweeter than outside. He found himself smiling as his gaze bounced around the near unchanged shop, any candy you could possibly think of lining almost every brightly painted wall. Though not every single one is a desireable find, he learned that one the hard way. He almost didn’t know where to begin, much like how he felt the first time he ever entered the place, and every time after that for that matter. So he perused the shop, something he’s never done by himself.
His eyes landed on familiar chocolates, and he was quick to grab a box for Hermione because he knows they’re her favorite. Despite such knowledge she still adamantly denies having a sweet tooth to this day. To go along with that, he snags one of the last chocolate frogs for Harry.
It was a fond memory when he thought of it, a tradition they’d had as young students. He’s still got the cards he’d collected from each frog, they were tucked away in that box filled with other things. Maybe when he returned home he’d have the courage to reopen it.
He continues to look around for a bit more, finding himself wishing he had the same sense of enjoyment and innocence as some of the younger students held. For they were fortunate enough to narrowly miss being involved with such negative events. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t looming over his head anymore, to let himself enjoy this very moment. So, he tried his best to clear his mind and bring himself back to his current situation in the middle of an aisle filled with hard candies.
When he had turned the corner of said aisle he collided with something, someone to be more specific, the box clutched in his hands opening on impact and sending the assortment of sweets clattering to the ground with the addition of others. The chocolate frog had fell from its decorative box and hopped out of sight before he could process it.
“I’m so sorry!” A soft voice sounds in front of him, a warm hand enveloping his wrist.
“It’s okay…” Ron trails off when he matches the voice to its owner, blinking slowly as his mouth hangs slightly agape. He found himself staring at the girl, he was quite sure he’d never seen someone so alluring, so captivating. He didn’t know if he could manage to stop gawking. “I-it’s okay.”
His cheeks redden when he realized he’s repeated himself, the fiery heat of embarrassment burning from the very tips of his ears down to his neck, leaving his pale skin flushed. You too came to the realization that you were still gripping his arm, quickly dropping it as you laughed softly to stave off any awkward silence. He averts his eyes momentarily, needing a moment to regain his composure and not make a complete fool of himself in front of the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Though he’s quite sure he already has.
“I told Mr. Flume it shouldn’t be quite so cramped in here, but he never seems to listen,” you laugh, looking at the smattering of sweets scattered around the two of them. Ron was focused less on the mishap and more on the way you smiled brightly at him, knowing his cheeks were undoubtedly the same shade as his hair. “Give me just one moment, please!”
He nods just a little too late as you rush off around another corner and out of sight, leaving him to stand there awkwardly as students in the vicinity stared at the mess sprawled at his feet. Shortly, you indeed did come back, a new box of chocolates and what was now the last chocolate frog in your hands. You thrusted them in his direction with a warm smile, one that made his heart flip in his chest. “Take these, it’s on the house.”
“Oh I couldn’t do that,” Ron rushes.
“Please, it was my mistake. I insist.”
He laughs softly, nodding after a moment. “At least let me help you clean up?”
You nod up at him with a laugh of your own, “deal.”
He tries not to think about the way your fingers brush over his as they pick up chocolates from the checkered floor, tossing them into the nearby trash bin. And he tried not to think about the way you’d had his stomach twisting in knots as if he was a thirteen year old again experiencing his first crush.
“I’m Y/n, by the way.”
He scrambled to think of a response, seemingly forgetting his own name momentarily. It hadn’t gotten any better when you looked up at him politely as if waiting for a response. “I’m Ron…Ron Weasley.”
He could’ve kicked himself for being so awkward, knowing him stumbling over his words couldn’t possibly give off any sort of appeal. He brushed his hands off with a sigh as he stood to his feet. Though you didn’t seem to mind his nerves as you brushed your hands off on your jeans.
“Nice to meet you, Ron. I only wished it were on better circumstances.” The pale blush on your face deepened a shade.
“That’s quite alright,” he says with an airy laugh, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “It was nice meeting you too.”
That same silence took up the absence in conversation again as Ron tried desperately to think of something to say, not quite ready for the interaction to be over. You beat him to it.
“I hope to see you around here again, maybe without the mess,” you say with a soft smile, “and don’t forget your chocolates.”
He was confused for a moment, too caught up in the way your eyes sparkled as they looked at him, or the way your hair fell around your face before following where you’d been pointing. “Oh! Y-yeah…thank you,” He grabbed his sweets in his shaky hands, feeling rather bold suddenly, “I’ll see you around then, Y/n.”
He was sure your words were only friendly, something you probably said often as a kind gesture. Probably not because you actually wanted to see him again. But he let himself think otherwise if only for a moment.
You simply nod, your grin widening a fraction, “bye Ron.”
Ron’s lifted spirits did not go unnoticed, not by Mrs. McGonagall who made it a point to bring it up at dinner later that evening. He could tell she picked up on it, could tell by the very way she’d glanced at him frequently. Though he wasn’t sure he was hiding it very well. He pretended not to notice, focusing his gaze on the rows of tables occupied by dozens upon dozens of students seated at them, the hardwood adorned with some of the best food he’s ever eaten. Second only to his mother.
“Is there a particular reason you’re so cheery, Mr. Weasley?” She finally asks, and he sighs at the question.
“Not particularly,” he responds using her wording, glancing at her as a smile pulls at the left corner of his mouth. He watches as she raises a skeptical brow; he knows what’s coming.
“I haven’t seen you smile like that in a number of years, Ronald. I know when you’re lying,” she says with a soft laugh, though she doesn’t pry.
Ron chuckles down at his plate as he shakes his head, pushing his food around as he thought about her. The way she smiled at him, so brightly the corners of her eyes crinkled. It still felt as though those butterflies were still fluttering around in his stomach. He quickly found himself wanting to hear your voice again, or hear your laughter—
“I’ve met a wonderful person today, that’s all,” he blurts, looking to his side.
She gave him a fond yet knowing smile, nodding her head. “I know the look of young love when I see it.”
“I’m not in love, Mrs. McGonagall,” he urges almost immediately, cheeks reddening once more at her preposterous conclusion, “I’ve only just met her today.”
“If you insist, my dear.”
“I do insist.” He tries to be sure of himself despite his inability to get you off his mind, but he hides his smile behind his goblet as he takes a sip.
Later that night he went to bed with something other than sorrow clouding his thoughts, instead feeling rather optimistic about the week ahead. Or maybe it was the plans he’d had at the end of it that had him so eager, time feeling agonizingly slow. It was definitely that. He couldn’t wait to see you next Saturday.
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solomonish · 3 years
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Nowdateables Helping a Struggling MC
CW for: eating disorders (alluded to but not described - discussed in the disclaimer)
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as i said in the last one, i have not personally dealt with an eating disorder or someone who has one, and though the aim of this post is to provide comfort for those who have that experience, if i missed the mark or said something harmful please feel free to message me so i can fix the issue. also, here is the tumblr post i linked before with a variety of hotlines you can call if you are struggling. i urge you to seek help if you are dealing with an eating disorder, especially from professionals who can give you the attention and care you need and deserve.
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Diavolo
He’s very busy with the exchange program and other royal duties, and on top of that he isn’t too familiar with humans and their many complexities. At first, he thinks that maybe you just aren’t used to Devildom cuisine or perhaps the drastic environmental changes have messed with your appetite. He mentions this to Lucifer, who ensures that he will look into it.
It isn’t until you get closer to him and he notices how uncomfortable you get at the mention of Barbatos’ cooking that he gets suspicious. This isn’t Solomon we’re talking about, MC, is something amiss?
He’d probably find out by asking one of the brothers to look into it. Once he figures it out, though, he’s all about making accommodations for you. Would you like human realm food in the RAD cafeteria? He’ll get what he can. Could he interest you in an offer to eat your lunch somewhere else, where there’s less people around? His office is free at lunch (or he will make sure it is).
He might need to be told to relax on the suggestions, but he’s not about to pressure you into anything you’re uncomfortable with. Anything you need access to, he’ll be happy to oblige, with little questions asked.
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Barbatos
Barbatos is perceptive, but he also doesn’t have a lot of time to observe you and notice your odd behavior. He probably catches wind the way he normally does: the brothers hunched over and whispering (in a way he presumed was conspiratorially) and one of them (Mammon) speaking too loudly.
His specialty is in quiet care, so you’ll notice a few changes in your schedule without knowing who caused them. Suddenly, you’ll find yourself heading towards the open courtyard instead of the cramped cafeteria, or you’ll start passing Barbatos in the halls a lot more. 
He invites you to eat with him whenever he can, or to try some new recipe he’s been experimenting with. If you accept his invitation, he never casts his eyes down to “check” how much you’re eating or makes you feel uncomfortable. He just wants to reach out and give you the option to eat in what he hopes is a comfortable environment.
He’s good at providing structure, and gently urging you to help yourself without sounding too pushy or aggressive. Honestly, he’s probably one of the best people to go to for helping set out a game plan. His presence is calming, his check-ups aren’t intrusive or embarrassing, and he is excellent at helping you find the terms that work with you.
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Solomon
When Solomon first notices, he doesn’t immediately jump into action. He cares - of course he does - but he more keeps an eye on you to see if any of the brothers notice and start to do something about it. Of course, he realizes pretty quickly that they don’t - he isn’t sure if he should get upset for them to be blinded by their competition over you, or if it’s to be expected of demons.
He didn’t want to overwhelm you at first, but when he notices how troubled you seem even at school, that’s when he decides to step in. Human as he is, he’s not the most well-versed in comfort or really working within the complexities of another person’s mind. (Not in a way that doesn’t low-key reek of manipulation, anyway). He can find that common ground with you, the part of him that understands how it’s possible for you to feel and think how you do,
He’s a jack of all trades, master of none kind of guy in this situation: he can listen to you well, but he holds back on drastic advice that might do more harm than good. He will distract you, but not as thoroughly as Levi could. He can help you understand how you’re feeling, but still is not quite as adept as Satan would be.
Can and will readily advocate for access to human world therapy for you. Will even help you get there, if asking Lucifer is too daunting a task for you. And, if you don’t feel like going back to the HoL immediately afterwards, well...that human world traffic always was a bitch, right?
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Simeon
Oh, Simeon can tell when you start falling into your old habits. He can feel the negative energy when humans start to feel surrounded by it. Whether that ability is just from his own emotional intelligence or his angel status is uncertain, but he feels himself drawn to you nonetheless.
He isn’t afraid to approach you about it - after all, this is his specialty, and he would love to help if he can. He’s gentle in his approach, and he somehow knows how to approach you directly without sounding crass or lacking in subtlety.
Simeon isn’t used to having such a direct influence on the people he helps, though. More often than not, you’ll find him gently slipping you little reminders about your schedule (if you have one that you’ve told him about), and he’ll definitely be sure to let you know how proud he is of your effort when you reach your goals.
He’ll sit down with you and help you create realistic game plans. If you ask him to sit down with you while you eat, he’ll gladly make sure his schedule aligns with yours. He’s also the best person to go to if you need a compassionate shoulder to lean on or soft words of encouragement.
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Luke
Luke isn’t a child - well, he is, but he isn’t, not in the exact same way. He’s innocent and childish and sometimes immature, and he does have a lot to learn still, but he’s also lived for thousands of years. Not only that, but he’s also and Angel in Training, and angels need to know the many ways humans struggle in order to be able to accurately help them.
So you might think he wouldn’t notice or know or understand, and he doesn’t know everything, but he gets it a lot faster and more thoroughly than you expected. Besides, human children are smart, too. It’s just easy to underestimate them.
If he knows, Simeon knows. Luke isn’t in the habit of spilling secrets (though he isn’t refined in the art of keeping them, either), but something that feels so serious prompts him to get help. Simeon understand his desire to help, though, and makes sure to give him pointers on how he can help.
Luke isn’t the one you can expect the subtle kind of help from - he’s not very good at hiding the way he keeps glancing at you, and sometimes he asks you if you want some of his newest sweets before faltering and second guessing himself. But he does offer you a sort of wholesome, unhindered care that makes you want to stay on track with your recovery, which makes up for the tact he lacks.
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juniorgman187 · 3 years
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The Bones (Reid Series) Part 2
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Summary: After doing an even deeper dive on Valerie’s past, Spencer finally meets her, but his invasiveness isn’t the worst part ... the worst part is he might actually like her. 
Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier  (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing) Category: Series, Fluff, Soft Angst, Eventual smut and *NSFW content Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC - Valerie Content Warning: invasion of privacy, allusions to Maeve’s death, arrhythmia Word Count: 3.4k
Part 1 |
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* 
After firmly deciding not to weave Penelope into my tangled web, I was met with the arduous burden of conducting my own research. 
Firstly, I would need a computer - yeah ... a computer. That’s how far I was willing to go for this pursuit. I once vowed never to fall victim to modern technology’s clutches, and yet here I was, doing my research on a public library’s computer. To my credit, I hadn’t gone out and bought one, I was merely using my resources.
With the need for a device out of the way, all that was left was the knowledge of what to look for. But that didn’t pose a problem either.
Funny enough, with as many rules and restrictions as there are regarding patient privacy and confidentiality, all it took was matching dates of news stories with hospital records to complete my research. I was fairly certain I was only scratching the surface of information about Valerie as opposed to the sea of things I could’ve uncovered if I asked for Garcia’s help, but there are only so many lines a person can cross in one week. 
This was my limit.
Call me naive, but I was actually quite surprised with just how expansive the internet is. To an almost relentless degree, I would open an article and it would lead me to ten more about the same topic. It was this never ending rabbit hole that seemed to spiral on forever. I kept digging deeper and deeper until I could no longer dig. 
I’d officially hit rock bottom. 
It took me a grand total of just two hours to unearth all the ‘dirt’ I could on a young Valerie Bishop. 
Local 16-year-old Wins Nevada’s Statewide Art Contest! Published by Henderson Press. 
Valerie, just a sophomore in high school at the time, was donning what any experimental teen girl would’ve worn in the early 2000s - bootcut jeans and a sequin blouse over top of a plain camisole. And if I zoomed in close enough, I could spot the evidence of a sparkly blue shadow coating her eyelids. Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t the first thing I noticed. 
It was that smile. That tooth-achingly sweet smile. 
Though I never got the chance to see Maeve truly smile, that’s what I imagined it would look like. 
The photographer must’ve caught her midway through a laugh, at least that’s what the image of her slightly open-mouthed grin told me. Meanwhile, her two tiny hands were clenching her overbearingly large trophy while her artwork stood behind her as the background.
It didn’t take me long to figure out why her painting won. Simply put, there was no need to see anyone else’s art to know that they couldn’t possibly compete with hers. 
Hers was an abstract rendition of what I believe to be a forest of some sort. The detail is what I was most drawn to. It would’ve been unbelievable on its own but the fact that she was 16 when she painted it? That’s what was unbelievable to me. 
If that’s how talented she was at that age, I could only imagine how much more talented she became with time. However, I lost the chance to investigate the current state of her skill before a related article from The Cleveland Gazette about Valerie succeeded this one. 
From Award-Winning Artist to Henderson’s Hero
Read my interview with 17-year-old Valerie Bishop to find out more about her struggle with arrhythmia and how she turned her pain into a project! 
By Kelli Gallagher from the Cleveland Gazette. 
Gallagher: Thank you so much for letting me interview you, Valerie. 
Bishop: Of course! I’m happy to. 
Gallagher: You’ve become somewhat of a hero in Henderson, Nevada, haven’t you?
Bishop: I wouldn’t call myself a hero ... but if everyone else wants to - I’m fine with that. (laughs)
Gallagher: Don’t be so modest! I mean, what you’ve done is so incredible, and you’re only what? Seventeen?
Bishop: Yes, ma’am. I just turned seventeen this past August. 
Gallagher: Wow, I can’t believe how young you are and yet you’ve already accomplished so much. I saw that you won a statewide art contest last year. Tell me more about that. 
Bishop: That’s a funny story actually. My Grandma Sheila was the one who entered me in that contest. I didn’t even know about it until I won it. She’s always surprising me, though. In fact, she’s the one that surprised me with my first ever art supplies, when I was about eight or so. They were these super expensive oil paints, and I knew she couldn’t afford them, so I told her we should return them and get something cheaper, but she said, “Nonsense. When the bones are good the rest don’t matter. A house don’t fall when the bones are good.” That was kind of her saying. 
A house don’t fall when the bones are good. 
The bones. 
Gallagher: I’m interested to know more about your relationship with your grandma. If I’m remembering correctly, she was also diagnosed with arrhythmia a while back too, right?
Bishop: Yes, she was, but that’s never slowed her down. And as for our relationship, my grandma and I have always been close, but arrhythmia, in a weird way, has brought us even closer. She has always been my biggest supporter and the fact that we’re both on this journey together makes her my biggest supporter even more so. 
Gallagher: Absolutely. Now, I also heard that you’ve started a fundraising program to possibly start a gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. If you don’t mind me asking, why Virginia Beach? Is there any special significance? 
Bishop: Actually, that’s where my grandma met my grandpa, and they got married and started a family there, too. So if Grandma Sheila hadn’t been there to meet him, she wouldn’t have had my mom, and that would mean I wouldn’t have been here either. I like to think Virginia Beach is where it all started. In a way, it’s where my bones are. That solid foundation in Virginia gave me everything I have today.
Gallagher: That is just incredible. I’m so glad to see your fundraising project is thriving, but I can’t imagine any of this has been particularly easy for you. You were diagnosed right around the time your senior year was starting right?
Bishop: Yes ma’am. 
Gallagher: So what brought you from Henderson to Cleveland?
Bishop: Well, actually, I didn’t want to move, especially not before I graduated, but Cleveland has the best cardiovascular hospital in the country and my health is far more important than graduating in the same state I grew up in. So when my parents were willing to move me and my sister out here, I saw it as a privilege rather than something to be sad about. 
Gallagher: I am so inspired by you, Valerie.
Bishop: (laughs) Really, why?
Gallagher: Despite everything that’d been thrown at you, you are still so grateful. I hope you never lose that. 
Bishop: I promise you I won’t.
Gallagher: So one last thing before I go, what is one hope you have for your future self?
Bishop: I hope, future self, that your ‘bones’ are still strong.
Gallagher: Beautiful. Thank you so much again for doing this, Valerie. I sincerely hope you reach your goal and you get to open up that gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. 
At the bottom of the article, there was a footnote from Kelli Gallagher. 
Exactly 10 years later, Bishop was able to move to Virginia Beach and open up her gallery and studio. 
By the end of the article, I felt a genuine sense of pride for Valerie, and I know I had virtually no right to know these things about her, but I could still be proud of her for them right?
I would never fully get my answer to this question before I crossed the final boundary. 
After exhausting all that I could gather from the internet without Penelope’s assistance, the only thing left for me to do was actually meet her in person. However, this would prove to be a bigger obstacle that it seemed. I decided to delay the daunting task until the next day. A decision partially influenced by the phrase, ‘sleep on it.’ I prayed I’d gain clarity on what to do when I woke up the next morning, but even with a night’s rest, I was still undecided as I drove to Virginia Beach once more.
To sit in my car that was conveniently parked right in front of the gallery was a poor choice. Because with every passing second, the temptation to walk in grew, but the fear of regret dampened those impulses. The more I thought about it, the more I psyched myself out. Between my two choices, to freeze or to fight, I should’ve taken the third - to flee. But I was here now and I couldn’t leave empty-handed for a second time. 
After a moment’s indecision, adrenaline coursed through my veins to give me the courage to get out of my car. When I felt an outdoor breeze blow over me, I knew there was no going back now. Right when I walked in, the little bell above the door rang, solidifying that I was officially crossing the threshold, and whether I liked it or not, she was going to see me after hearing me walk in.
“I’ll be right with you!” A small voice called out from somewhere in the back. She was hidden from my immediate sight, and somehow that made it so much worse. It was now I that was waiting for her, instead of her unknowingly waiting for me. 
As though I were prey getting ready to escape a predator, I stayed put by the door. It gave me a full view of the entire place anyway. 
Scoping out my surroundings, I spotted the paintings that were carefully measured and placed on the walls, almost to perfection. I had no time to notice anything more before the person in the back walked out. 
Immediately when I saw her, I knew.
“You’re … not Valerie.” I couldn’t help sounding so disappointed but luckily, the woman that came out took no offense to my observation. 
“No, I’m not,” She laughed. “But I can get her for you-”
“No wait!” I uselessly leapt forward to stop her from saying, “Vee! There’s someone out here to see you!” But that’s precisely what she did anyway. Evidently oblivious of my previous protests, she politely smiled back at me. “She’ll be right out.” 
For the second time that day, I waited with bated breath, anxiously anticipating the arrival of Valerie. And I was almost too focused on subduing the pounding of my heart to realize that she was actually walking out of the back right now. 
“Hi, sorry about that!” A new voice chirped. 
Valerie. 
The moment I laid eyes on her, it became clear to me that the pictures in her files hardly did her justice. Nothing could compare to the real sight of her. I was only able to catch the profile of her face when I saw her in the cafe, but in her entirety, I began to wax nostalgic. Though her face and hair and body had transformed into that of a grown woman’s features, I could still identify the same tooth-achingly sweet smile that a younger Valerie once wore on the front page of the Henderson Press. She was no beast to conquer, she was just a girl, smiling at me in that same gentle way. 
Her expression just as well showed no indication of recognition, not that she would recognize me, considering my letter was anonymous and unless she pulled the same stunt I did, she wouldn’t ever recognize who I was. 
“I’m Val,” She made her greeting to me while untying her dirtied waist apron, and it was merely the action that caused my gaze to fall to her hips, but when she shed the apron, I was still staring. There was something sort of mesmerizing about the way they swayed as she approached. It wasn’t until they stopped swaying completely that I realized they did so because there was no more distance to advance - she was already right there in front of me, patiently watching me stare. 
“Val?” I blinked hard to revert my gaze while also playing into the part that I had no idea who she was. 
“Mhm. Short for Valerie,” She confirmed happily. “Like the Amy Winehouse song.” 
This time, I genuinely didn’t know what she was referring to, and my confused countenance prompted her to clarify, “You don’t know that song?” 
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she began to playfully sing, “Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water ...” 
While she watched my face and waited for the recitation of the song to jog my memory, I was just as much studying her face. I could tell she was only kidding when she sang, evidenced by the laugh that followed her rendition, but it sounded so unironically good that I had to question what other talents she possessed. 
“Um, I was actually thinking more like Valerie, the martyred medieval saint, whose name stood for strength and health.” No sooner than the words spilled from my mouth did I recognize the freudian slip - the simultaneous coincidence and confession. The coincidence was that, now, with Maeve’s heart beating in her chest, she lived up to her name - she was newly strong and healthy. But I worried, she would see the correlation I drew between her name and her successful transplant and would realize that I knew more about her than I let on. Did I just give away too much?
“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier. What was it?” Her casual dismissiveness of my previous statement did nothing to ease my worries. Was she beginning to piece everything together?
“Oh, right!” I said dumbly. “S-Spencer. I’m Spencer.” I was such a blubbering bundle of nerves that I actually reached out to shake her hand - a stranger’s hand. 
“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” She softly laughed, which was hopefully not out of the enjoyment of seeing me squirm. “What can I do for you?” 
A loaded question, don’t you think? What can you do for me, Valerie? Well, for one thing, you could’ve answered my letter, but to say something as bold as that would require me to admit the real reason I was here, and how could I do that without mentioning how I found you in the first place?
“Um ...” Whose birthday is the soonest? “My friend Emily’s birthday is coming up and I was wondering if I could possibly buy a painting from you as a birthday present.” 
There was the faintest perceptible skepticism in her expression, but that could’ve just been my paranoia talking because in the next breath, she didn’t suggest a proclivity to my deceit. “Yeah, of course! Do you know what her favorite medium is? Or her favorite artist? Or her favorite style of art?” 
For every addition to the question, I wordlessly shook my head no. Was my lie already unraveling? Could she see right through me?
“No worries. If you want, you can walk around the gallery and tell me if you see anything you think she’d like.” She made her offer to me sweetly, then disappeared into the back room again. I tried to follow her with my eyes for as long as I could, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t see very far into it. I wandered a little further into the center of the gallery to possibly catch a glimpse of what was occupying her time back there, but when I heard the chattering of two voices, Valerie and the other woman, coming from the same general direction, I realized I was completely alone in this part of the studio.
With no one around to bear witness but these portraits, I could’ve easily slipped out and made my escape, and I might’ve even done it had it not been for the unmistakable gravitational pull forcing me to stay here and walk about the room. 
Making my way throughout the gallery, I would pause every now and then when a painting would stand out to me, which was often, considering each picture was impressive. 
But there was one painting in particular that piqued my interest. It made me feel something I’d never felt before. 
It wasn’t special by any means. By rights, I shouldn’t have even noticed it, for it wasn’t the largest painting, nor the smallest one - it wasn’t even the most average painting. But it felt exceptionally ... Valerie. I had no doubt in my mind that she painted this one - in fact, I had a good bet that she painted most of these portraits, if not all of them - but this one. There was just something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on. 
“So,” A draft was created from where Valerie swiftly and unexpectedly joined me at my side. “What do you think?” 
“Um, there’s definitely something,” I struggled to find the word. “appealing about this one.” Almost as soon as the word came out of my mouth, I knew it was only a matter of time before she called out the inadequacy of my answer. 
“Appealing?” She repeated in mockery. “That’s the best you got? Come on, you’ve been standing here for like ten minutes. There must be something about it you like.” 
“I’m not sure.” I honestly admitted with a shrug.
“There’s no wrong answer.” She assured me, but I found that hard to believe. 
“So if I said I see a grizzly bear attacking a UFO, that wouldn’t be wrong?”
“Nope,” She popped the p. “If that’s how you interpret it then that’s how you interpret it. Just because someone else sees it differently, doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” It would’ve sounded like complete bullshit or nauseatingly cheesy coming out of someone else’s mouth, but her delivery felt so genuine. It actually moved me. 
As she said this, she turned her head in my direction to look up at me, causing her shoulder to brush my upper arm, sending a wave of goosebumps all over my body. 
She was so close. 
But I was so unbothered by her proximity that I didn’t even notice exactly how close she really was. If someone else had invaded my personal space like that, I would’ve moved in the opposite direction just on instinct, but I didn’t even think to do that with Valerie. I was so comfortable with her being there. 
But was that just because a part of her was once Maeve’s? Was the entire foundation of my likening to Valerie built upon that single attribute?
Was that my bones?
“Um,” I began fidgeting with my hands to self-soothe. “I like it. I don’t know why. But I like it. How’s that for an answer?”
There was a pause before her response that compelled me to look at her, but when I did so, she was already looking at me. “I’ll take it,” She nodded. “It’s the biggest compliment to me if my art can make you feel something.”
Was it the art that made me feel something ... or you?
“I’ll tell you what,” She walked over to grab something from the front desk. She came back with a small piece of cardstock. “I’m going to an art exhibition next weekend. Why don’t you come with me and see if you can’t find something for Emily there?”
She handed me the paper, which was actually her business card. “You don’t have to have an answer for me today, but call me when you do.” She seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, but I still had more questions. 
“You’re inviting me?” was the first question that came to mind, albeit the dumbest one.
“Yeah, you can be my plus one.”
I gulped to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Like-like your date?” 
She furrowed her brows with mild confusion. “Um ... sure, if that’s what you wanna call it,” which was the last thing she said to me before vanishing within the back room again. 
I peered back down at the card and tapped it gently on the palm on my hand as though to register its presence really being there. 
For all intents and purposes, this card was meaningless. But to me, it was the formal consenting - nay, invitation - to reach out to her again. She was willingly extending this line of contact to me. 
No more public library computers. No more files. No more ‘research.’ Just her number - a way to reach her without veering off my moral compass. 
Despite this, I still had no clue whether or not I was going to accept her offer.
All that I did know was that I wanted to see her again. 
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* 
PART 3 COMING SOON!
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callmewishful · 3 years
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Power and Grace
This is kinda scary. Soo...I’m totally late to the FE3H bandwagon, but here I am and I offer a fanfic. 
Felix x OC, mild language (cause Felix...), and mild smut later on in future chapters...hopefully you enjoy! :) 
“We’re old friends, not strangers.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She sat on a wooden seat next to the edge of the ship feeling the salty air lightly coat her face. The air was getting cooler as they went, a surprised, but sure sign they were close to their destination. That, and the view of land in the horizon.
It had been years since she visited the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, three if her memory wasn’t failing her. Her family had tried to visit the Crown Prince as much as they could following the Tragedy of Duscur. Unfortunately, with their own Kingdom to run and heir to prepare for the throne, her father couldn’t get the family over to Faerghus as much as they would’ve liked.
The Leighton’s still kept in touch with their Faerghus friends as much as they could. She had corresponded with the Crown Prince through letters in their separation. They started very cordial, asking about their respective territories, how the harvest was doing, and, from the Crown Prince, how her family was. The more they wrote to each other the less professional and awkward their letters became. The Crown Prince would write about activities spent with friends and, around the time of the Tragedy, his sadness at losing his family. In return, the Princess would write about mischief herself and her brothers would get into and would try to comfort the Crown Prince as best she could. Having not lost any close family herself, she found it difficult to truly empathize with him. Still, she listened and comforted as best she could from afar.
“Your Highness, we are preparing to dock and will arrive on Faerghus territory in the next twenty minutes.”
She broke her gaze from the shoreline to meet the knight, “Thank you, sir. I shall prepare my things.”
A mixture of nerves swirled around in her stomach as she grabbed her luggage from her room. It would be lovely to see the Prince in person, to finally meet these friends she heard much about, to study at the Officers Academy amongst them. On the other hand, she was not a Faerghus noble. She hadn’t grown up with these students, really except for one, she didn’t have the luxury to call them friends. Not to mention she was starting the term late, a last-minute addition, a special request from the Crown Prince himself.
It was thrilling to join the Officer’s Academy, despite the nerves. Her eldest brother and heir to the throne, Quentin, had went six years prior and raved about the training he’d received. The palace knights back home were lovely sparring partners but did leave something to be desired as she grew older. Her father had tried to bring in many different trainers for his four children over the years. Still, according to Quentin, nothing compared to the training at Garreg Mach.
Of course, joining the Officer’s Academy and increasing her training was not the only goal for this year. Faerghus had been a loyal and reliable ally to the Kingdom of Zelshire under the rule of the late King. While the Crown Prince was close to her family, the current Regent, Grand Duke Rufus, did not appear as interested in maintaining a close relationship with her home crown as the late King had. Though she was certainly not as skilled in the art of negotiations as her eldest brother and father, she had been asked to discuss the relationship with the Crown Prince, seeing as he would take the throne back over when he became of age. Of course, it would be ideal to maintain the years of friendship, trade, and alliance that had come from Faerghus, but the King was resolved to accept if that would no longer be the case under the Crown Prince’s rule, if such a thing was even on the forefront of the young Prince’s mind.
She was sure the task of ascending to the throne was daunting enough, without thinking about inter-country relations.
Once again topside, she stood with her accompanying knights to await docking. The banners of Faerghus drew nearer and whether she was prepared or not, the time had come to face Fódlan, and her old friend, once again.
The crew spent a few moments docking, tying the ship to dock and lowering the anchor and ramps, before her feet were allowed to touch land at last. It had been a long two days on the sea, and she was eager to not feel the constant sway of the ship.
A few meters back from where the crew was unloading, she caught sight of familiar blond hair and light blue eyes. The Prince had changed greatly since she’d last seen him. His hair was a bit shorter, though not short by any means. He was taller and more evenly toned from training he’d done since her last visit. Truth be told, he’d grown into a fine young man in the last three years.
Once the knights had deemed the situation to not be an ambush, something she had briefly considered but took little worry in considering she was not the heir to Zelshire, they walked her forward to greet the Prince.
He easily returned her smile as she approached, also returning her bow even though she was no heir. “Princess Leighton! It is an honor to see you again!”
“Please, your Highness, the pleasure of this meeting is all mine! It has been a long time.”
“Three years…” He trailed off, staring down at the ground before meeting her gaze with a perky smile once again, “Shall we make way to the Monastery? It is quite a long trip; we shall have plenty of time to catch up on the road.”
She nodded to him, “Of course, your Highness. How long of a ride is it to Garreg Mach?”
“About a day. I apologize for forcing you to travel so long with no break. I know the trip from Zelshire to Faerghus is not a short one as well. We shall arrive at the Monastery late Sunday night. I apologize as it doesn’t give you much time to prepare before our classes take up Monday morning.” He looked sheepish as he rubbed the back of his head, a nervous habit he’d seemingly picked up in their time apart.
“No need to apologize, your Highness. You did not make the travel arrangements.” That had been tasked to her father’s Consort, Lord Herinby. The Consort had left little time for pauses in travel and rest, something she had not realized until the day she departed. Knowing the Consort, she should’ve known. He was never one to procrastinate or delay meetings, discussions, or counsels. It was a trait that her father valued greatly in his Consort, but one that she was having a hard time appreciating as a traveler.
The knights she traveled with loaded her luggage onto a cart while, embarrassingly, the Prince himself helped her onto her horse. Not that she didn’t appreciate his gentlemanliness but seeing as he ranked higher than her on the nobility structure she found his assistance to be a grave break in social structure. Her face brightened as she took his hand to steady herself. They shared an awkward, well for her, glance before she settled herself upon the steed.
He quickly made work of getting on his own horse and checked on her once more before signaling to the knights they were ready to depart. A small group of knights led the travel party and an equal group brought up the rear so that the Royals were protected on both ends. She noticed the Prince carried a sword on his hip as well. When she’d known him years ago he’d greatly favored the lance to the sword, the sword being her specialty instead. Apparently much had changed.
“I trust your father is well?” The Prince awkwardly made small conversation when they were out of town and on the road. This was destined to be a long ride of conversation was going to be this stale.
Nevertheless, she put on a graceful smile and nodded, “Yes, excellent health, praise Goddess. Thank you.”
“And your brothers?”
She let out a soft laugh, “Are much the same, your Highness.” That part was almost painfully true. Quentin was still a “good little Prince” dutifully and eagerly learning from their father. As he’d grown older he’d taken on more responsibilities of his own, slowly gaining more independence. He was far from running the country, but he was getting there.
Arlington, the second eldest, was still clammed up and reserved. He had few friends his own age but was incredibly close to the ones he did have. Parties were still the bane of his existence as he preferred the serenity of a library or study. Though he lacked in conversational skills, he was intelligent well beyond his years from a life spent studying. He was looking to become a scholar and teach the youths.
Leander, her youngest oldest brother, was the exact opposite of both of the elder two. If Quen and Arlie were polished and gentle, Lea came in like a flaming cannon ball. Ever the jokester, he was constantly playing pranks on the older two, and herself. He was loud, loved crowds, and was the life of the party. Her father and mother had tried on numerous occasions to guide him towards a more “proper” means of communication, but alas he was 18 and had yet to find another volume to his voice.
The Prince laughed in earnest, no doubt having his own memories of her older siblings. “I am glad to hear it. May I make a request?”
His question took her by surprise. She wasn’t sure what about her responses could’ve elicited a question. “Of course, your Highness.”
“Please, address me by my given name.” He softly smiled at her. “You don’t even address me so formally in your letters anymore. We are old friends, not strangers!”
She glanced down quickly before peering up at him to return his smile, “As you wish you- Dimitri. But you must do the same! We are old friends, not strangers.”
“As you wish, Evy.”
From that point on, the conversation turned much more lively, just as it was in their letters. Dimitri asked her about Lea’s latest pranks, which turned into a hysterical recount of his latest and greatest jokes. Poor Quen was mortified to his “potential suitor” a ruse put on by his younger sibling. Evy had little idea of what was in the letters Quen had sent to “her” but judging by the sheer horror on her brother’s face…it was not good. Lea claimed he would never the destroy the letters as long as he lived, even though their Father threatened a harsh punishment if they were ever leaked.
They stopped for a very late dinner and sleep at an inn on the side of the road before rising early for breakfast and more travel. Dimitri assured her there was not usually this much travel at the Academy and she could only hope he was right. Sleeping on a comfortable bed was the only thing she could think of. Her eyes were heavy much of the morning, which did not make for conducive conversation. After lunch and tea, she felt more awake and ready. It was unusual for her to feel so tired so late. She usually an early riser who liked to jumpstart the day.
“Dimitri?”
“Yes?” He seemed surprised at her voice. Conversation was low and inconsistent throughout the morning while she tried to wake up, instead letting a more comfortable silence fall between them.
“Will you tell me about my classmates? What are they like?”
“An excellent question! Well, let me think.” His brow furrowed as he tried to place where to start, “Actually, you do know one of them! Do you remember Sylvain Gautier? He is a few years older than us. Good friends wit-“
“Leander right? The red-head who was helping with jokes and chasing girls?”
Dimitri nodded, “The very same.”
“Oh noooo!” She let her head fall back while her companion laughed at the reaction. Sylvain and Leander had hit it off. The pair ran around Fhirdiad pestering the poor people in the capital city with their pranks and jokes. Her poor mother left in charge of trying to track the pair down while her father and older brothers spent time with Dimitri. He’d even came with Dimitri to visit them in Zelshire one summer. What a mess. “I take it he’s still the same?”
A small frown fell on the Prince’s lips once his laughter had died down, “Unfortunately so. He’s stepped back from pranks and has, uh, taken more to…skirt chasing than he did back with your brother. Pardon my bluntness. Still, once you get to know him he is very loyal to his friends, not necessarily the women he dates, but definitely to his friends.
“Who next? I suppose I should start with Dedue. I’m sure you’ll meet him first.”
“Dedue is your friend from Duscur?” Evy had heard about Dedue many times over the course of their conversing. For the first few months after the Tragedy Dedue seemed like Dimitri’s only real friend around the palace since Sylvain and everyone else lived so far away.
“Oh, yes, of course! I suppose I have talked about him from time to time. He’s a great man. A little too keen on my protection at the expense of his personal safety, but he’s my most trusted confidante.
“Did you ever meet Rodrigue while you were in town?”
She shook her head.
“I couldn’t remember if you had or not. Lord Rodrigue is the head of Fraldarius territory to the east of Fhirdiad. His son, Felix is also a part of our class this year. Um…what to say about Felix. He comes across as a bit brash, well, truthfully he comes across incredibly brash. He’s got a bit of a sharp tongue, you see. He can seem very cold and distant on the outside, but he cares deeply about his friends, he just doesn’t show it as traditionally as most people. The majority of his time is spent training and sparring. Since you both favor the sword, I’d expect him to ask you to spar shortly after meeting him. He’s a very worthy opponent and will be a great mentor for your training if you so desire.
“The last male of our house is Ashe. He was born a commoner but was adopted by Lord Lonato at a young age. He’s very authentic – has a wonderful heart in him that I could only dream of having. He sees the good in everyone and cares very deeply, always approaching people and tasks with eagerness and excitement. Unfortunately, he just lost Lord Lonato last month.”
Evy didn’t know Ashe personally, but her heart broke for him. The way Dimitri described him made him seem like a ray of sunshine. She couldn’t imagine how hard losing family must have been, “Oh no. Disease?”
“Ah, actually, no. Rebellion.”
“Oh!” The response surprised her. Ashe’s adoptive father sparked rebellion, yet he stayed at the Monastery?
Dimitri answered her unasked question, “Yes. Lonato sought rebellion for the death of his biological son. Poor Ashe was in disbelief when he learned of it.”
An awkward silence fell upon them as Evy looked for something to say. What did one say to a situation like that? ‘Sorry?’ That hardly seemed fitting as it seemed Lonato was going about the rebellion as a sort of revenge mission. Thankfully Dimitri spared her and continued,
“As for the ladies of our house, there’s Ingrid Galatea. Her father heads the land southeast of Fhirdiad. She’s very strong willed. Her, Felix, Sylvain, and I grew up together as childhood friends. She was always a bit of a mother-figure, trying to keep Sylvain in line and Felix calm. Ingrid is a strong person and desires to be a knight when she graduates, which will no doubt happen for her. If anyone has the values of a knight it’s her.
“Mercedes is the oldest in our class, a commoner from Fhirdiad, though I believe she’s originally from the Adrestian Empire. Mercedes’ kindness is rivaled only by Ashe. She’s a sweet girl. Has a very positive attitude towards life. Very religious.
“Lastly, there’s Annette. She’s the heir to House Dominic. Annette and Mercedes are very close. She’s quite intelligent and very friendly but can be seen as a bit absent-minded as she tends to get distracted quite easily. All in all, each of them are wonderful people and I’m sure you’ll have no trouble fitting in.”
The corner of Evy’s mouth rose in a small smile at his words. She could only hope this to be true.
Bright and early the next morning, Evy woke for class and got ready. Since she wanted to ensure she had time to get lost on her way to the classroom, she dug out some fruit she’d packed as snacks for her journey. Thankfully she packed plenty for the road and for a sufficient breakfast this morning.
As she was getting her bag packed and ready for classes, she heard a knock on her door. The only one she knew was Dimitri and wondered why he would be visiting so early in the morning, especially when they had class soon anyway.
Sure enough, her chipper blond friend was on the other side of the door, along with a tall, white/gray haired man with a stern expression. Judging by the protective stance he donned, she could only assume that this was the Dedue she’d heard so much about.
“Good morning” Dimitri greeted her, “How did you sleep?”
“Much better than I did at the inn….” Evy said sheepishly.
Dimitri laughed at her joke, rubbing the back of his head again, “I think nearly anything beats the night at the inn. I was wondering if you’d like to join us for breakfast? I figured it’d be nice to share a meal together since you haven’t really met anyone yet.”
Always thoughtful towards others he was. “I would love to, actually. I’d packed some extra  snacks to have as breakfast so I could avoid a lonely breakfast, but this is much preferred. I’ll just grab my bag.”
Dimitri’s eyes shone at the fact of being able to help his friend. “Excellent! I’m glad to have caught you in time.”
She did as she said and grabbed her things for class, closing the door tightly behind her and locking it. Her cheeks burned slightly as she locked her door. Whether or not it was custom to keep them locked she wasn’t sure, but she knew no one here aside from Dimitri and didn’t know exactly how open Garreg Mach was to wanderers.
“Princess Leighton, this is Dedue, the one I’ve told you about since…well, since you left, in truth.”
Evy met Dedue’s sharp gaze and tried to smile. She felt as if he was analyzing her soul as he stared at her. “Please, call me Evyanna. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. The Prince has told me many lovely things about you.”
“Likewise.” He responded. This took her by quite a surprise. Had he meant that Dimitri had mentioned her to him as well? What kinds of things did Dimitri have to say about her? Hopefully they were positive. She didn’t think she put embarrassing things in her letters to Dimitri for fear they were intercepted or read by any of his staff. Perhaps she was over thinking it and in reality he meant it was nice to meet her as well.
Breakfast was lovely overall. It was nice to have good, hot food after her three-day journey. Food at the inn had been hot, but not even comparable to the taste of the food here.
“Woah, woah. Your Kingliness! Who is your new friend here?” A boy with tan skin and brown hair scooted next to her at the table.
Dimitri sent her an apologetic look before turning to the boy, “Princess Leighton, this is Claude von Reigen. He’s the future leader of the Leicester Alliance to Faerghus’ east and the Golden Deer’s house leader. Claude, this is Princess Evyanna Leighton. Only daughter of King Leighton, the ruler of Zelshire to Fódlan’s west.”
“Zelshire, huh? They say the power of the Zelshire army is unmatched. You gotta be one heck of a fighter to come from there.” He complimented, “I look forward to seeing you in combat.”
“Well, hopefully, I can live up to your expectations.”
“She will.” Dimitri interjected, “She was quite a fighter when we sparred a few years ago. I doubt her abilities have faltered.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Claude smirked, “Well, anytime you wanna pick a fight with someone here, you let me know. I’ll be glad to watch. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with some breakfast.”
They said their goodbyes and continued on with their own breakfast. She quickly found that Dedue was not much for conversation, much like her brother Arlington. Her and Dimitri carried all of the conversation until they had finished eating and it was time to head to class.
Another mental note was made as she noticed that the classroom was nearly full by the time they arrived. Apparently the Blue Lions were just of early risers as she normally was. Dedue strolled off to his seat, while Dimitri led her to the front, presumably to introduce her to the Professor. Upon inspection, she couldn’t find a professor though, just another student that Dimitri had apparently failed to mention.
She heard a gasp and quickly found the source of it, “Evy?! Little Evy!” Sylvain pushed himself off of the desk he was leaning against and stood himself right in front of her, pinching her right cheek.
From someone else in the room she heard a faint, “I feel a headache coming on.”
It was impossible to hide her disdain, and therefore she didn’t try. Her face scrunched as he made contact pulling away slightly. “Yes, Sir Gautier. It is…lovely to see you again.” She said when he removed his hand from her face.
“Sylvain! You cannot pinch the Princess’s cheeks.” Dimitri scolded him, but it did little to deter the tall redhead. In fact, Sylvain completely ignored him.
“Sir Gautier?” Sylvain placed his hands to his chest, “You wound me, Evy. Does that summer we spent together mean nothing to you?”
“I believe you have me confused with my elder broth-“
“Lea!” He exclaimed; seemingly have forgotten about the Leighton he’d spent the most time with. “Oh man, how is he? He still up to his old antics?”
Evy weakly smiled, “Unfortunately.”
“Oh man. We clearly have some catching up to do. What’s a guy like me gotta do to take a beauty like you to dinner tonight?”
Instead of replying, Evy turned to shoot a look towards Dimitri.
The Prince smiled sheepishly, embarrassed by his friend’s bluntness, “I speak to him about it often, but it doesn’t seem to help.”
“I can tell.”
Sylvain rose an eyebrow at the conversation he’d clearly missed, “Talk to me about what? I’m just trying to make our new classmate feel welcome.”
“Is that what you call this? How interesting.” She mused with a grin playing on her lips.
Sylvain took a step closer, seriously invading her personal space in an attempt to appear seductive, “Oh, and what would you call it?”
“Making them uncomfortable.”
Someone in the room snorted. Dimitri tried to stifle his chuckles with a fake cough. Sylvain sighed, clearly defeated. “Oh Evy…how I’ve missed your sass.” He rolled his eyes at her and went back to his seat next to a fellow blonde girl whose hair was in a thick, loose braid.
Dimitri continued on their ascent to the front of the room until they stood in front of another student, “Professor-“
Evy shot Dimitri a surprised look. Professor?! This young girl before her?! She couldn’t be much older than Evy was herself and yet she was teaching?
“-this is Princess Evyanna Leighton, our newest student.” Dimitri continued without missing a beat, as if Evy hadn’t looked at him at all.
“Welcome.” The girl spoke, forcing Evy to meet her gaze, “have you received training in war arts before?”
“Uh, yes, Professor.” Evy was trying hard not to stumble over her words.
“Perfect. And your weapon of choice?” The girl wrote down notes.
She smirked at Dimitri as she replied, “The sword.”
This was a look he noticed and rolled his eyes playfully at. “You’ll never convince me.”
“Really? You wore one yesterday.”
“Yes, because it’s easier to carry in long travel. Just because it is easier in one instance does not make a more superior choice of weapon overall-“
A boy donning long, raven-hair that was thrown up into a messy bun, with odd reddish eyes cut him off. “Woah, woah. What are you two arguing up there?” His voice was flat, sharp even though there was no words of malice in the phrase he spoke. Evy assumed this was Lord Fraldarius’ son.
“She’s trying to convince me that the sword is superior to the lance.” Dimitri explained.
“Because it is.” He countered, “Everyone knows that.”
“I am not at all convinced-“
“Fine,” Felix cut him off again, “Everyone who isn’t an idiot knows that.” Yes, this was definitely Lord Fraldarius’ son.
Evy resisted the urge to giggle, giving Dimitri an amused look. The future Duke calling the future Prince an idiot. This was quite an interesting class she was put in.
“Felix!” The blond girl Sylvain sat next to snapped at the boy and gave him a disapproving look.
“I call them like I see them.”
Dimitri sighed, running a quick hand through his hair, “Welcome to the Blue Lion House, Evyanna.”
She ended up sitting between Dimitri and Felix in the second row behind Dedue, Sylvain, and Ingrid. Though she wasn’t thrilled about being behind Sylvain, she was glad it wasn’t the other way around. Something told her that being in front of Sylvain would lead to her learning next to nothing.
They broke only for lunch, which she spent chatting with Mercedes, Annette, and Ingrid. Dimitri and the rest of the Lions weren’t far down the table, but Dimitri had given her space once seeing she was safe in the hands of the girls. Evy assumed he’d stayed close by, so she didn’t end up eating alone.
“Oh, hi Felix!” Mercedes cut herself off, looking above Evy’s head.
She turned to face the boy as best she could, surprised that he was going to be joining their conversation.
“You said you favor the sword?” Felix asked her, completely forgoing any sort of greeting. His face was set in a hard gaze, still studying her with an interest she couldn’t quite understand. He’d just met her and this was the first time he’d talked directly to her.
“I do.” She replied, but before she could add anything else he spoke again.
“Good. You, me. Sparring after class. I’ll show you the training grounds.”
Evy opened her mouth to reply, but he stalked out of the room before she even got a breath out. Instead, she turned back to her lunchmates, “He’s an…interesting guy. Is he always that way?”
Mercedes giggled while Ingrid shook her head in defeat, “Yeah, Felix is always like that. He spends most of his time training. If he’s not eating, sleeping, or in class, you can always find him there.”
Evy nodded in response, having nothing else better to say to Mercedes’ statement.
True to his word, Felix showed her training grounds after class, as well as the rest of her new classmates. Felix shot them odd glances as they walked but said nothing. Apparently her mates wanted to see how she was in battle for themselves. Remembering her earlier conversation at breakfast, she wondered if someone was getting Claude so he could watch as well.
Mentally, she was exhausted. She had trainers in the past, sure. None of her previous instructors had ever drilled major strategy, formations, and army tactics into her head. She had a lot to learn here.
However, when it came to battle, she was fierce. Years spent forgoing the formation names and tactics were spent honing in her skills on the blade instead. Watching the movements of enemy limbs, foreseeing the attacks they’d make, countering, striking…that was what she excelled at. So much so that Felix hit the ground with a hard smack and a frustrated growl.
She stood up straight, breathing hard from their hard-fought match while the class on the sidelines politely clapped. He was good, great even. By far the most difficult opponent she’d faced in her lifetime. A real challenge.
“You bested me.” Felix stated as he stood. Brushing the dirt off of his pants, he picked up his sword and nodded to her. He wanted to go again. She was happy to oblige.
They sparred so long and often that eventually someone found a small chalk board and kept tally on it. Evy 7 Felix 3.
“Your stamina needs work.” Felix told her, removing the sword from her neck. He was correct. The longer they fought, the more tired she got. The more tired she got, the sloppier she became.
Dimitri, however, stepped up in her defense, “Give her a break, Felix. She spent the last three days traveling with little sleep and then was up early for class. She really hasn’t had time to properly rest.”
“Thank you, Dimitri, but Sir Fraldarius is right. My stamina shouldn’t falter this early. There will be times I won’t have proper rest before battles. I need to be in top form regardless.” She carefully dismissed the Prince with a soft smile. Her eyes found Felix’s, a strange expression on his face. A…smirk? No. She was probably delirious from being tired; imagining that the corner of his mouth was curved upward.
Felix rose his sword up, waiting for her to do the same. She did so, waiting on his mark to start again.
“By the way, call me Felix.”
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mohi12 · 3 years
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How do I make money online from home?
Explore handy ways you can keep earning from home, in the long and short term.
There are plenty of reasons to want to make money from home – perhaps you’d like to supplement your main income, keep busy during parental leave, or even start a brand new career. We’ve put together a handy list of 11 ways to make some additional money from home (or in some instances, via the gig economy) – including everything from one-off tasks to ideas that may end up as an additional income stream.
1.Get paid to write online
If you’ve always wanted to be a writer, what better time to start? While a lot of online writing jobs don’t pay, there are still quite a few websites where you can make money by creating high quality, relevant content. You can get started by looking at:
Listverse: a listicle website that will pay $100 per accepted article.
Longreads: a long-form content site that pays competitive rates. The website doesn’t specify the amount paid but other websites and blogs have stated rates of 1,500.
Back2college: a site aimed at older students will pay $55+ per accepted article.
All Pet Voices: a pet website that pays $75 per accepted article.
iWorkWell: a website for HR professionals and SMEs that pays $200 per accepted article.
Loaded Landcapes: a photography website that pays $20-150 per accepted article.
Income Diary: a website focussed on making money online that pays 500 per accepted article.
A Fine Parent: a parenting website that pays $75 per accepted article.
All of these sites only pay for accepted articles, so make sure that you review their criteria and read through the websites for an idea of their existing content and style before you start. Some websites also prefer to receive pitches before the main article.
While a lot of freelance writers have regular clients, writing for some select websites allows you to build up a portfolio, create a niche, and work up to higher-paying and more reliable income, if that’s something that you want to pursue.
2 Become a virtual assistant
If you’re a good communicator, have strong digital skills, and excellent organisational skills, you could work as a virtual assistant. You will need to accurately type at a speed of 80-100 wpm, work well remotely, and adjust to the needs of the business or person that you are assisting, but this is one of the more long-term and reliable options to make additional money.
There are a number of virtual assistant websites like Virtalent and 24/7 Virtual Assistants, offering $10-12ph and 20-120 hours per month. However, these websites typically require extensive experience within the sector before they will take you on. If you’re new to being a VA or PA, you can apply for jobs on jobs websites like Reed, TotalJobs, or Glassdoor.
If you’d like to brush up on your skills or improve your CV before you apply, you can take some free courses that can help you get hired by improving your communication, growing your digital skills, or just learning how to write a great job application.
3 Have a clear-out
If you’ve noticed more clutter than usual – perhaps there are a few boxes that you still haven’t unpacked after moving, or a room that always looks overfull – you can clear out your home while making some money too.
These websites are a great place to start once you’ve identified the items you’d like to sell:
Ebay is a great place to sell anything from garden furniture to old clothes and shoes.
Webuybooks will buy books, CDs, DVDs, and games.
MusicMagpie will buy phones, MacBooks, CDs, DVDs, games, books, and lego.
Cex will buy phones, laptops, game consoles, DVD players, smartwatches, assorted tech, and DVDs/games.
4 Get crafty
If you’re into arts and crafts, you could turn that hobby into an additional income. You can make your own jewellery, homemade cards, print t-shirts, upcycle things around the house, or even make beautiful terrariums to sell on sites like Etsy.
Not all crafts sell well or will make a profit, so before you get started it’s a good idea to check out what’s already on there, how much it sells for, and compare it to what you’d expect for the time, effort, and spend associated with it. You can also see how much competition there is, and decide how you will make your own crafts stand out.
5 Make money by taking surveys
If you’d prefer a lower investment in both time and expense, you can make money by responding to surveys online. You can even do this while you’re binge-watching Netflix. The rewards depend on the website – some offer vouchers but a lot of them also payout via PayPal or directly to your bank.
While it is relatively low-effort, it can also time quite a lot of time to build up your earnings – surveys pay as little as £0.05 and as much as £10 each, with the majority towards the lower end of the spectrum. You can get started with sites like YouGov, Prolific, Swagbucks, LifePoints, Survey Junkie, and OneOpinion.
6 Try online tutoring
Now that schools and colleges have closed, there’s been a huge increase in parents looking for online tutors for their children. If you have in-depth knowledge around a particular subject, great communication skills, and feel that you have the right temperament to keep your students engaged and nurture their interest, you can apply to a variety of online tutoring websites that link up tutors with students. Some focus on academic subjects but others offer the chance to teach music, crafts, and other skills.
If teaching for the first time feels daunting or you don’t know where to start with a lesson plan, we have a range of free courses specifically designed for teachers. They can help you become a better music teacher, plan a great English lesson, or provide a grounding in how to teach online.
7 Sell your photographs
If you’re interested in photography or have lots of photographs on your hard drive, why not try selling them online? Businesses are creating a lot more online content at the moment, so the right images and themes could help you earn some money. Rather than uploading a lot of landscapes and only selling what you have, take a look at the kinds of images that business websites, news websites, and blogs have been using over the last few weeks. Try to shoot images around those themes and stay on top of what’s in demand at the moment.
Stock photography sites like Shutterstock, Alamy, Getty, and iStock take a commission from sales and allow people to find your images based on keyword searches.
8 Get paid to test websites
You can make money by testing out websites and letting businesses know whether or not they’re user-friendly. Small adjustments can make a lot of money for people selling online, so it makes sense for them to get opinions from their target audience, rather than just their own marketing and development teams. You can get paid
5-90 per test or interview, but most tests are around $10 and will be paid directly into your PayPal.
You can get started with these sites:
User Testing
Userlytics
Try my UI
Userfeel
You don’t need to be a digital expert to make a good tester, you just need to answer the questions honestly and understand what you’re looking for. But if you’re interested in brushing up on your knowledge, we have a free user experience course from Accenture to help you understand the
9 Get paid to transcribe audio
Transcription has always been a popular job to do from home – pay tends to start at $20 per audio hour, and how quickly you can transcribe will define the pay per hour worked. The increase in online video content has fuelled a rise in demand for transcription services, but speech to text software is also getting better so it can be a tough industry. Websites such as GoTranscript and Transcribe Me can help you to get started.
10 Start a blog or website
Popular websites and blogs earn hundreds if not thousands through affiliate marketing, advertising, and brand partnerships.
Creating a blog that makes money definitely isn’t a short-term fix, but it could provide income over the long-term if you’re dedicated and willing to learn how digital marketing works. Most successful blogs either get the majority of their traffic through organic search (via a process called SEO) or via social media by building a quality following. If you’re not sure where to start, we have some free courses on digital marketing, social media, and web analytics to help.
11 Put up some gigs on fiverr
Fiverr is a freelancing marketplace that used to advertise the majority of tasks for 5-20 for anything from marketing tasks through to relationship advice. You can browse the categories to see what’s on offer before deciding on what you want to advertise. Most of the work is bespoke, but if you want to scale your earnings it’s a good idea to advertise work that you’ve already done, such as creating a guide or ebook that people can buy as a pdf.
Thank you for reading my article.
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