faylighting

its starting to get warmer, but not nearly as warm as i bet it is over there. its so weird that this year is almost over - it feels like it just started.

its a bummer you haven't heard from any schools yet, but i'm sure it wont be long! i was talking to nancy the other day and she said the same thing. its so exciting you guys applied to the same schools - if anyone is going to make it in the long run, its you two.

i haven't heard back either. i'm not really sure how to feel about going to school in the fall. i've really adjusted to the life of a working woman!

i sometimes still drive dustin to school. he's stopped asking often, though, now that i mention it. he probably thinks he's too old now for a babysitter. he says he misses you guys and asks to say hi to will and el for him.

the rest of the kids are doing okay. i'm not sure how much will and el have told you, or how much the kids have told them, but i think they are still adjusting to high school.

lucas is honestly really thriving. he joined the basketball team, and even though he's totally riding the bench, i'm so proud of the little guy! well, he's not really little anymore, but whatever. steve spent all of august and september practicing with him, getting him ready for try outs. don't tell steve i told you this, but i think he got really invested. listens on the radio every friday night he can't get out of work to hear how the game goes and if lucas got to play. spoiler - he usually doesn't.

dustin and mike joined the hellfire club, which as i'm sure you can remember is run by that one super-senior eddie munson. it's a dnd club (so i'm not really sure where "hellfire" came from, but whatever), so i'm not really surprised. lucas joined as well, but i dont think he's as into it as he used to be. anyways, they seem to be doing pretty good, for the most part.

max is a different story.

i think she's really struggling after everything that happened last year. i'm sure you know, but after what happened with billy, his dad packed up and moved back to california, leaving max and her mom by themselves. they had to move into the forest hills trailer park.

sometimes max shows up at my house in the middle of the night. she says nothing, just asks if she can sleep in the spare room. my dad has been going on more work trips since he's close to retiring, and my mom has been going with him, so i'm usually alone anyways. i never mind the extra company.

maybe she just needs to be around someone who understands what its like to loose a brother.

to be honest, i'm really worried about her. but theres only so much you can help someone with if they don't want to help themselves.

anyways, the rest of us are okay as well. robin is killing her senior year - new crush of season goes to vicki, this girl in band with her. robins convinced shes straight, but steve and i think otherwise.

robs comes by family video every afternoon and helps me and steve out, ranting about all her interactions with vicki that day, whether its a short conversation, a greeting in the hall, or simply just looking at the back of her head in class. honestly adorable!

and steve is doing good as well.

anyways, how are all of you over there? you barely said anything in your last letter! is will adjusting alright? is el making friends? how is joyces job? and besides submitting your applications, how are you doing?

i miss you guys. its not the same without you.

nancy told me shes not coming to lenora for spring break anymore. she said she had too much work. are you guys okay? i know distance can be hard sometimes.

anyways, i'm expecting a lot longer of a letter next time, jonathan byers. i know you've got in you.

-your friend from home that misses you.

★

you woke up today like almost every other day for the past eight months- tangled in your best friends arms.

you mailed off the letter to jonathan yesterday, and you were already eager for a reply. clinging to any sense of normalcy had become your MO.

steves arms were steady around you, his skin warming you in all the right ways. if you leaned back enough you could feel the scrunch in is features against your back that signaled his close-to-conscious state.

a deep sigh left your lips, your eyes still shut as you turned around, nudging into the crevice between his shoulder and neck, lashes kissing his skin. you felt his lips part against your shoulder, his breath fanning against your skin, sending light shivers through your veins.

yours legs were entwined between his, arms secured around each others bodies. you felt steve squeeze you tighter, and you shifted to be pressed impossibly closer.

"mornin'," he rasped sleepily into you. you hummed, hands coming up to scratch up and down his bare back.

"hi," you murmured back, lips pressing against him as you spoke. he let out a quiet groan and squeezed you tighter, your chest pulsing at the contact.

after a few seconds he let you go, pushing himself up to sit on the mattress. you rolled onto your back, eyes fluttering open as you subconsciously bit your lip, watching as he ran his hand through his rustled hair, back muscles rippling as he did so.

god.

he slips out of bed, walking over to your ensuit, flipping on the light as he does so. he closes the door and a few moments later you hear the sound of the shower running. you selfishly wish he had left the door open.

this had been your morning routine almost every morning for eight months.

ever since the fall, the silence in your house from your parents often absence became overwhelming. you had stuck it out for a few weeks, but when your dreams were plagued by memories of giant inter-dimensional monsters and evil russians torturing your best friend as you feared for your life, there was only so much you take on your own.

and steve had the special ability of chasing nightmares away - you assumed you did the same for him.

it started one night in october. you had hosted a scary movie night with robin and steve, and your parents were in new york for the week. robin had left as soon as the movie finished, needing to study for a calculus test the next day. steve had stayed behind to help clean up.

he was about to leave, and you remember grabbing his wrist. he had looked back, watched as you clearly struggled for words.

"steve..." you had uttered, lips parting as you attempted to explain yourself. explain how much you needed him to say with you. how much it scared you how much you needed him. how there was still so much left unsaid between the two of you that it sometimes physically hurt to look at him, even all these months late. after what happened in the bathroom at starcourt, what happened at the hill before you drove back to the mall.

your eyes must've explained it. must've mirrored something he experienced as well. because he simply nodded, dropped his car keys in the tray by your door, and stepped out of his shoes, wrapping his fingers around yours and lead you up to bed.

steve was good like that. he didn't push.

it wasn't like sleepover were foreign to the two of you. its just that a lot had changed since the start of the summer, and you weren't sure what boundaries were in place now, which ones should be.

since then, he had very rarely slept anywhere else. sometimes the two of you switched over to his house, but yours always felt safer, for some reason. maybe it reminded him of better times during childhood, something his own house lacked.

his drawer from the years before had expanded. his toothbrush now sat next to yours in the cup next to the sink, his body wash in your shower, his belongings scattered across your room.

you tried not to think about how domestic it all was.

you hadn't kissed or anything since july. though all of this, arguably, was probably much. much worse than kissing.

you soon rise as well, padding down the stairs and brewing two coffees - one black, one with three sugars. when steve comes down, hair wet and only sporting boxers, your eyes intentionally remained locked on his as you pass him the former mug, looking away as you jog up the stairs to hop in the shower yourself.

when you come down, dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved top, steve is sitting at your kitchen counter, coffee nearly finished and now dressed himself. he glances over at you as you sit in the stool next to him, peering over his shoulder to look at the newspaper.

he nudged your shoulder, lips tilting up, brows pinching. "going for a new scent?"

you frown in confusion, turning your head and sniffing your upper arm. your cheeks go scarlet when you realized you had used his body wash instead of yours.

he chuckles, foot nudging yours as he turned his eyes back to the paper. shaking off your fluster, you clear your throat, walking over to the entryway, grabbing your bag. "ready?"

soon you and steve are sat in his car, windows down as your favorite mixtape plays through the speakers. the new crowded house record filtered through, and you twirled a piece of hair and hummed along to the lyrics of dont dream its over.

when you reached robins house, steve pulls to a stop, and the langley-limbed girl threw herself in, placing herself in the middle seat.

"thanks for the ride, lovebirds," she grins, the nickname resulting in an exasperated shake of the head from steve and a roll of the eyes from you.

robins dad usually drove her to school on the way to work, but he was away this week. luckily, she had two best friends who needed to drive to work as well, and often picked up the slack of her fathers absence.

"sure, robs," you mutter, lips tilting up.

you twist over your shoulder to look at her as steve backs out of the buckley driveway. you scrunch your nose. "okay, so, goal with vicki today?"

ever since robin had come out to you and steve at the end of summer, your friendship had strengthened. talking relationships and crushes with robin was vastly different than it was with carol back in the day, and you weren't as knowledgeable about lesbian dating as robin probably wished, but you tried your best.

this was the one area where steve probably gave better advice than you.

she sighs, opening up her palm. you reach into your purse, grabbing out your makeup bag, holding it out to her. she shuffles through the contents as she replies. "well, theres the pep rally, and the game tonight," she pulls out your contact mirror and a tube of mascara, widening her eyes and she brushed the black over her lashes. "maybe i could strike up some convo there?"

you hum, turning back around to face the front. "totally. thats perfect."

steve scoffs. "no no, you don't want to be trying too hard."

you narrow your eyes at him. "how is striking up conversations trying too hard?"

he sighs. "come on, its robin. her version of striking up conversation is very different than most peoples," he glances back at her. "no offense, robs."

she shrugs, moving on to her other eye. "none taken. what do you suggest then?"

he shrugs. "i dunno, just, like, be yourself."

you snicker. never mind, horrible advice.

robin seems to agree. "okay, first of all, you're literally quoting me to me. second, easy for you to say," she groans when the tube hits her eyelid, a finger coming up to smudge the black off. "you ask out a girl and she says no, big deal. maybe your ego is a little bruised, but if i ask out the wrong girl - bam. i'm a town pariah."

she sighs. "and besides, you get like, a million dates a month. clearly being yourself comes more natural to you," you watch as her brows dip, silently working out the logic in her own statement.

your tongue pokes into the side of your cheek, your head turning to the side.

yeah. steve was dating. a lot. and none of the people he was dating was you.

you supposed you couldn't be upset about it, not really. you were the one who had practically begged him to not speak of it, who shut down the conversation when he had brought it up in the bathroom at starcourt. it was your fault. you couldn't be jealous, couldn't feel even an ounce of envy.

but nothing in life was ever that simple, was it?

every single time you heard him warily utter a new girls name, you recalled the way your lips tingled for hours after they made contact with his.

the only nights he didn't spend with you were when he had dates. sometimes he was out all night and you wouldn't see him until work the next morning. you wouldn't ask, wouldn't wonder whether he had simply gone back to his house alone or...it didn't matter.

sometimes he came home - to your home - late, crawling into bed, wrapping his arms around you from behind. you were always awake, but you feigned sleep. you often wondered if he knew.

you didn't feel a aching throb in your chest. didn't feel your stomach twisting in thick knots. you didn't. in fact, you didn't even think about the dates. i swear.

you didn't ask questions. you didn't let yourself breath in case he smelled like someone else. you just laid there, not letting your mind wander.

you could almost feel the air shift in the car. steves voice sounded fragile as he spoke, clearing his throat. "thats not true, rob."

she raised her brows. "oh yeah? whos the girl of the week then?"

you felt eyes on the side of your head. you didn't look to see which one of them it belonged to. he clears his throat again. "heide. thursday night."

robin hums mockingly. "heide. and tell me, is heide clearly, obviously, 100% straight and 100% into you?"

steve moves in his seat uncomfortably, his body stiff. "um, i mean, 100% is intense, but..."

robin smacks the wand back in the tube, twisting it and throwing it back in the bag. "case in point!" she places the mirror back inside, zipping it close, hitting your shoulder to hand it back to you. you startle, clearing your own throat as you take it out of her hands, rubbing your lips together as you toss it back in your purse.

you let out a breath. "robin, im sure vicki isn't the 'wrong girl'."

"and how, exactly may i ask, do you know that?"

"she returned fast times paused at 53 minutes, 5 seconds," steve interjects, recovered from the dip in conversation. "do you know who pauses fast times at 53 minutes and 5 seconds? people who like boobies, robin!"

you and robin both scrunch your noses in disgust.

"ew, gross, don't say boobies!" she exclaims in disgust.

"its not a big deal, okay? everyone in this car minus her over there likes boobies. princess, back me up here," he looks pointedly over at you.

you narrow your eyes at him, before turning back to robin. "ignoring how gross the way he said it was... i mean, he's not wrong," you shrug sheepishly. "why else pause it there?"

robin groan. "whatever."

steve pulled into the school, and robin sat up straight, spotting a friend. "hey, wait up!" she calls out, grabbing her bag with a beaming smile, leaning forward to place a kiss on both of your cheeks, before hopping out and joining the crowd.

steve lets out a deep breath, driving away. its quiet for a moment, the silence thick.

you suck your teeth. "so, thursday night?"

his head jerks in your directions before refocussing. "uhh, yeah, yeah. thursday night."

you nod, foot tapping against the floor, eyes trained ahead. "am i expecting you back, or...?"

oh my god, shut up! you internally chided. steve and dating was a topic that was completely forbidden between the two of you. not that you had ever verbally agreed to it, but it was supposed to be clear.

he squirms. "um...not really sure yet," he huffs out, eyes flicking over to you. "is that...alright?"

you turn to him instantly, eyes wide. "of course!" you practically exclaim. you wince slightly, turning to face ahead again. "of-of course. whatever you, uh, need, er," you cringe, letting out a small, antsy laugh. "you know what i mean."

god, kill me now.

he lets out a breathy, slightly awkward laugh. "um, sure. yeah."

the rest of the drive was silent.

★

where did steve meet this heide, anyways?

what did she look like? did she look similar to you, or did she look nothing alike? you had never seen the girls he dated. this wasn't like high school where you knew all of them.

did she make him bend over, clutching his stomach as he laughed? did she know what each twist of his face meant, each glimmer in his eyes? no, definitely not.

remember how i said you didn't think about his dates? i lied.

in fact, it was all you could think about, some days.

he would either tell you awkwardly the night before at dinner, faux-casually in the morning in the car, or would wait until robin brought it up. he was lucky that he didn't have to break the news this time around.

every day that steve had plans the night of, you were distracted. sloppy. you put the films in the wrong section, half-hearted and borderline rude to customers, stared off into the distance as you tried to picture what each girl looked like.

linda had dark, brown hair, and beady brown eyes with thick eyelashes. she was bone skinny, and enjoyed reading, but in a cool way.

samantha was blond and curvy in all the right places. she fluttered her eyes up at him from across the table and said the word "like" after every sentence.

you of course, didn't actually know any of this stuff, but your assumptions had become bible.

as you sat behind the register as steve unloaded packages from the staff room, you gazed out the window, conjuring up the new girl. heide.

heide is medium height. 5'5, maybe 5'6? yes, 5'6. she has blue eyes and brown hair, that sits just below her shoulders. she had round cheeks and full lips. she's going to wear a sophisticated blouse and dark-wash jeans. steves going to be impressed she didn't wear something too revealing. hes going to appreciate it. respect it.

they met somewhere cute, like the grocery store. she was looking for oat - no, almond milk, and steve showed up, leaning against the freezer, throwing her his signature charming smile, making a joke so bad and stupid that she laughed anyways. he asked for her digits. she gave them. he called her that same night and asked her out.

"thursday at eight," he would've asked - no, directed. "my treat."

what would they talk about? what could they possibly talk about? no girl could ever understand what you guys had been through the past few years. what was there to discuss - the weather?

you knew how pathetic it looked, how it sounded - but you could hardly care. not when it was your steve. not when it was your fault.

robin had been trying to convince you to go on dates yourself for months.

"come on, it gets to a point," she had pointedly said one night in your kitchen, the two of you sporting glasses of wine. steve was out with tracy that night. he took her to the diner - your diner.

you had sighed, taking a long sip. "i couldn't do it. it would feel...disingenuous."

she groaned. "who cares? just like he's allowed to go on dates, so are you," she frowned. "either you pluck up the courage to take back what happened in the bathroom - or even admit that you want to take back what happened in the bathroom, baby steps - or you move on," she shrugs. "take your pick."

you bit your lip, robin reading the look in your eyes. she let out a breath, reaching across the counter to grab a post it and a pen from her bag, scribbling. you narrowed your eyes, leaning forward to read what se was writing.

"this, is a friend of a friend," she stated, the pen cap between her lips. "he is apparently very hot, very cool, and very single," she finished, handing you the sticky note. it held a phone number, followed by the name james.

her lips tilted. "take back the bathroom, or take hottie james out. choose," she wiggled her brows.

both options sucked. you chose neither.

a part of you selfishly wondered if he was doing it for certain motives - to make you jealous, to try to get over you. a bitter part of you hoped for that. the other bitter part of you conspired that he had just...moved on. that it was just a fluke, a glitch in the system.

but how could that be true? how could that possibly be real, when he spent every night in your arms, looking at you the way he did, smiling at you the way he did, kissing you the way he had back in july.

you could hardly think, brain turning to mush at the feeling of his lips working against yours. he was limp for the first second, but he quickly responded, one hand coming to cup the back of your head to pull you closer, his other to your lower back.

you weren't sure how to explain what you were feeling in this moment. it was like everything just made sense. it just felt right. just like how your body had always molded perfect with his, your lips did as well.

a pit of dread laid in your stomach because of this - because of how right it was. had this always been inevitable? was this always going to happen at some point?

it was almost like he had imagined how you would kiss him so often that he was able to guess right. he kissed you like he had done it a million times before. there was no hesitance, no trace of question or timidness.

it wasn't like walking into a new house - unfamiliar and unknown. no - it was like coming home.

but if that was so - if he was still feeling...whatever, towards you - why hadn't he done anything? what hadn't he fought for you?

the questions towering in your head toppled when you heard the staff door open, steve stepping out, holding a stack of tapes. "hey, think y'can help me put these away?"

you nod, shaking off your thoughts, stepping towards him, grabbing about half from the top. "sci-fi section," he informed as he led the way.

the two of you spent the next thirty minutes putting away the tapes, the ice thawing as you slowly overcame the tension from the morning, speaking mindlessly and chatting about the films.

you did what you did best - pretending it didn't happen. that none of it happened.

★

you had been planing on going to the basketball game at the high school that night, but it had slipped your mind that steve was bringing brenda - someone you actually did know from high school.

total bimbo. steve really knew how to pick 'em.

you had played off a headache. steve hesitated before leaving, asking if you needed him to stay home. you waved him off, saying you were fine.

you were not fine. at all.

so as steve and robin flirted it up with their people of interest at the game, you sat on your couch, watching the cable as you fisted popcorn into your mouth.

you promptly ignored the misery creeping in, the absolute despair at the thought of steve with another girl. back in high school you would feel discomfort at the concept, but now, burning hot envy poisoned your stomach.

once your bowl of popcorn was done, you stood up with a heavy sigh, padding over to the kitchen. you placed the dish in the sink, opening up a drawer to grab a piece of gum, itching to do something with your mouth. you open the top one, and you squint when you spot a folded up post-it in the corner.

you take it out, unfolding it, to see the number of the guys robin had reccomened - james. you swallowed, chewing on your lip.

you were desperate for a distraction. determined to not think about steve with brenda, or heide, or even with you.

you didn't think twice. you walked over to the phone and dialed the number.

★

james arrived thirty minutes later. you were grateful for his haste.

you got into his car, and he gave you a simple nod in greeting. you didn't ask him to take you out - you asked if he was free to hang out. it was clear what this was for.

after a while of driving through the dark, casual conversation being made, he parked in an empty lot. he pulled out a pack, waving it in his hands. "y'mind?"

you shook your head, holding out your hand. he raised his brows as he handed it to you. you pulled out a stick, placing it between yours lips as he just had. he brings a lighter to the end of his, before returning the favor.

its quiet as you both smoke, his hand inching for your thigh. you don't flinch. your mind stays blank.

it's not long before your cigarettes are discarded out the window, and you're sat on his laps, lips ravenously attacking his. in this moment, you think you really like james - because he didn't ask why you called, didn't try to slow it down or get to know you better. that wasn't what you wanted.

james was a good kisser - but he had nothing on steve.

the thought made your eyes water, but you squeezed your eyes tighter, pressing yourself closer to him. he wasn't warm like steve. it didn't feel right.

if the kiss with steve felt like returning home, this was akin to checking into a hotel

when the tears escaped and slipped past your eyes, james pulled away. he took a long look at your face. he nodded quietly. "alright?" he asked.

you nod, sniffling. "i'm sorry," you laugh in a small, pathetic way. "i don't know whats wrong with me." lie, you knew everything that was wrong with you. it was a five letter word starting with a "s" and ending with "t-e-v-e".

he shook his head. "s'alright. no big deal." you thought it was really nice that james wasn't being a dick. if you were him you would be at least a little annoyed.

soon he was driving you back home. this time, he walked you to the door.

you lingered for a second, looking up at him, a nervous glint in your eyes. he considered you.

he leaned forward, placing a soft but firm kiss against your lips. you weren't sure what you had expected him to say, but you felt relieved when all that left his lips was, "take care of yourself."

you swallowed, then nodded. "yeah, you too," you replied quietly. you stood and watched as he walked back to his car, driving away.

you couldn't shower off the shame, the pain that lingered. how steve could do it so easily was beyond you - how he could just be with someone else, kiss someone else.

you felt a special kind of loathing you had only reserved for yourself. not only had you wasted the poor guys night, but you had wasted your own. all of it was your fault. you couldn't forgive it, couldn't forgive that this was all your fault.

because you could be jealous, and angry, and upset with steve all you wanted, but at the end of the day, this was your doing. and that was so, so much worse.

you got ready for bed, laying down in the dark of your room. you weren't sure how much time had passed before you heard steves car pull into the driveway, his footsteps coming up the stairs.

he quietly opened the door, and you heard the dropping of his clothes, the drawers opening as he searched for new ones. a shiver ran down your spine as your mind conjured up images of what he looked like in this moment.

he climbed in behind you. "hey, y'awake?" you waited a second before nodding.

his arms wrapped around your stomach, and he let out a deep breath as he relaxed into you - like he had been holding it all night, like he could finally breath now. "hows your head?"

you subconsciously settle back into him. oh right, you had a headache. "a bit better," you reply hoarsely.

you felt a prickle of guilt again, before a flash of red hot anger. he did this almost every week - crawling back to you after spending the night with another girl. in fact, he was doing that right now. you were allowed to do it once, too. you were allowed.

he hummed, his fingers snaking around your waist. you almost trembled. "good," he murmured, before squeezing your skin. "hey, get this, sinclaire got off the bench."

a gasp escaped your lips, and you couldn't help but twist in his arms. "really?"

he gave you a tired grin. "mhm, and, guess what?"

"what?"

"he shot the winning point."

an elated laugh left your lips. "seriously? oh my god, i can't believe i missed it!"

"i know. kid looked overjoyed. he's spending the night partying with the team," he informed.

you scrunch your nose, yet your smile didn't falter. "wow, he's like a mini version of you."

"oh, come on, he's much better," he teased, causing you to snicker.

"look at you, being humble," you teased back. you didn't even register how your hands had landed around his shoulders, fingers threading at the hairs on the nape of his neck. didn't process how easy the domestic act had come to you, how normal all of this felt - even when you're mad at him. even when you're mad at yourself.

"yeah, well, you know me, princess," he voiced back throatily, eyes dancing with amusement. "always rooting for the youth."

you bite back your smile, shaking your head. its when your noses graze that you begin to understand how close you are to him, remember everything that passed tonight.

your lips part, features going soft yet strained. "steve..."

he shifts, his own smile faltering. "yeah?"

you almost ask. you almost ask how tonight was, how brenda was. whether they had an actual, substantial conversation, whether she made him laugh, or vice versa. whether he dropped her off with a kiss, or if he was going to go out with her again.

you almost admitted what you had recklessly done tonight - how you had met with a stranger and kissed him in his car. how you had started crying because it was a good kiss, but paled in comparison to steves lips on yours. how everything seemed to pale in comparison.

you almost confessed how much you despise that he's dating. that he even knows what other girls tastes like. that picturing him at a restaurant, sat in front of a girl that isn't you, almost makes your chest crack.

you almost ask him to stop, because you selfishly and undoubtably knew that he would do whatever you asked, even if it killed him. you only felt more guilt and self-loathing at these thoughts, but they were real. they were the rawest form of you - steve had the special talent of bringing it out of you without even trying.

he must've seen it - maybe not all of it, but seen where you were going - because his brows pinched in what looked akin to pain, and he subtly shook his head, diving between your bodies, resting in the nape of your neck. his lips softly peppered below your ear, so lightly it could be passed off as nothing. it was never nothing - at least not for you.

you actually did shiver this time. was this his way of telling you? of saying that he still felt it, that it hadn't gone away? that no matter how many girls he took out or took to bed, that it was always going to be you?

your chest aches. maybe he could do it - go out, be with other girls, come back home - but you couldn't. couldn't shake that you had been with someone else tonight, had someone elses lips on yours just an hour ago.

you let out a shaky breath, turning around in his arms, causing his lips to disconnect. you weren't brave enough to pull away completely.

steve got the hint, sighing softly, defeatedly, as he rested back into you, not pressing his lips anywhere else. you didn't let yourself linger on how good his lips felt against you, didn't let yourself regret - you couldn't take regretting anything else.

you couldn't stop feeling the guilt. it was suffocating everything in you.

you felt his breaths even out eventually, soft snores coming from his lips.

you didn't sleep a wink.

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☕ A little extra news: The Writers' Room is open!

Because writing branching code requires an alarming amount of coffee, I’ve decided to open a small Patreon for the game!

Please know there is absolutely zero pressure to join. All That Glitters will continue to be updated here for free exactly as it has been. But if you are enjoying the story and want to support the project (and my caffeine addiction), you can now step behind the velvet rope.

Depending on the tier, you'll find early access to upcoming chapters, behind-the-scenes fun facts (starting with some secrets about Pike!), code snippets, and exclusive polls.

If you want to take a look, you can find the Patreon HERE

Merlin (m). He's old, prickly, sometimes mean... but less so to you than others, which is gratifying. His study is your sanctuary, his wit your sparring partner. You suspect your tutor is hiding a great many things from you, so pursuing him could be a bad idea. But perhaps you cannot resist an attempt to wiggle your way into his affections.

Sir Kay (m). King Arthur's foster-brother and seneschal of his lands. A behemoth of a man; tall, wide, thickly muscled. He's a brute, but he's carried a torch for you ever since you met him. Whether or not you entertain his affections is of course up to you, but the decision might be easier if only he stopped being so cruel to some of the aspiring knights who should be his protégés.

Sir Gawain (m). The bastard brother to King Lot, who's your sister Morgause's husband... small world. He is Sir Kay's best friend, though the two could not be more different. Fair Gawain is charitable, popular with the men at arms and so charming that he's widely known as the Maidens' Knight. Not that he is without his shortcomings; you would know, given he has somehow become a dear protector and confidant. Perhaps you still want him.

Sir Galahad (m/f*). An upstart knight from a backwards province, he should be fated to obscurity, but possesses strange talents and seems to carry a touch of the divine. Sir Lancelot brought him to court, so impressed was he with the young lad. Maybe you knew him long before he was presented to the Round Table, though. Maybe you've seen him in your dreams. If only Galahad, put off by your witchcraft, didn't hate you to the point of obsession...

Guenevere (f), the golden Queen of Camelot. Your brother's wife. She's the most beautiful woman in Albion, and the most talkative, and perhaps, paradoxically, the loneliest. She desperately wishes for your approval, but with the way she acts sometimes, it's hard not to wonder what else she might be wishing for.

Ninianne (f). The Lady of the Lake, ancient and most powerful fairy in all of Albion. She is the mother of Sir Lancelot, has tested your brother's might and appears to share a complicated history with Merlin. She's a mystery and seems to know much more about you than you can be entirely comfortable with.

Friends and family:

Ywain (m). The son you had by the husband you hated. Ultimately, your relationship with the child is up to you, but as he matures, one thing becomes certain: Ywain is nothing like his father. He's his own beast, strange and emotional, diligent and good.

King Arthur (m). Your half-brother who is five years younger than you. He found you, rescued you and now loves you as though you'd known each other your whole lives. He dotes on your son, aiming to provide you both with the best possible life and asking for naught but fealty in return. He's a sanguine, adventurous and chivalrous young man who was pushed in the role of regent extremely early in life, but is bearing up under the expectations.

Blanchefleur de Beaurepaire (f). Your best friend and penpal with whom you entertain a teasing mentorship. When first you meet, she's but a young girl, but already whip-smart, sharp-tongued and too persuasive by half. Over the course of your acquaintance, she has grown into the epitomy of grace and confidence. She still looks up to you.

Sir Perceval (m). The youngest man to ever be knighted at the court of Camelot and easily the weirdest. He's his own brand of innocent; blunt, cheerful and with the attention span of the average housefly. He is Ywain's favorite playmate.

Queen Morgause of Orkney (f). Your eldest sister. You haven't seen her since she married King Lot. You know that she's had two sons by him, but that's about it. Something about her is different, not at all as you remember... but then again, it's been such a long time.

Queen Elaine of Garlot (f). Your middle sister. Much like Morgause, you lost sight of her after her own marriage to King Nentres. She's passionate, wistful and a hopeless romantic. She seems hopeful that your sisterly relationship can be rekindled.

Setting: this is not a precise retelling of any particular Arthurian cycle and lots of liberties were taken with the characters. Albion is a highly fictionalized version of/inspired by 12th-13th century England and Brittany.

*literally.

dividers by @/pixopix; artwork is a commission by the wonderful @/theoasiswinds and the blog's header image is an illustration by Mary MacGregor from her 1907 book "Stories of King Arthur's Knights".

Romantic Rumors

Many cross-friendships spark more than romance; they spark rumors. Researchers have found that celebrity websites often promote the idea that men and women cannot be “just friends.” Andrea McDonnell and Clare M. Mehta (2016) explored this issue in a piece entitled “We Could Never Be Friends: Representing Cross-Sex Friendship on Celebrity Gossip Web Sites.” They note that although psychological scholarship is mixed on the topic of cross-sex friendship, media representations often reflect the homosocial norm, which asserts a preference to spend time with members of one’s same sex, implying that cross-sex relationships are necessarily sexual in nature.

Regardless of individual views on the homosocial norm, many employees can relate to McDonnell and Mehta’s observation that cross-sex friendships can spark suspicion and scrutiny by others who assume such relationships are romantic or sexual. This is true even in a day and age where they are not only common in general, but commonplace in the workplace.

For coworkers, neighbors, or “just” friends who find themselves wondering if there might be the potential to move a relationship to the next level, slow and steady positive development of trust and common interests often evolve not just in the presence of friends and family, colleagues and coworkers, but with their full endorsement. As demonstrated by many couples who have successfully navigated this “dateless” path down the aisle to the altar, easy, comfortable, relationships often develop into healthy romantic, lifelong partnerships of love and respect.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Dunk had stared, unblinking, until Egg poked his side and pointed at a serving girl who'd come to ask what they wanted.

Nearly an hour has passed since. The stew he'd ordered for supper is long since gone, but he's been nursing his second pint of ale as an excuse to stay a while longer and hear you sing.

Normally, Egg's insolence would spike, and he'd insist on heading up to rest. But the boy seems just as taken with you as he is. Egg's fond of the songs, Dunk has learned, has several memorized, some Dunk couldn't even name. And so his squire doesn't complain, and is instead watching dreamily, elbows propped on the wooden table, his chin resting on the palm of his hand.

A lute rests upon your knee, echoing sweet notes coaxed by your deft fingers. Dunk can't recall if you've ever completely stopped playing, for every time a song ends, and you address the crowd, those fingers jump between the strings, lithe and expert.

He finds himself in awe and a little envious. Such dexterity has never come with ease to him. For most of his life, he lumbers gracelessly. It's served him well enough, but watching your skill has his mind escaping to places he'd never thought of before. He wonders how those fingers would fit against his own hands. He wonders if they are calloused from playing, thinks of how they'd feel running slow down his chest. He wonders if they ever tire.

They must, for you've stopped. Both singing and plucking come to a halt as you say your good nights and thank yous. The crowd applauds, his and Egg's among the loudest. You bow, skirts sweeping over the wooden floor, before hopping off the makeshift platform. Dunk's eyes follow you, neck craning up when you disappear behind the counter, exchanging words with the older barkeep. You're ushered into the back, where he assumes the kitchen is located, before he finally loses sight of you.

"Well, ser," Egg's voice breaks through his thoughts. The kid is smiling, like he knows something Dunk doesn't which, in many such cases, does happen to be true. "I suppose it's time to rest now."

"Aye." he stands, slow and careful as he's learned to do when he's in spaces like this, where it feels second nature to shrink and fold into himself.

The gods gave you tallness, so be tall, Lyonel Baratheon had told him.

The words are seared in Dunk's mind, of course, and he does try. By the seven, he tries very hard to stand proud, but tallness is one thing. The width and breadth of him is another. It's a thing of marvel, a quality that gives him obvious advantage, but his mind returns to you and your lithe fingers. The speed at which they move. He feels sluggish in comparison, sidestepping around the tables after his squire.

He can't help but cast glances back to where you'd disappeared, wondering if you'll reemerge. Perhaps you've retreated. Gone some place to rest, gods know you deserve it after such a performance.

Dunk doesn't even realize that he's stopped at the edge of the crowd until Egg tugs at his sleeve, looking confused.

"Ser?"

"You go on up," Dunk tells the boy. Their room is already paid for, and the pair has been through enough to trust each other to stay put.

Egg gets that gleaming smile again, and Dunk has half a mind to give him a soft smack, but the young prince keeps his mouth shut.

"As you say, ser." there's a lilting tone to his squire's voice, which he pointedly ignores. His body, however, reacts as it always does, flushing with warmth. He hopes his ears aren't pink.

Dunk keeps his gaze on Egg's small figure as he retreats up the staircase, noting the slight patch of hair already beginning to grown at the crown of his head. Silver fuzz, nearly translucent in this light, but they mustn't take any chances. He makes a note to shave it in the morning before they leave the inn.

When Egg's out of sight, Dunk sweeps his gaze across the tavern while he waits for your return. Only a few minutes, he tells himself, he'll linger for a few minutes and if you don't emerge, he's following Egg and calling it a night. A copper coin rests in his hand, growing sweatier by the moment, and even sweatier still when you finally reappear, stomping from the kitchens.

Anger sharpens your features, but does nothing to dull your beauty. He blinks, transfixed, openly staring at your incoming form. You are a study of contrasts and color, your clothing bearing no symbols to hint at a true allegiance to any house. Just like him. A traveler, an outcast, bound only to the road and where it shall take you.

The lute is now slung across your back, bound by an artfully crafted leather strap and colorful ribbons. Dunk cannot help but notice the tension of your shoulders, your narrowed eyes. He swears he's swallowed his tongue when those eyes fix upon him, cutting as a knife.

"If you don't mind, ser, you're in the way." The anger that contorts your features also laces your words.

Dunk winces and immediately clears the way. "S-sorry. I only wanted to give you this. For your songs."

The coin arcs in the air when he tosses it, and he watches one dexterous hand lift up in response, catching it perfectly. One look at it softens the stern line of your lips, but does not ease the stiff set of your shoulders.

"Thank you." you nod, pocketing the coin, and walking forward.

Dunk frowns. "Are you—it's raining outside."

"I'm aware."

He follows, clumsily avoiding tables and patrons. "Do you plan on catching your death, then? Why are you leaving?"

You spin to face him, fury written all over your face. "I don't have the coin to stay here. I'd bargained with the inn keep, at least I thought I did, that he'd give me a room if I entertained for the night. But now he's backed out of the deal, so—"

"Well, that's not fair."

Your laugh is cold and acerbic. "Indeed, ser. But what can I do? The bastard's throwing me out."

"I have the coin. I'll pay for your room."

"No, I do not want him earning more money on my behalf."

Dunk doesn't quite understand your logic, but he shares your frustration. It's not right to exploit your talents, and then leave you hanging. "Perhaps if I talk to the—"

"Please, ser, you don't need to do anything on my behalf."

"But I can't just let you go out during a storm! Where would you go? Do you even have a horse?"

"It is none of your business!"

"Please," Dunk lowers his voice, stepping closer as he pleads with you, "The inn keep's done you wrong, but allow me to fix it."

"Well, I already told you, I've no coin to repay you."

"You don't have to repay—"

"I don't want your charity."

Dunk huffs, trying to tamp his frustration. He understands your hesitation, your reluctance to trust him especially after someone else had already broken your trust. But before he can respond, a sharp voice rings out.

"Oi! What are you still doing here? I told you to leave, didn't I?"

The source is the inn keep, a rough, older man with a frown that doubles as an I do not tolerate nonsense warning. It takes Dunk an embarrassing few moments to realize the man is addressing you, not him.

"Is she botherin' you, ser?" the inn keep says, tipping his head up to meet Dunk's gaze.

Dunk blinks, his tongue stumbling over a clumsy lie and praying it's believable before he can overthink. "No, not at all. In fact, we've come to an arrangement, she and I."

He feels the inn keep's appraising glance like a razor's edge. Dunk stands to his full height, and gently rests a hand over the hilt of his sword. It's subtle, but the inn keep's gaze follows the movement all the same.

The rough man grunts when he registers the subtle warning.

"That so?"

"Yes. She's coming up with me." Dunk's not entirely sure where that came from, and the inn keeper's brows furrow in suspicion.

You step in, melting into a simpering, saccharine creature pressed to his side. He feels your hand slip into the crook of his elbow. "Yes, this kind knight has asked for my company for the evening. You wouldn't deprive a strong, hardworking man of a pretty girl, would you?"

The inn keep grumbles, something about indecency and brothels, but ultimately decides that picking a fight against a knight, even a lowly hedge knight, wouldn't be worth it. He backs away with a shake of his head, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Dunk clears his throat. He turns to you, earnest and hopeful. "Erm… That offer was genuine, if you'd take it. You can share my room for the night."

"Why?" your hand doesn't drop from his arm, still playing the part of being paired with him.

"Because it's wrong, what he did," Dunk replies, "And it would be wrong if I let you go out on your own in the middle of a storm like this."

"I do not like being indebted to someone, least of all a stranger."

"Well, I am Ser Duncan the Tall. If you tell me your name, then we would not be strangers. Does that ease your worries, my lady?"

"No," you reply with a snort, "And I do not think knowing one's name means you are no longer a stranger to me."

He shrugs, subtly walking to the staircase and leading you along. "I'd still like to learn yours."

Despite your obvious distrust, you give it. Dunk repeats it slowly, committing it to memory. It's a pretty name. Slightly musical, fit for a bard. He says it again, and reiterates his offer. "Stay in my room. It's only for the night."

"If I do, I should still like to repay you, ser Duncan."

Dunk starts up the stairs, nodding. If this is what it'll take to convince you, then he will accept it.

"I know what you knights want," you continue, falling into step with him, "Men and knights, all the same."

He's heard some version of those words before. The image of Tanselle flashes in his mind, unbidden. Tanselle Too Tall. She had sung and performed about knights too, brave, foolish ones.

What could knights want from a bard?

Songs, Dunk thinks, his lips tugging into a small smile. Yes, he should like a song. He had resigned himself to having none; life as a hedge knight is unsung, after all. It's a lesson he's learned the hard way, but accepted nonetheless. But he's got a bard at his disposal, insisting on some form of payment for his generosity, and he can't help but imagine what sort of pretty tune she'll make for him.

"Aye," he nods when they reach the room, "I do want that."

You nod, smiling with confidence. "As I thought. I've never had any complaints about my abilities, ser. I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

Dunk returns your smile in earnest. Some excitement blooms in his chest. He's not a man of vanity by any means, but the idea of being immortalized through song feels like a dream. In many ways, it is. Only famous knights get the honor.

He can't believe his luck.

"If you're as good as your performance earlier, then I'm certain I will." Dunk says.

You bite your lip, and look away. He thinks it's some attempt at being bashful, which he finds ridiculous. You should be proud of your talents.

The room, located at the end of the hallway, is closed but not locked. Dunk opens the door and finds Egg already asleep on one of the cots, curled around their bag of supplies like he's been guarding them while waiting.

"That's my squire, Egg." he whispers to you.

You've stopped at the threshold, confusion and something close to disgust clouding your features.

Dunk looks back at you, lost. "Is something wrong? You may take the other bed, my lady, I'm in no hurry for tonight."

You glare up at him, suspicious. "Is the child supposed to be here?"

He glances at Egg, still confused. "Aye, I told you he's my squire."

"And in the morning, when I do as you want, is he meant to be in here then?"

"I think Egg should enjoy watching you, yes!" he replies, but it seems to be the wrong answer, for he watches your face twist with horror. You step back into the dim hallway, shaking your head.

Dunk strides forward, closing a hand gently around your wrist before you can get too far. "By the seven, what's the matter now?"

"You're sick in the head. Worse than those pale-haired Targaryens!" you hiss, twisting your arm in an attempt to get away. "Let me go, I'd rather leave than… than do that in front of a child!"

"What?" Confusion, Dunk has accepted from a young age, is simply going to be part of his life. Growing up, regardless of his companion, he's always been the slowest to understand things, the last to connect pieces together. Tonight, he could swear it's the most he's been confused in all his life. "But he's already watched you sing tonight! What difference will it be tomorrow?"

"What diff—what do you mean sing?"

"Isn't that what you'll do? Write a song for me, sing it, maybe write it down so we'll remember it." he says, trying to keep himself from panicking. "A song in return for shelter."

"Oh."

Dunk watches your eyes widen, watches your body go from braced with anger to a slow loosening of limbs. Stands there, stiff and stupid while you laugh, full bodied and loud, a laughter that makes your shoulders shake and your torso curl at the waist, so uncontrollable that it makes Egg stir on the cot.

"What now?" he can't keep the slight irritation from his voice, feeling foolish and lost. Every single moment with you has been a series of blunders, and he's beginning to become frustrated with himself. "Quiet down, or you'll wake the boy."

"Sorry," you muffle the words with a fist to your lips, tears now gathered at the edges of your lashes, "Sorry, I didn't realize you wanted a song."

Dunk glares, halfhearted and tired. "What else would a knight want from a bard?"

"What would a man want from a woman?" you retort, breathless from your fit of laughter.

He blinks. Goes warm, feels blood rush from his head to the tips of his toes, so fast he has to shake his head to reorient himself.

"You thought I wanted to bed you?"

"Don't sound so scandalized, ser, I'm sure I'm not the first woman to have proposed the same thing."

"I'm not that kind of man." he insists, rubbing a hand over his face, "Seven hells, I would have let you stay here for nothing! You're the one who insisted on payment."

For the first time tonight, he's the one who has you stunned. It doesn't come with any semblance of victory, not from the way you seem to deflate. Dunk softens immediately.

"I only wanted to give you someplace to rest." he says, hoping the quiet reassurance in his tone breaks through the seemingly impenetrable walls you've erected. He can't blame you for thinking the worst of people, only try and ease your worries by proving himself worthy.

"And you'll… you'll take a song as payment?"

"Aye," he nods, stepping aside the doorway to allow you space, should you wish to enter. "I'll take nothing as payment, but as you insist…"

He watches you step inside carefully, your boots making no noise. He closes the door behind you, making sure to latch a wooden nail through the hole to lock it. The room is standard fare—two cots, one already occupied by Egg, a small fireplace warming and gilding the outlines of the space.

"I won't harm you," Dunk adds, "I'll take the floor and—"

"I can't let you do that." you protest, gently setting your instrument up against the wall.

"It's all right," he says, pulling out some of their supplies from the bag resting beside Egg, "I've a blanket we use for traveling. Please, just… just rest. I've slept on worse surfaces, trust me."

And perhaps it's the adrenaline of your performance melting away, your anger ebbing into an exhaustion that settles deep in your limbs, but you finally nod. No more protests, no arguing, just acceptance.

Dunk keeps his back turned to you, busying himself by spreading the blanket and a pillow on the floor, to offer you some semblance of privacy.

When he lays down, you're already curled on the cot, staring right at him. He blinks, surprised, and offers you a crooked smile.

Something tightens in his chest when you return it.

"I've never met a knight like you before." the words sound sacred when they're whispered from your lips.

Dunk feels himself flushing again. "I hope that's a good thing."

"It is, ser Duncan the Tall. A very good thing."