#[ SWEET CREATURE ] ophelia

[regnismemorias]

[ 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙨: 𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙖 ]

[softestqueeen]

✧*̥˚ spencer reid fic recs part 3*̥˚✧

a/n: *heavy sigh* another month, another fic rec list! yes, i am insane. also this picture of mgg is literally driving me into oblivion! i need him

✨ favourites

part 1 I part 2 I part 3 I my criminal minds masterlist

✧*̥˚ smut *̥˚✧

bad, bad news by @aliteralsemicolon

it will come back by @parfaitblogs

diphenhydramine by @pathologicalreid

with your hands tied by -//-

gypsophilia; honey by @ophelia-is-complex

accidents by @tinystarbites ✨

like the back of my hand by @spencerreidenjoyer

✧*̥˚ fluff *̥˚✧

sweet creature by @cowboy1ikereid

rite of passage by @foxy-eva

more than a woman by @anniebeemine

eyes in the sun by @planetpedri

market day by @cookiescribble

radiant by @reidmoony-toast

longing for you by @proseandpretrichor

all of the books besides your bed by @tlou-reid

sleep by @mindfullycriminal

✧*̥˚ angst/hurt/comfort *̥˚✧

of anything by @reidscanehand

always, i'll wait by @pathologicalreid

deprivation by @reiding-writing ✨

lucky by @reidmarieprentiss ✨

speciality by @imagining-in-the-margins

please let me be enough by @mindfullycriminal

✧*̥˚ honorable mentions *̥˚✧

him (one-shot series) by @godsfavdarling series masterlist I her masterlist

@mindfullycriminal I her masterlist

if you want your work removed, dm me!

[lees-chaotic-brain]

your dog did what?!

summary: they react to your dog chewing up used feminine products (feat. gojo, shoko, ino, choso, and nanami)

wc: 1.7k

cw: crack, fluff, reader has a period, kind of gross, use of pet names (sweetheart, babe, love), reader is referred to as "my girl" and wears makeup in nanami's part, swearing, gojo just being overly dramatic

a/n: if you would like to see part two with megumi, nobara, yuuji, and inumaki, or would like to see another part with haikyuu characters, look here to see how you can sponsor it!!! also this entire fic is 10000% @pandora-ophelia-blog's fault (jk ily)

jjk masterlist | blog navigation | sponsor a wip!

gojo satoru

“Who’s a sweet boy? Yes, you are! You are! Oooh, what’cha got there, huh? Wanna show daddy?” 

You could hear your boyfriend cooing at your dog in greeting as he stepped through the front door, and you smiled to yourself as you continued reading your book. Then:

“EEEUUUUUGGGGHHHHH WHAT THE FUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKK????”

Your boyfriend came hurtling around the corner launching all six feet three inches of himself into your lap, as he pointed accusingly in the direction he came from.

“BABY. YOUR DOG!!! HE-OH MY GOD I CAN’T EVEN SAY IT!”

He gives a full body shudder and clings to you tighter, wrapping his infinity around his foot and using it to keep your dog away from the two of you.

“BEGONE YOU FOUL BEAST!” He made exaggerated gagging sounds. “GET AWAY FROM US!!”

“SATORU!!” You shouted over his panicked screeching. “STOP YELLING.”

“But babeeeee.” He nuzzled into your neck still fending your dog off with a single socked foot. “You don’t even understand what this HORRID creature did.”

“Get off me you stupid lunk.” You push him off your lap, ignoring his indignant squawking, completely over his dramatics. “What could he have possibly done that’s that bad?”

“HE. ATE. A DIRTY TAMPON.” He flops around on the floor like a fish out of water, unable to find a better means of properly expressing his disgust. Your nose scrunches up, and you look down on him with annoyance.

“I mean, yeah it’s gross. But it’s not like he hasn’t done it before? It’s just kind of a thing that some dogs do.”

“WHY ARE YOU SO CALM ABOUT THIS???”

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, your dog leans down and licks your boyfriend's face, dangerously close to his mouth.

“AAAAAUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

shoko ieri

“We’re returning the dog.” 

You look up from your phone as your girlfriend enters your bedroom, shedding her lab coat. Setting your phone down next to your pillow, you stand and give her a kiss. “Hey. Watch it. That’s our child you’re talking about.”

She huffs, leaning against you as you give her a hug. “Then I assume you haven’t seen it yet.”

“Seen what?” Wordlessly, Shoko takes you by the hand and leads you to the bathroom, opening the door and revealing the state of your bathroom. “This. It looks like shark week in here.”

You choke back a laugh at her phrasing, taking in the disaster that your bathroom currently was. Just then, your nine month old puppy trotted in wagging, excited that his entire family was home. Scooping him up, you press a kiss to the top of his furry head and present him to your girlfriend.

“Just look at him Sho. Can you really look our son in the face and tell him you’re giving him away?” You give her puppy eyes over the top of his head. “Look at how sweet he is! Who’s a good boyo, you are, ahhh I just love you so much!”

She looks at you in exasperation as you coddle and coo at the little bundle of fur, trying and failing to hide the admiration in her eyes. Finally she relents.

“I suppose since you love him so much we can keep him-”

“Yay!!” You dance around the cramped hallway holding the dog up. “You hear that? You get to stay! You know why? Because she looooves us! That’s right! She-”

“But you have to clean this up.”

“Boo.”

ino takuma

Walking out of the grocery store, you accept an incoming facetime from your boyfriend, answering with a smile and a cheerful greeting. “Hey baby, what’s up-”

“My dearest darling girlfriend.” He cuts you off, speaking as soon as you answer and not pausing to listen to what you’re saying. “The love of my life. Could you possibly please explain to me why I came home and our apartment was covered in bloody fabric?”

“What?” Concerned, you stop loading your groceries into your trunk and squint at your phone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Show me.”

Obediently, he flips the camera, giving you a clear view of the red shreds scattered across the ground. You tell him to bring the camera a little closer, so he does and realization hits you over the head like a sledgehammer.

“Oh…um, so I don’t know how to tell you this…” You hesitate, knowing what you were about to tell him would most likely send Ino into hysterics. “But, uh, those are dirty pads that the dog chewed up…”

The other end of the phone is silent for a solid thirty seconds before he speaks again, surprisingly calm.

 “Say sike right now.”

You wince. “I can’t…”

There’s another moment of silence, and you watch as your boyfriend goes through all the stages of grief in a matter of seconds. Then he takes a deep breath and pulls himself together with a forced smile before hanging up.

“Give me a second babe, I gotta go call Nanamin and ask for some advice.”

choso kamo

You were cuddled up with your boyfriend on the couch after a long day, soaking in the warmth and simple domesticity of the moment when he spoke over the show.

“Earlier today your dog was chewing on something bloody and had made a huge mess so I cleaned it up.” You sit up, pausing your episode. “Cho baby, what?”

He shrugs. “It appeared he had gotten into the bathroom trash can, and at first I wasn’t going to bring it up because it was no big deal, but the more I think about it the more I worry.”

He furrows his brow, his bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. “That wasn’t all…your blood, was it?” Mistaking the confusion on your face for offense, he backtracks rapidly.

“Not that that would be a problem! I was just concerned because of the quantity of blood. I know it’s not healthy for humans to lose that much blood so I got a little scared. I want to be able to help you if you’re hurt.”

“No baby, I'm not mad.” You reassure him with a soft kiss. “I’m just confused. I don’t know why there would be blood in the trash can, or why the dog would eat it. You said it was the bathroom trash can-oh.”

Suddenly you look embarrassed, fidgeting with your fingers. “Don’t worry about it Cho. It’s no big deal. I’m sorry you had to clean it up. I’ll make sure I secure the trash can better next time.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He senses your shift in mood and he doesn’t like it. “Are you okay? Can you at least tell me where the blood came from so I don’t have to worry?”

Haltingly, with your cheeks burning, you explain how a period works to him. Despite knowing that it’s perfectly natural, you couldn’t help but feel a little shy for no reason at all.

“So yeah.” You finish. “That’s what it is. Gross isn’t it…”

Peeking up to gauge his reaction, you notice that he’s staring at you, aghast. 

“That happens…every month?” He looks mildly horrified. “And it hurts you?”

“Well I mean yes, but everyone has to deal with it so it’s really no big deal-”

“And it’s happening to you right now? Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks so heartbroken, your chest hurts. “I just didn’t want to be a bother…”

“You’re not a bother! I want to take care of you! What did you say helped again?”

He leaps up from the couch, muttering as he paced back and forth before planting a quick kiss on the top of your head and running out of your apartment.

“I’ll be right back! I need to go buy some things!”

nanami kento

You’re in your bedroom putting the finishing touches on your makeup when you hear your apartment door open, letting you know that your boyfriend was there to pick you up for your date. 

“Give me one second!” You call out, carefully curling your eyelashes. “I’m almost ready, just doing up my makeup!”

“Erm, darling?” You hear your boyfriend call out from the other room. He sounds a little off. “I hate to disturb you, but can you come here for a second?”

Carefully applying an even coat of mascara to your curled lashes, you get up from your vanity, despite not having finished your highlighter or lip gloss. Knowing your boyfriend he wouldn’t be bothering you unless it was important. Your bare feet pad softly against your wooden floors as you leave your bedroom and enter the main area.

“Yeah, babe? What’s going…” You trail off, noticing what your dog had been up to while you were getting ready for date night. “Oh…”

Oh indeed. From where you stood in the doorway, you had a perfect view of the carnage scattered across your floor. Your dog had gotten into your bathroom trash can, and there were shredded pads galore all over your apartment. Used shredded pads.

You feel your face heat with embarrassment as you survey the crime scene. “I-I’m so sorry. She does this from time to time but normally I remember to put the trash can out of her reach. This is so embarrassing. You can just wait outside while I finish cleaning this up-”

In your humiliated frenzy you begin banging through your cabinets, pulling down your latex gloves and a trash bag preparing to clean it. “Just go wait in the car, this will only take me a few minutes-” You’re interrupted by your boyfriend taking the latex gloves and trash bag away from you.

“Hey, love. It’s okay.” Nanami leads you back towards your room, putting on a pair of gloves. “I’ll clean this up. You just relax and take your time getting ready.”

“But Ken-” You protest, looking back over your shoulder as he guides you with a warm palm pressed against the small of your back. “It’s gross and-”

“I don’t mind.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “Trust me. I wouldn’t offer if I did. Don’t worry about it.”

He looks you up and down, a small smile spreading across his face. “Do whatever you need to get ready. I just want my girl looking all pretty for our date, alright?”

taglist: @arlerts-angel @ponderingmoonlight @m0k0k0 @starlightanyaaa @pandora-ophelia-blog

lmk if you want to be added to any of my taglists!!

[mindtrcks]

for tyler - maybe something about reader helping rescue him from thornhill & being the hyde’s master instead of her? love your writing style!

this is hungry work

Pairing: Tyler Galpin/Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: vague mentions of grooming/violence, smut, quite a bit of plot oops, unrealistically happy ending

Summary: You may not have a master plan or a decades long vendetta, but you do have Nathaniel Faulkner's diary, and a recurring penchant for taking wild leaps of faith.

Nathaniel Faulkner says that the Hyde is a beast lying dormant in an innocent man. Something waiting to be awakened. A creature loyally dependent on its master, subservient to its core.

Wednesday says that it’s Tyler. 

She says he’s a monster, that he killed enough people to get a taste for it, and now he’s killed his master, too. That he’s out of control and it’s only a matter of time before he does something big, before more people get hurt. She says anything he’s done before now has been a lie; he doesn’t care about you, and he never did. You were a pawn in he and Kinbott’s game, and he would've tossed you away the second you’d served your purpose. She says that he isn't the boy you thought, and he isn't to be trusted. 

But he's sitting right in front of you, with the same puppy dog frown and furrowed brows as always. He's looking up at you with something like desperation in his eyes, and for the first time since you’ve met her, you doubt Wednesday. How could this boy—quiet and sweet and scared—be the monster she claims? How could Tyler from the coffee shop—Tyler who’s soft spoken and friends with outcasts and isn’t even screaming at Wednesday for kidnapping him—be anything but good?

You don’t doubt he’s the Hyde. If Wednesday had a vision, you’re not going to question that. But you do question whether or not she knows the whole story. 

—

You’re at Nevermore when Wednesday finally pieces it all together. She’s been expelled, taking the fall for you and anybody else who’d been in that shed with her. Weems had taken it upon herself to personally escort Wednesday to the station, but evidently, even expulsion can’t stop somebody as stubborn as her.

She texts you from Eugene’s phone, the message just a single word. Thornhill.

It’s all you need to bolt up in bed, to shove your shoes on and search blindly for your jacket. You’re not sure whether it’s wishful thinking or just plain hubris, but some part of you—the outcast that wants nothing more than to fit in, to be a part of something—thinks that if you can stop Thornhill, you can stop it all. You can keep anybody else from being killed and thwart whatever Thornhill’s plan is, and best of all, you can help Tyler in the process. 

It’s either that, or die trying. 

—

Breaking into Thornhill’s classroom is easier than expected. She doesn't leave Ophelia Hall after eight anymore; the lockdown has grown too serious, the dark too dangerous. It allieves your fear, as you creep through Nevermore’s halls, to know that her classroom will be empty when you arrive. To not be afraid of Thornhill would be stupid; if Wednesday’s right, and Thornhill’s responsible for everything, you don’t doubt she’d be willing to kill you for snooping. 

The door is locked when you reach your destination, but you waste no time in picking it. You aren’t sure how urgent this is, aren’t sure where Wednesday is or where Thornhill is or where Tyler is, and you aren’t sure what she could possibly be making him do. 

You choose not to think about it as your eyes scan the room. You head to her desk first, frantically flipping through sheets of paper, turning over folders and ransacking drawers. You move to the bookshelf when the desk proves fruitless, scanning the dust on the spines of books. Nothing sticks out; the last thing you deem to try is the filing cabinet, looming in the corner of the room. There’s only one drawer that’s open, the metal dented and bent like it’d been slammed in a rush. Your feet take you to it before your brain even has time to consciously make a decision; your hands pulling it open before you know what you’re doing. 

It’s empty, save for one thing: a leatherbound journal with the name Nathaniel Faulkner engraved on the spine. 

—

Nathaniel Faulkner says that the Hyde is a beast lying dormant in an innocent man, a creature loyally dependent on its master. 

He also says that this loyalty does not run as thick as one might think.

—

The thing is, you don’t know Tyler as well as you wish you did. You don’t get to talk as much as you’d like, or to hang out without the murders hanging over your heads. But it’s not like you’re a stranger, certainly not like Thornhill was. No, you’d go as far as to say you’re his friend, maybe among his only ones. He trusts you, and despite yourself—despite everything that he’s done—you trust him.

A Hyde’s relationship to its master is built on trust, says Faulkner.

And maybe you don’t have a master plan, or a decades long vendetta, but you do have Nathaniel Faulkner’s diary, and a recurring penchant for taking wild leaps of faith.

—

He’s in the woods outside of Nevermore when you find him, looking antsy and wrong. 

You don’t want to think about what he’s doing there, about why his fingers are curled up into fists at his side. What he’s done doesn’t matter to you; all you care about is what he will do, what choice he’ll make. You approach him carefully, not wanting to set him off, or scare him away. You can’t imagine what kind of headspace he’s in, or the things going through his mind.

It’s only been hours since you’ve last seen him, but he already looks changed. Whatever act he’d been keeping up in Xavier’s shed, in the police station, he’s dropped now. His eyes are dark and his shoulders tense, mouth curled into something cruel. You hear Wednesday’s words echo in your head—he isn’t the boy you thought, he’s a monster, he’s using you—but you try to drown them out. You know Tyler. You know the good he’s capable of. So what if he’s capable of bad, too? 

“Tyler,” you say, keeping your voice steady as you step forward. He doesn’t back up, but he does narrow his eyes, leveling you with a gaze that has you on edge, shifting on your feet, your body screaming at you to back down, turn away. 

He smiles at you; not the small, shy thing you’ve seen from across the Weathervane so many times, but something sharp around the edges, showing a few too many teeth. Have his canines always been that big? Sharp enough to pierce skin? You feel something run up your spine; a shiver or a thrill, you aren’t sure, and you don’t care enough to try and discern it. Tyler’s walking towards you, and it’s hard to care about much of anything besides him in front of you and the diary weighing heavy in your bag. “You're the one they sent to fight the big, bad wolf?” he asks, looming over you. He expects you to be scared, to run away.

But scared isn’t exactly the word you would use. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

You can see his face flicker for a moment, quick enough that it would've gone unnoticed if you hadn't been looking for it. “And why is that?” he asks, nostrils flaring as he steps impossibly closer.

You refuse to let the proximity affect you, no matter how much it's trying to.  “Because it’s pointless,” you say, chin lifting up in defiance. “You know Wednesday. She won’t let you win.”

“So I should surrender, then?” he scoffs, because he thinks those are his only two options. He thinks this is kill or be killed; keep fighting or get arrested, sent away for life. But you have another option.

“Not necessarily,” you say, as your hand snakes down to your satchel and pulls out the diary. Tyler’s eyes zero in on it instantly, lighting up with recognition, with want. “How would you like to put this whole mess behind you, Thornhill included?”

He blinks a few times before glancing back up at you, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t,” he says, baring his teeth around the words, like it physically pains him to say them.

You raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Why?”

He looks mad, now. Not the simmering anger that’s been in the air the whole time, but a lighter kind of rage that’s more akin to simple frustration. More akin to something you’ve seen on Tyler before. You never thought you’d be relieved for somebody to be mad at you. “That's not how it works.

“Because she’s taught you so much about how it works.”

“More than you possibly could,” he spits out, and it’s supposed to be an insult, but instead it’s just plain wrong. Because you have the exact same diary that she did, the exact same knowledge at your fingertips. Only, you’re willing to share your toys. 

He watches as you lift up the diary, flipping to your bookmarked page. It’s power in your palms; power over Thornhill, over Tyler. It makes you sick, a little, knowing his fate is literally in your hands. How did Thornhill ever take it? “‘I have heard of Hyde’s gaining new masters only through means of battle spoils or dark magic, but I imagine there must be one other way,’” you recite, reading off of page three of Faulkner’s section on masters, the chapter you had found the most helpful in your frantic skim-through. Tyler stares down at you with something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You’ll unpack it later. “‘Seeing as the decision is always ultimately the Hyde’s—whether consciously or not—if a prospective master was ready and willing, a Hyde might simply choose them.’”

“You want…” he starts, incredulous, but doesn’t finish. He just looks at you, conflicted, confused, and maybe a little bit of something else. You understand that what you’re offering is bigger than anything you’ve done with him before now. Going from sitting across from each other at the Weathervane or being present in the same car—Wednesday or Enid or even Fester always a buffer—to offering yourself up as his master is quite the leap. Still, for whatever reason, you’re hopeful. 

“Yes,” you answer, even if he technically never finished asking his question. Yes, you want to do this, yes, you’re willing to take the leap, yes to everything. 

Tyler shifts on his feet, suddenly seeming wildly uncomfortable as his eyes skirt around the treeline. He’s looking for her, you realize. He’s scared she’s there, scared she’s watching. Scared he’s in trouble. 

A gnawing pit forms in your stomach. “Tyler,” you say, and your voice draws his eyes away from the woods. “I’m offering. All you have to do is make the choice, and all this goes away.”

It sounds simpler than it is. There will be things to do, after. Strings to tie, messes to clean. But right now, all you need is to get Tyler away from Thornhill. Permanently. 

Tyler stays silent for a moment, regarding you with something on his face that you don't recognize. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, unreadable. But you refuse to falter.

“Because you don't deserve…her,” you say.  “The things she did to you. It doesn't have to be like that.”

He seems to consider this, for a moment, eyeing you up and down. He has no reason to refuse, not really. Not unless he actually does enjoy it, like Wednesday claims. If he likes killing, gets off on the taste of blood in his mouth. You know he doesn't, though. That's Thornhill. Right? 

“So what do I do?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders up. “Since you're the expert here. What do I do?”

You close the diary, dropping it down to your side. There aren't step by step instructions, no ancient ritual for you to follow in the dead of night. All Nathaniel Faulkner had to say on the matter is that the choice is always the Hyde’s. 

You roll with it.

“The choice is yours, Tyler. Make it.”

He furrows his brows, looks like he wants to protest, but doesn't. He keeps his mouth tightly shut, ducking his head down and focusing hard on the ground. You don't know what it's like, on his side. Aren’t sure how hard it could possibly be to make a decision, but won’t comment on it. You’ll give him however long he needs. 

After what feels like an eternity but must’ve only been a few moments, he looks back up at you, and you know instinctively that it’s done. 

“Did it work?” you ask, peering up at him. He seems unchanged. The same Tyler you’ve been talking to this whole time. The same Tyler that killed all those people and put Eugene in the hospital.

He shrugs. “Tell me to do something.”

You consider it; there's a million things you could tell him to do, endless ways this could go. In the end, you land on something simple. Something with no strings. “Come here,” you request, plainly.

And he does. 

—

So you’re Tyler’s master, now. 

It’s weird to think about. Weird to think that you’re the one who figured it out, that this victory belongs to you. You expected it might go to Wednesday, that she’d be the one to help Tyler. Either that, or kill him. You thought his fate would end up in her hands, for better or for worse. 

Evidently, it did not. 

—

There are many things you come to realize about Tyler in the following months that you never thought you’d get to know. 

You know he doesn’t really drink coffee, despite his choice in occupation. He wears socks for as many hours of the day as possible, and he sleeps with three blankets instead of a comforter. You know he keeps a secret stash of twizzlers in the cabinet above the microwave, because if his dad sees them they’ll be gone before the day is over. You know what shampoo he uses, how he prefers Spotify over Apple Music, and which drawer is the sock drawer. You know his favorite TV show is Friends, and that he’s embarrassed to tell people about it. 

You’re watching it right now, curled up on his couch in pajamas, empty bowl of popcorn abandoned at your side. Moments like this feel equal parts right and bizarre. Tyler’s a killer, and yet you’re spending your Friday night watching Friends together in his living room. It’s strange, but everything about your life is strange. You barely even notice it anymore. 

Tyler shifts beside you; you’re so close on the couch that it seems less like two bodies and more like a wild conglomeration of limbs; a leg here, an arm twisting there, the brush of fingers on the back of your neck. His hipbone is digging into your thigh, but you don’t mind. You wouldn’t move if every one of your extremities had fallen asleep. If the couch had set fire.

“You should…maybe move your leg,” Tyler says, breaking you out of your haze. You don’t have to do anything but tilt your head to look at him; when you do, he’s staring back up at you with furrowed brows and flushed cheeks, working his lips together. 

It takes you a moment to realize what he means, to feel that familiar weight pressing into the skin of your thigh. When you do, it’s with a start. Yes, you’ve done this a few times. But not enough for it to be a common occurrence. It may be rare, but it’s certainly not the first time. Once you get your bearings, you find that you’re confident enough to smile down at him, to raise an eyebrow and ask, “Should I?”

He makes a little sound in the back of his throat, and you can feel his hips arch up, ever so slightly. “I mean,” he starts, breathy and quiet. “Or you could keep it there. If you want.”

“What do you want?” you ask, sneaking a hand down to the sliver of skin exposed between Tyler’s shirt and his flannel pants. He shivers, but doesn’t answer. “Tyler,” you urge, trailing your fingers over his stomach. 

“Touch me?” he asks, squeezing his eyes shut, tilting his head away. 

And you’re not really in the business of denying him. It takes some adjusting—you do have to move your leg—in order to find the right angle, but Tyler waits patiently as you shimmy your way down the couch, until you can look at him and touch him all at once. You aren’t sure how long he’s been hard, but when you trail your hand down and underneath the waistband of his pants, he gasps too loud for it to have been a short while. 

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, already a little wet, too. As you grasp him, he shoves his face into your shoulder, exhaling long and slow into your skin. “This what you mean?” you ask, maybe a little mean.

He nods. You won’t make him say it—you’re not that mean—but you could. If you asked, he’d answer. You’ve found that’s true in a lot of aspects of your life. It’s a power you’re still scared to wield, no matter how many times Tyler reassures you. You prefer subtlety, to guide him in this way, rather than by giving outright orders. You think he likes it better like this, too, if the way he’s squirming under your touch is anything to go by. 

Friends is still playing in the background, but you’re too distracted to find the remote and mute it. Instead, you tilt your head to press a kiss to Tyler’s hairline, as you start to stroke him in earnest. You try to set a slow pace, but Tyler’s hips chase the contact until it’s fast and hard, just like always. One of these days, you’ll make him sit still, but today is not that day. You let him set the pace, pumping his cock for all it’s worth as he thrusts up into your first. He’s embarrassed, you know, but he barely shows it, apart from the way he hides his face. He’s as enthusiastic as you think he can be, not shy in showing you how much he’s enjoying himself, through little punched-out moans that have the tips of your ears turning red. 

You’re not sure how much time passes like that. All you know is that your wrist is cramping and your bicep is aching, but you still feel like you could do this forever. The sight of Tyler underneath you, panting and sighing and practically shaking, is enough fuel for you for as long as he needs. Him falling apart for you has got to be one of your favorites sights; the sounds pouring out of him are music to your ears. At a particularly loud moan, you glance up, take in his state.

His shoulders are tense, his hands clenched into his fists and his hips staying shock-still. You let yourself smirk; one of the many things you know about Tyler is that he’s not always the best at lasting. “It’s okay, Ty,” you say, whispered into his jaw as you pick up the pace, moving impossibly faster.

He exhales in a gust of air, deflating almost instantaneously; now that he knows he doesn’t have to wait, he lets himself relax, sink into the couch. It’s not long after that that his hips jerk, and he jams his face into your shoulder once more, and you know.

You guide him gently back by the curls on the nape of his neck. There are many things you’ve gotten to know about Tyler, but the face he makes when he comes has got to be one of your favorites. 

[bittersuitejacobs]

• an unhealthy obsession • Nate Jacobs •

one. spectacle

Summary: A new school year is about to begin and after reinventing herself into the perfect prey, Ophelia finds herself in Nate Jacobs' crosshairs far sooner than she'd expected, at McKay's end of Summer party.

Warnings: SMUT, drinking, semi-public fingering, implied traumatic childhood.

A/N: 3032 words. Coming out of the gates red hot. This whole fic is very self indulgent, you have been warned. Looking forward to hearing what you guys think about this set up. ❤️

{ masterpost }

THE TAGLIST IS ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Nate Jacobs was a shockingly easy person to read.

Ophelia Chase, who was no stranger to falling into obsession - whether it was with books, movies, shows, or people - found him to be an incredibly alluring subject for observation, so perhaps it was less that Nate himself was easy to read, and more that Ophelia was a most competent reader. Either way, she'd noticed his apparent saviour complex, his desperate desire to be some kind of hero, especially when it came to Maddie. It had started with this idle thought, a curiosity as to whether she could use it to get him to notice her too.

Ophelia knew in a rather detached way that she has become someone who others would consider objectively hot. It stemmed from being an unfortunately plain and sickly child, which continued for most of her experience being homeschooled through middle school, as did her less than flattering wardrobe and hair choices. Both of which were courtesy of a controlling mother who was struggling with feeling out of control in her own life and making up for it by treating her only daughter like the World's ugliest doll. At least that's what Ophelia had believed for a long time; the sickness that too plagued her childhood, left her feeble and frail and often bedridden was less an act of God, as her mother so often wept, but an act of malice perpetrated by the very same woman. Now, with an entirely too permissive father who travelled for work, and no more poisons being discretely fed to her, to keep her needing the mother who feared her freedom, Ophelia was finally, after years, beginning to come into her own as a teenager.

But she started in the background.

She worked hard to remain unnoticed. At parties hosted by her peers, she dressed well enough not to stand out, but never enough to draw attention to herself. Observing from the sidelines, drink in hand, figuring out the creatures around her, it's how she first properly noticed Nate, not that he was entirely foreign to her to begin with. But the real obsession started when she'd noticed his wandering eyes, clinging to those she hadn't anticipated him being drawn to, always when he knew Maddie wasn't looking. Pretty girls, sweet girls, girls who were surprisingly different to his admittedly beautiful but brash girlfriend.

Maddie was a hurricane of a girl, Ophelia wondered if Nate was trying to tame her like a bucking bull.

Nate wants to be in charge. Wants to be the hero. Wants.

And Ophelia wanted him.

So it started with catching the eye.

It started with dressing the part.

After spending the Summer in Sweden with her father, she gets back a few days before her Senior year starts with high hopes and set intentions. A day at the mall has her set with a whole new wardrobe, and Mckay's party is the first chance she has to try it out. Its a far cry from the baggy jeans and graphic tees she'd spent most of the past few years in. A tight, white t-shirt with the words 'Too Sweet' stretched across her chest, tucked into a high waisted pleated skirt with a flirty hem on her thighs, the look was completed with white, knee high socks and a pair of cherry red flats. Her long, healthy hair was pulled into two messy buns, and she kept her makeup light, apart from the red lip she wore. The perfume, however, was a novelty, aift from her father, sweet and citrusy, from one of his trips to Spain.

If this was to be the debut of the new and eye catching Ophelia Chase, she'd make sure everything was absolutely perfect. She'd even been practicing, for far longer than she was willing to admit, to hide the Southern twang to her accent, mirrored from her father, whom she'd spent most of her time with growing up.

However, when she finally arrived at the party itself, it seemed she still had a lot to learn, considering she was unable to abandon her wallflower ways. Drink in hand, she received no shortage of attention considering her look, but still felt awkward being noticed so much more than she usually was, even after taking a few dexys a pretty boy offered her as she'd headed to the bathroom. Or perhaps they'd made her too aware of how different, how out of place she felt when caught in their gazes.

There was a moment where Nate, who'd she'd been seeing around all night, gorgeous and shirtless, swanning around like he owned the place, actually noticed her. He's drunk, had been since she'd arrived around eleven, but he'd also been pressed up on some girl who definitely wasn't his girlfriend, so Ophelia kept her focus elsewhere. Still, it made her smile; his tumultuous relationship with Maddie apparently wouldn't be a problem tonight. Every cruel aside her mother had hissed long ago about the likes of Nathaniel Jacobs whenever his family had been brought up blow through her mind at once. She often wondered how much of her mother's ire had come from a place of truth; she warned Ophelia that just being near him would spoil her, ruin her, taint her in some terrible, intangible way. As a child, she'd thought that couldn't possibly be true. At seventeen, however, the prospect kind of thrilled her.

Now, she was sitting on the arm of a sofa, pleats of her perfectly white skirt splitting on her thigh as she chatted lightly with a girl she'd seen around school, hanging out with Maddie and Kat; BB. Out of the corner of her eye she spots him in the kitchen, pouring another shot for himself, when he looks up and catches sight of her.

Ophelia's heart is in her throat suddenly -

BB makes an amusing observation about someone across the room, and Ophelia's momentarily caught up in laughter. Its only when BB grins broadly at the laughing girl and announces she's going to get a drink, asking if Ophelia wants one, to which she smiles sweetly and agrees. In her own head, she's wondering if she has time to head outside for a cigarette, and doesn't notice she now has new company before he speaks.

"Cute shirt, is it true?" Giving a start at the sudden voice beside her, Ophelia then looks down for a second, before seeing the 'Too Sweet' emblazoned tightly across her chest. Looking up again, she sees Nate smirking with amusement, "I get the feeling it is."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Like her heart isn't going a hundred miles an hour in her chest. He offers her a shot, one of the two he's holding, eyebrows raised in silent question, silent challenge. Ophelia wet her lips, smiling slyly, attempting to regain her composure, "not sure if I should be accepting drinks from strange men," still, she took it from his hands, heady buzzing in her ears from the brief moment their fingers brush.

They've had multiple classes together since the start of high school.

"I'm Nate," he offered, "now we're not strangers, Too Sweet." He offered his own shot to cheers.

"Fi," she cheerses him, and they both take the shots. Ophelia, who's been drinking around the world for years, isn't bothered by the way it burns, but pretty girls, sweet girls, they're not supposed to take shots like it's nothing. Tequila was always something she enjoyed, though she prefers it with a chaser, it still brought back fond memories of time spent in Mexico with her dad. Ophelia makes a face, shudders a little, and listens to the way Nate laughs at her reaction, pride blooming in her chest at her own performance. He takes the shot glasses and puts them on a nearby table that's already covered in bottles and cups, returning to take the seat BB had just vacated. He's got a hand on her thigh, sliding just up beneath the hem of her skirt.

"How come I've never seen you around before?" He had, Ophelia had just never been worth looking at before now. Feeling uncharacteristically bold, Ophelia shifts, presses her leg into his hand just a little.

"Who says you haven't?"

"Because I'd remember a pretty girl like you," he gives her thigh a squeeze, and Ophelia can feels like she's about to go into cardiac arrest from the way he's looking at her. Everything feels warm and fuzzy and wonderful and Ophelia thinks about how fucking often she'd pictured this moment, this 'first' meeting, but never imagined it going this well. Instead, Ophelia laughs, blush rising on her cheeks.

"Fuck, I thought I was the sweet one," she dropped her gaze.

"You are from where I'm sitting," he wets his lips, once again looking her over, gaze clearly leering. Emboldened as she feels the shot start to hit her, she slid from the arm of the sofa into his lap.

"You wanna check again?" Not in a thousand years could she have imagined how this situation would be playing out. Nate Jacobs' arm around her, Nate Jacobs holding her face, Nate Jacobs running his thumb along her bottom lip as he gazed at her with what she can only describe as want. His thumb comes away clean, her shiny, transfer-proof lipstick proving itself to be true. Ophelia can read the amusement in his eyes, "I didn't want it coming off on my drinks," her blush only grew deeper, despite the fact it was the thinnest truth, self conscious of any alternative situations he may have assumed she was preparing for.

"Too sweet," Nate had muttered faintly with a smirk, Ophelia grinned back, letting him pull her in for a kiss. They're both drunk, Ophelia's head spinning as he nips at her lip, deepens the kiss into something messy and passionate, his tongue in her mouth, hand moving from her face to her thigh. She's not sure when she moved to straddle his lap, but she hears the appreciative way he murmurs, "that's right," against her lips as she wraps her arms around his neck, pressed against him, his hands on her ass.

It was as if her blood was singing in her veins to be in this moment, at this party, already wrapped up in the very boy who's attention she'd designed herself hoping to entice. The future, the concequenses, be damned; she moaned into Nate's mouth as he roughly groped her ass.

One of his hands moves, warm and broad as it trailed back over her thigh beneath her skirt. Nate has always known what he wants, was always rather direct about it too, from what Ophelia had witnessed, and now was no different. When he pushes her pretty, lace panties to the side, sliding a finger into her with ease in the middle of the party, Ophelia gasps.

"So fucking wet," Nate teased, already adding another finger, curling them inside of her. Instead of a proper response, Ophelia's eyes fell closed, biting her lip to hold back the pleased noises trying to escape her. If anyone around then had taken notice - which they hadn't, since Nate's hand on her ass under her skirt was enough for everyone to already look away - Ophelia didn't care.

Nate kisses her again, rougher this time, biting at her lip, finger fucking her in his lap as his other hand came up to rest on the back of her neck in a firm grip. Blaming the drinking, or the music, or the dexys, or shirtless, flirty Nate goddamn Jacobs, Ophelia sighs and whimpers into Nate's mouth as her hips rock gently against his fingers, his thumb insistent against her clit.

"Nate-" she chokes out breathlessly as she's getting close, forehead pressed against his. Nate smirks at her, looks so goddamn pleased with himself, but thankfully doesn't stop.

"Gonna make you cum in the middle of the party, aren't I?" He goads, all warm and encouraging and smug. She wants to tell him to shut up, but he's unfortunately right, and Ophelia's not getting anywhere close to coherent right now. All she can do is nod, weakly, panting and breathless as she feels herself begin to topple over the edge, "slut," he goads against her lips with a grin. Ophelia leans in, kissing him to muffle how she's whimpering as her orgasm crashes through her, stars bursting bright behind her eyes, a mix of shame and elation following in its wake.

Never ever could have imagined this.

Coming down from the sudden rush of endorphins, she pulls back a little, only to see Nate's smug, wide smile as he removes his fingers from her, raising them to his lips. Ophelia, who was already shocked by her own actions, breathing hard, arms still around his neck, watches with a flustered, wide-eyes gaze as Nate sticks both fingers in his mouth, tasting her, tasting what he'd been able to do to her.

"Sweet girl," his grin is all teeth; Ophelia feels trapped in his dark, hungry gaze, but desire still burns low in her gut amid the satisfaction. Nate's hand finds her thigh again, squeezing gently, "lets get another drink and go upstairs; you can return the favour."

Fuck, her mum was right. She'd absolutely let him ruin her.

Ophelia nods eagerly, despite her expression still clearly reading as flustered, but before she can, he pulls her in for a final kiss, makes her taste herself on his tongue. A soft, needy noise escapes her, and before he finally lets her stand, Nate mutters -

"Such a good fucking girl, Fi."

She thinks she might pass out with how much she wants him right now.

As she stands, he smacks her ass before he gets up, and Ophelia, having regained access to her higher brain function, rolls her eyes at him, but grins.

But in the kitchen, halfway through pouring another drink, someone Ophelia vaguely recognises as one of Nate's friends mutters something to him that makes him furious. Its like he's forgotten her entirely, storming from the kitchen, leaving her utterly confused by the very sudden change. Debating whether to follow him or wait there, her mind is made up by the pretty, soft spoken blonde who compliments her outfit. The girl introduces herself as Jules, wearing a rather cute outfit of her own, in dark blues and florals, and Ophelia compliments her as such.

"I'm Ophelia, by the way," she offers with a bright smile, "but Lia's less of a mouthful," she offers with a laugh. Jules is new to town, and has the most beautiful laugh.

"Did you pick Ophelia?" Jules grins, but Ophelia shook her head.

"Mona couldn't find a way to feminize Hamlet," she smiled wryly, "so I had to grow up hearing 'never kill yourself over a boy'."

"Clearly she should have had more faith; you would totally own as Hamlet," Jules' face fell, however, as Ophelia's expression twists bitterly.

"I would," she agrees, head starting to feel fuzzy in all the wrong ways, as it did whenever she found herself reflecting on her mother, "Mona should have done a lot of things differently."

"Sorry," immediately Jules is apologising, "I shouldn't have -" but Ophelia tries to relax, giving her a tight smile.

"Shout out to terrible moms for breaking the stereotype," she managed, ruefully, grabbing the nearest bottle of liquor, forgoing a cup as she raised it in sarcastic cheers. Jules, however, barks a laugh, shaking her head.

"I will gladly drink to that," she offers in solidarity as Ophelia takes a large mouthful of the vodka. Surprised by the unfortunate common ground, something warms in her, the tension genuinely easing, and she offers the bottle. Jules only takes a token sip, but the moment breaks as both girls end up bursting into laughter, commiserating together.

When Ophelia leaves to find the bathroom, she assures Jules she'll return, but it's Jules who manages to disappear before she gets back. The atmosphere in the kitchen is tense. Nate is back but looks like he's more than half way to murderous as he's chugging the last of the vodka Ophelia had drunk from earlier.

And she barely gets through a sentence to him before he spits at her to fuck off. His gaze is so fucking cold -

"I just- are you- ?"

"I said -" he steps up to her, leaning in and radiating malevolent intent as he looms so large over her in this moment, "fuck. Off." Ophelia shrinks back, like she isn't thinking about how damn hot she thinks he is right now, how much she wants him to push her up against the nearest wall or counter.

"I'm going," she huffs, quietly defensive as a front, "sorry for trying to give a shit, Jesus fucking Christ," stepping back with placating hands. In her haste to get away, she misses the brief moment in which Nate's fury holds a flicker of surprise, but it passes, disperses as she retreats from the kitchen towards the front of the house. She doesn't see him throw the empty bottle in the garbage disposal with so much force it shatters upon impact, but she certainly hears it.

Mckay's house isn't really within walking distance, which she forgets until she's a block away and halfway through a cigarette. So she has to call herself an uber to return to the quiet, empty, upper-middle class family home that is the Chase residence. Tucked into bed, she's out before her head even hits the pillow, and only when she wakes up the next day, shocking hang over hitting her like a truck, that she can reflect on the night.

All things considered, it was at least a partial success. She'd definitely caught his attention, at least until something more important to him had stolen it. It wouldn't take her long to learn that it was Maddie and some college guy fucking in the pool, doing the exact same thing Nate has used Ophelia for; making the other jealous.

But, Ophelia thinks with quiet pride as she popped Advil and drank water like her life depended on it, that tonight was definitely a good start.

[whatharrysang]

Harry Styles & sweet

Harry Styles 

Two Ghosts - Tastes so sweet, looks so real

Sweet Creature - Sweet creature

Sweet Creature -  Sweet creature,  sweet creature

Fine Line

Lights Up - Be so sweet if things just stayed the same

Sunflower, Vol. 6 - Keep it sweet in your memory

Harry's House

Music for a Sushi Restaurant - You're  sweet ice cream

Songs Harry wrote for other artists

None

One Direction Songs Harry wrote on

Walking In The Wind - Goodbyes are bittersweet

Unreleased Songs

Make My Day  - I don't want you perfect, don't want too sweet

Ophelia - Do you want the sweet or the truth?

Pop Tart - Just like daddy, you're so sugar sweet

[yandere-yearnings]

Ocean, You Pull Me In (Female Dolphin!Hybrid x GN!Reader)

feat. Ophelia

♡ pt.1, approx 1k words | prev. | next.

♡ post-specific warnings: allusions to eating jellyfish (??) | series warnings: n/a

♡ a/n: unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

The village library wasn't, in any sense, a grand landmark. It was narrow and essentially just one shanty stacked on top of another, but it was home to vast knowledge of the deep seas surrounding. One could call it a marine biologist's dream, and also something that was valued in the way it attracted researchers and their wallets to the area.

The storm had done a number on it, and whilst the thin walls were being rebuilt and enforced with scrap sheets of rusty corrugated steel, the locals were tasked with keeping the books safe. Divided amongst those with the space to keep them, you luckily managed to get your hands on one that you'd been desperate to read since being saved that day.

You had spent your entire morning, afternoon and evening pouring over diagrams and descriptions, so insanely curious about the nature of the creature you'd met. Although she'd laughed and said with her own lips, curving beautifully into a smile that gleaned like the ocean's surface, that what she was could barely be called a woman, you disagreed. Ophelia wasn't a monster. She was more human than those that walked the land beside you. It was the kind heart beating beneath dermis and subcutis that reached out to you, and you wanted nothing more than to extend your gratitude right back towards it.

An afterglow of warmth remained in your room from the candle you had blown out, Case Studies of Mythical Hybrids and More opened to page 336, detailing the diet of a dolphin-human.

♡♡♡

The sea had calmed significantly since your last visit, yet the January cold was still biting. Ice from your lungs that billowed out into white clouds as you breathed, fogging the moonlit scene before you. You sat a ways away from the few dozen jellyfish that had been washed up onto the shore by the strong currents. Fading bioluminescence dotted in speckles against a dark night — you had no doubt you'd meet her again here.

Time was good to you, as it trickled away and brought you those serendipitous clicks in return. You could count the number clear in your mind as your eyes remained unmoving on the water, chest hitched on an exhale as patterns broke across the ocean surface. In ripples advancing towards you, Ophelia emerged like a shimmer of platinum across hazy black. Torso leaned forward over your knees, losing balance in your rush to draw closer, it was her familiar hands that steadied you. Her touch was sparking, beyond the coldness it seeped into your shoulders, you'd never felt so within yourself before.

"Fancy seeing you here, Y/N," she giggled when you melted into her embrace, "do you have a taste for the Jellies too?"

"...missed you." Your voice was muffled into her neck, not wanting to remove yourself. You were surprised she was accommodating you, even more so than the fact that she actually remembered your name.

Offering a pleasant hum of acknowledgement, clawed fingers came up to gently massage your scalp in a soothing motion before Ophelia pet your head, much like one would placate a cat. "Come now. I'm hungry," she coaxed you into reluctantly letting go.

Free from your grasp, she made to sit beside you, lugging herself up onto the shore until only the tips of her tail remained hidden beneath the glacial waters. She plucked a jellyfish right from the sands and gently wiped away the slurry that coated it, "you know Y/N, Jellies are nicest when they're fresh." Ophelia held it up to you, but your eyes were on her sweet smile more than what was in her hands. "I usually hunt them live in the deep sea, that's where they're the tastiest."

"Oh," you blinked dumbly, turning your attention to her words, "something bad must've happened for you to come to the coast to look for them, then?"

"No." Ophelia shook her head, grinning. "I just wanted an excuse to see you again."

Your heart warmed at those words, even as the winds carried the winter to you. You looked down at your hands, gloved in thick wool, and attempted to hide your blush. "I guess we were both thinking the same thing."

Laughter echoing like a melody, like velvet turned into a warm river just for your ears, Ophelia mirrored your actions in her own way, playing with the jellyfish in her lap. "It was silly of you to wait for me when it's so cold out though," she chastised, gaze softening, "you haven't even given yourself proper time to recover."

"I'm stronger than I look," you huffed proudly, "I once caught a whole tuna by myself."

Ophelia chuckled. "My, how endearing," she bumped your shoulders, "exactly the type of tough human I need in my life. I might just ask you to forage for me when I'm not feeling up to it."

"You can!" You said, getting excited all by yourself. If what you had read about their behaviour was true, this was most certainly a way of flirting for Ophelia's kind. "I'll absolutely be able to do it."

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves," she tittered, flinging off a tentacle from the jellyfish into the sea, "I'm in no dire need currently."

As you actively deflated, Ophelia seemed only to get more chipper, enjoying the innocent whining that ensued. Perhaps your enthusiasm was amusing to her, but that only made you happier. You had spent most of your life alone, and bar the small conversations you had with the children when you visited the orphanage, you rarely talked to anyone. This village was a quiet one; although not strangers, everyone was a ghost to you. What you felt, mindless chatter warming the night between you both, was something you had been silently wishing for, for years.

The stars twinkled on her and you saw a world light up, opal and amethyst, so prettily in her eyes. Ophelia was captivating.

You truly hoped she enjoyed your company as much as you did hers.

[foxes-that-run]

Olivia

Harry wrote Olivia for One Direction's Made on the AM which was written and recorded between March - September 2015. Several months after 1989 was completed. Taylor has said she played 1989 for Harry and it's highly likely he was also aware of the Vault Tracks.

From Rolling Stone:

Bunetta and Ryan cite “Olivia” as a defining track, one that captures just how far One Direction had come as songwriters: They’d written it in 45 minutes, after wasting a whole day trying to write something far worse. “When you start as a songwriter, you write a bunch of shitty songs, you get better and you keep getting better,” Ryan says. “But then you can get finicky, and you’re like, ‘Maybe I have to get smart with this lyric.’ By Made in the A.M. … they were coming into their own in the sense of picking up a guitar, messing around, and feeling something, rather than being like, ‘How do I put this puzzle together?’”

Harry also said Olivia 'fell out' when they were trying to write something else to GMA and avoided answering what he was trying to write which may have been Perfect as it took a long time.

Who is Olivia?

Harry famously answered this "Is Olivia even a person? Is Olivia an emotion? Is she a place? We don't know" Oliva sounds like 'I love ya'

Harry later referenced Olivia in the leaked Ophelia (I feel ya). Harry wrote Ophelia, in Tokyo when she was there for the last Reputation show in November 2018, he also wrote Little Freak at the same time. Ophelia and Olivia are Taylor Swift.

Taylor also has a cat Olivia Bensen, adopted June 2014, Harry can be heard laughing in her adoption video.

Lyrics

[Spoken Intro] [Verse 1: Niall] Remember the day we were giving up When you told me I didn't give you enough And all of your friends were saying I'd be leaving ya? She's lyin' in bed with my t-shirt on Just thinking how I went about it wrong This isn't the stain of a red wine, I'm bleeding love

Harry has referenced Taylor wearing his shirts in a number of songs. She's also wore a few of his shirts.

The Red wine is also a reference to 1989, so we know who he is singing to:

Clean - "You're still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore"

Maroon "The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me" and

[Pre-Chorus: Niall] Please, believe me, don't you see the things you mean to me? Oh, I love you, I love you, I love, I love, I love Olivia

I think this is a reference to "Say don't go" a 1989 Vault Track. As Harry and Taylor were dating again through the production, and she has said she played it for him it is likely he knew the lyrics "Make me love you (Make me love you)? / I said, "I love you" (I said, "I love you")/ You say nothing back"

[Chorus: Harry] I live for you, I long for you, Olivia (Ayy, ayy) I've been idolizing the light in your eyes, Olivia (Ayy, ayy) I live for you, I long for you, Olivia Don't let me go, don't let me go

This is almost a direct response to Say don't go's: "Say, "Don't go" / I would stay forever if you say, "Don't go""

[Verse 2: Liam] Say what you're feelin' and say it now 'Cause I got the feelin' you're walkin' out And time is irrelevant when I've not been seeing ya The consequences of falling out That's something I'm having nightmares about And these are the reasons I'm cryin' out to be with ya

Say don't go was asking him to ask her to not leave, In Olivia he did.

[Bridge: Harry] When you go and I'm alone You live in my imagination The summertime, butterflies All belong to your creation I love you, it's all I do, I love you

Harry continued to refer to Taylor as sunshine, butterfly's and all things good:

Golden: "golden as I open my eyes / Hold it, focus, hoping, take me back to the light / I know you were way too bright for me / I'm hopeless, broken, so you wait for me in the sky”

Sunflower Vol 6: "Sunflower / My eyes, want you more than a melody"

Sweet Creature: "Wherever I go, you bring me home / Sweet creature, sweet creature / When I run out of road, you bring me home"

Fine line: “You sunshine, you temptress / My hand's at risk, I fold"

Daylight "If I was a bluebird, I would fly to you / You'd be the spoon / Dip you in honey so I could be sticking to you / Daylight, you got me cursing the daylight (ooh)"

Grapejuice: "Give me something old and Red."

Little Freak "I disrespected you / Jumped in feet first, and I landed too hard / A broken ankle, karma rules"

Happily "I don't care what people say when we're together / You know I wanna be the one to hold you when you sleep / I just want it to be you and I forever"

[cherrynflowergarden]

what songs does doll listen to? what's her favourite artist?

dollie is #1 gracie truther fs🙏

some of her favourite songs which constantly listens to include feels like, 21, minor by gracie abrams, coffee by beabadoobee, runaway by aurora, sweet creature by harry styles, lovers rock by tv girl, put your records on by corinne bailey rae, somewhere only we know by keane, ophelia by the lumineers, telepatia by kali uchis.

just a thought should i make doll and matt's playlist for this au😹⁉️

[xx-stellalunaart-xx]

So yeah! I'm now getting into the Super Mario fandom! I started getting into it after watching the Super Mario Bros. Movie, and I absolutely adored it too! (Mainly cuz of Bowser X3) To celebrate, here's my Mario OC, Princess Ophelia, the princess of the Arcane Isles! In my headcanon, the Arcane Isles is a kingdom full of magic and powerful witches, and Ophelia is the ruler of this kingdom! I have a bunch of concepts for the kingdom and how it works, such as magic staffs and wands, and familiars, which are creatures given to witches to serve and protect them and assist them with their magic. I plan to get into the concepts of the kingdom later, and I even have ideas for a fan game/story. And yes, I ship her with Bowser X3 I hope you guys like how she turned out, cuz I poured my heart and soul into her design and her information! Enjoy! (Written bio under the cut)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Name: Princess Ophelia Nicknames/Aliases: Princess of the Arcane Isles, Princess of Magic, Lady Ophelia, Ophelia the Majestic, Princess Half-a-Witch, Your Highness, Your Majesty, Madame, The most powerful witch in the Arcane Isles (by Flora and Fauna), Witchlet (by King Alistair and Queen Calliope), Ophy (by Quinn), Mama (by Bowser Jr.), Mom (by Bowser Jr. and the Koopalings), My dear (By Atticus and Bowser), Darling (by Queen Calliope and Bowser), Flower (by Bowser), Starlight (by Bowser), Dearest (by Bowser), Jewel (by Bowser), Sweetheart (by Bowser) Age: 26 years old Gender: Female (She/Her) Species: Witch Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Personality: Gentle, Cool-headed, Affectionate, Intelligent, Clumsy, Self-critical, Emotional, Passionate, Hopeful, Creative, Patient Likes: Her friends, Sweets, The color purple, pampering Harmony, Spending time with Bowser and his kids, Reading, Romantic music, Learning new magic, Astronomy, Singing, Dancing, Musicals, Honoring her parents' memory Dislikes: Dark magic, The Wraith King and his minions, Her clumsiness, Messing up, Imperfection, Messing up her spells, Vices, Bitter foods, Being ridiculed, Hypocrisy, Violence/Resorting to violence, Her friends and family being in danger Family: King Alistair (deceased father), Queen Calliope (deceased mother) Friends/Allies: Atticus (childhood best friend/royal advisor), Quinn (royal guard captain), Flora (royal attendant/gardener), Fauna (royal attendant/familiar keeper), Millicent (nursemaid/caretaker), Harmony (familiar), Mario, Luigi, Princess Peach, Toad, Princess Daisy, Rosalina, Yoshi, Donkey Kong, Bowser Jr., Koopalings, Kamek, Kammy Koopa, Shiver, Sugar & Spice, Tulip, Pepper Enemies: The Wraith King, The Hollow Specter, Count Maelstrom, Shock Wave, The Siren Sisters Love Interest: Bowser (consort/boyfriend) Residence: Arcane Isles Occupation: Princess of the Arcane Isles Powers and Abilities: Witchcraft, Spell Casting, Telekinesis, Conjuration, Teleportation, Familiar Summoning, Magic Staff Mastery, Power-Up usage, Musical Talent, Dancing Voice Headcanon: Erica Luttrell (Sapphire from Steven Universe) Theme Song: W.I.T.C.H. (Devon Cole) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Here's the link to her written bio below on my DeviantArt:

[rosemaidenvixen]

Witch Hunter

Chapter 11

<Previous Next>

Ao3

Claire often thought of wasps as bees’ cruel cousins. Producing no sweet honey, capable of using their stingers again and again. Her mother had told her that god crafted all creatures with a purpose, and wasps were no exception, but whenever Claire asked what purpose wasps, locusts, stinging ants, and other foul insects were crafted for her mother went red in the face and told her not to be saucy.

The memory brought a smile to Claire’s face as she gingerly adjusted the canvas sack in her arms, mindful of the delicate paper nest and the furious buzzing within.

Perhaps this, right here today, was the purpose god created wasps for. They had been set loose in the garden of paradise with the intention that thousands of years later Claire would be holding this nest in her hands.

True? Doubtful. Prideful? Most certainly. But the thought of sharing this interpretation of scripture with Reverend Greystone, even if she would never dare, made her want to cackle.

As she got close to the meetinghouse she swallowed her laughter and slowed her pace. Carefully glancing from side to side to make sure no one was around to spot her, a task not made easy by this accursed cap. Creepingup close to the building, taking care that her footsteps made no sound. From within she could hear several men speaking in low voices.

“But what if one of our kinsmen is accused?” Goodman Hughes voice “I know all the women in my family are proper and devout,”

“You must harden your heart and do what must be done.” Hopkins this time “Witches are cunning and vicious, they will target your empathy, twist your god given kindness to suit their needs….”

Tuning out his words, Claire snuck around the side of the building as silently as possible. The fact that she could hear them so clearly meant there must be an open window somewhere. One more turn around the corner– yes there it was.

Crouching down low, Claire padded up directly underneath the open window. she allowed herself a wry grin as she started swinging the canvas around. The wasps buzzing louder and angrier as their home was rattled. Once she’d built up sufficient momentum Claire pitched the sack through the open window and ran away as fast as she could. Before she was out of earshot she managed to hear the angry drone of the wasps and the indignant shouts from within.

Laughter bubbled up her chest and throat but she bit it back as she continued racing to her destination.

When she reached the crossroads Jim was already there “Did you–”

“Yes,” she slowed to a stop, dust kicking up “They’re all distracted for now, but we’ll still have to be quick,”

Jim gave her a curt nod and the two of them were off again. Soon they reached his house, vacant with Barbara off assisting Goody Williams with the young Mercy, and swiftly headed inside. 

Jim pulled up one of the stones from the hearth while Claire pulled out the second large canvas sack she’d managed to snag from the Greystone’s storeroom. The two of them began loading the contents of the hollow into the bag. Claire couldn’t help but wince at their rough handling of the bones and herbs that had been dried and preserved with such care, but didn’t slow her pace. They didn’t have the luxury of time. Her distraction with the wasps would only last so long, and they couldn’t risk anyone spotting them with Barbara’s supplies.

Once the hollow was empty and the sack was full they replaced the stone and headed back out. Claire keeping watch while Jim dragged the sack behind him.

After the most anxiety riddled walk of Claire’s life, they reached the graveyard, strange to visit during the day, rushing past the scant stone markers and single wooden cross to head into the woods towards their oak. 

Getting the sack inside was a challenge, the sack was filled to bursting and the hollow beneath the tree was already crowded with Ophelia’s treasures. Claire winced at the crackle of something delicate breaking as she shoved at the bag with her shoulder, promising herself that she’d come back and sort the contents of the tree with more care as soon as she was able. But for now they had greater priorities.

Finally they managed to stuff the entirety of the sack under the tree. Not wasting time dalying they stood and made their way out of the woods.

Jim let out a gusty sigh as they broke through the tree line “That’s it, my mother may actually kill me for this,”

Claire let out a giggle “Oh let her be mad, we’ll see how cross she is in Spain when she has a house with her own lemon tree,”

Jim smiled back at her “Two…three weeks at the most, that’s when your father will return, right?”

“Correct,”

Feeling bold, Claire placed both hands on Jim’s shoulders and spun him around to face her “Soon enough we’ll be on a ship headed towards a new life, for all of us,”

Jim flushed deep red “R– right,” he stammered out.

Feeling nearly drunk on their triumph, Claire leaned forward and pressed her lips against his cheek.

“You’ve been a good friend to me Jim, you’ve shown me great kindness in a place with precious little of that and I’ll not forget the good turns you’ve done me,”

Jim’s entire face and neck burned scarlet “I– you– I should be the one thanking you. You helped me and my mother dearly at great risk to yourself with no reward,”

He pulled in a deep breath “I’m in your debt Claire, and I’ll not forget that,”

She released his shoulders to wave him off “Speak not to me of debts, when me and my mother first arrived here you were the only one who didn’t look at us like garbage for praying with beads, you brought my mother her raspberry leaf tea. And when she…”

Claire blinked to dispel the sudden wetness in her eyes “You were there for me after. You stayed with me while I cried for hours, for every flower I had for her grave you were there with a carving or totem. Speak not to me of debts, we do each other good turns without any notion of payment or debt because we are friends,”

If Jim’s flush was any deeper he’d be as purple was a plum “Th– thank you Claire. That was very profound. Have you considered writing poetry? Because you would be very good at it,” 

She smiled at him as the bumpy ground gave way to smooth path under her feet “Let’s hurry back, they’ll probably have cleared out the wasps by now,”

“Right we should– wasps!?”

“I tossed a nest into the meeting house,”

Jim blinked at her, expression holding equal measures of fear and awe “Remind me never to make an enemy of you,”

Claire laughed “You? My enemy? Never,” she walked alongside Jim down the path heading back towards town. Feeling giddy to the point of drunkenness on the success of their scheme and her father’s impending arrival.

Which was why she missed the narrowed pair of eyes following them as they headed away from the graveyard.

Ahead of her, Jim poked his head out of the trees and glanced either way “I don’t see anyone, let’s hurry,”

The two of them quickly raced from the trees into the yard. Claire taking her place by the laundry tub and Jim by the bedding hanging from the tree. Jim picked up the dust beater and Claire the washboard, and  they resumed their tasks like they’d never stopped. Neither one of them stopped to rest, single minded and desperate to look as though they’d been at it for the whole day. Suddenly raised voices came from the side of the house, Claire instantly going still, heart racing.

“--can’t keep running off and abandoning your chores to meet with Thomas!”

“Mind your business, I don’t need my younger sister acting as my nanny!”

“You aren’t nearly as clever as you think you are Sarah! And one of these days you’re going to land yourself in trouble that I can’t pull you out of!”

Claire let out a soft sigh of relief and resumed her washing. Voices and footsteps growing louder steadily louder until Abbie stepped around the side of the house, dragging a petulant looking Sarah behind her. 

As soon as she spotted Claire Abbie’s worry wrinkled brown went smooth with relief “Thank you for covering for our chores, while I hunt down my wayward sister,”

Sarah scoffed and rolled her eyes. Abbie fixed her with a look before turning back towards Claire and Jim with a grateful smile.

“You’ve done us both a great kindness. I know I have no right to ask more of you. But I plead for you to tell anyone who asks that Sarah and I were with you all morning,”

“Think nothing of it,” Jim hauled a freshly cleaned rug off the line “Your secret’s safe with us,”

[liminal-storage]

XV-The Devil

Prompt: Free Write

Characters: Shayl, Louis Marlowe

Warnings: Sleep paralysis, night terrors. Tapping into my own childhood affliction for this one~

The blinding fear always seems to strike in the dead of night.

Screams trapped in his chest, limbs stricken with the need to run and yet trapped in place, his body refusing to obey... Young Louis has been stricken with these terrors since he was five years old. Mama tells him that she used to have them too, and that they'll grow less frequent in time. All her cousins had them. Her parents, too. Everyone born into the Marlowe family and its branches must contend with them at some point. As far as she knows, even the woman responsible for their family's dreadful fate had terrifying nightly episodes as well. At least they know they aren't related to Shayl. Just another heirloom that miss Ophelia Shaw passed down.

Cygni talked him through the terror when he was only six. She taught him what to do. He walks through each step whenever he wakes like this, once the nightmares slip out of his fingers like icy tendrils to coil beneath his bed.

Tonight, he's woken by dreams of mutilated flesh and whispering voices, of colorful paper birds and many, many eyes. His screams in the nightmare translate to painful waking gasps, his own saliva a choking, burning obstacle. The dark of the star-shaped room smears into the dark of his own bedchamber. He can tell even behind closed eyelids.

"Hello, Louis."

Here, now, my Louis. First of all let's control your breathing. Count up to ten, then back down again.

He does so, just as he remembers his mother saying. One breath, then two, and then three. He coughs, but he's no longer choking on his own saliva, no longer gasping desperately for air. Four breaths. He can hear the thump of a crooked gait across the hardwood floor. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. The moment he can breathe again, the footsteps stop at his bedside.

"You look so much like your mother."

That's the way. Now let's focus on moving again. Don't open your eyes yet. Start with wiggling your fingers. Concentrate. One at a time, now.

It's a struggle. For a few frightful, frustrating moments, his fingers refuse to heed his command. Then he feels the twitch of his pinky and curls it in towards his palm. Next the ring finger, its movements stiff and stilted. He feels his middle finger tense, feels the sensation of something brushing over his forehead. His eyes remain shut. The middle finger curls in. Then the index, and finally his thumb. The muscles of his calf twitch violently and for just a moment, he feels like he's falling.

"Such a sweet boy. How cruel of your mother to keep you from me."

Keep going. Just as you're doing now. One by one, until you're sure you can move again. You know, it helped me to have a little light when I was your age. I might still have the special lamp grandpa Florian made for me... I can dig it out of storage and keep it in here for you.

He knows what he'll see when he opens his eyes. In those moments of uncertainty after waking, he fears that he may have dragged his nightmare into reality. He can smell the creature, the blood covering every limb which now smears over his quilts. The rot wafting off of him in a stinking cloud. Louis doesn't need to open his eyes to know that those countless eyes are all staring right at him, a few errant ones swiveling wildly out of control.

"Open your eyes, Louis."

Don't open your eyes yet. Feel the base of the lamp with your fingers. Press the switch. Turn your face towards the wall. Then, and only then can you open your eyes. Focus on the pattern of stars cast over the wall. Then, I want you to call for me, understand? I will come running for you, no matter how deep in dreams I am.

"I said open your eyes."

Louis moves as quickly as his addled state allows, hands darting out from under the covers to take hold of the small lamp upon the nightstand. It's lightweight, sturdy, and warm. He turns his face towards the wall, flips the switch, and opens his eyes. A pattern of constellations dances on his bedroom wall, mesmerizing and bright. He blinks away the sudden spots in his vision, and calmly calls out.

"Mama?"

The thing at his bedside shrieks as if he's thrown burning oil upon it.

[squirreltastrophe]

SO I WROTE A SILLY SHORT STORY HEHE!!!! :3

OK SO UHHHH. REALLY NERVOUS ABOUT POSTING THIS BUT I GOTTA WORK ON PUTTING STUFF I MAKE OUT THERE SO!!!!

I wrote this little short story for a class and it;s silly and I kinda like how it came out so I went "hmm why don't I post it!" it's about my silly ocs that I post about a lot :3. oh also it has illustrations! oh and disclaimer I'm not the greatest writer ever I just like to get silly with it. I have fun :D.

BUT UH anyway I'm proctrastingating now oops story time

 Even the most mundane tasks are so different when you’re dead. Jinny knew this all too well. Sometimes it was convenient; no more need for doors when you can phase through walls! But other times, being dead was extremely lonely. Like when 99% of the human race can’t see (let alone understand) your ghostly form.

But Jinny would never in a million years admit she was “lonely”. How could she be lonely when she had such awesome living friends? Jinny thought about her best friends, Ophelia and Albert, a lot. The three of them were always acting on Jinny’s stupidest ideas and going on adventures. Or, more accurately, Jinny and Ophelia would act on an adventure and drag a begrudging Albert along.

The awesome friendship adventure plan today was to take Albert’s beloved bike to the largest hill they could find and ride down it without using the breaks. At all! When Jinny brought this idea up with her friends, Ophelia had enthusiastically volunteered to be the one on the bike. This was surprising, given how Ophelia had the courage and mind of a field mouse. Jinny figured she was trying to prove something to herself. She tended to do that sort of thing.

Jinny fidgeted with her hair in excitement. Sure she wasn’t actually the one riding the bike, it’d take her too much energy to not phase through the dang thing, but as long as Jinny’s friends were having fun, so was she!

After a walk through the winding streets of suburbia, the three friends arrived at a large hill. Jinny could see Ophelia tense up as they walked to the crest.

“What’s wrong?” Jinny asked, her voice startling Ophelia a bit.

“Uh, I’m fine.” Ophelia replied. “Just a bit nervous. Are you sure I can ride a bike down this hill without breaking my neck?”

“I’m sure whatever happens, it’ll turn out fine. And if you did break your neck, we could be ghost buddies! Pal-tergiests!” Jinny said. Her favorite coping strategy was bad death-related puns. Despite the eyeroll, Jinny could see Ophelia smile a little and relax her shoulders.

The helmet Ophelia was wearing (at Albert’s insistence) cast a shadow over her face, making it sorta hard to see her expressions, but that wasn’t the biggest issue. Jinny could read Ophelia very well— Which made sense, given that Jinny’d known Ophelia for pretty much her entire afterlife! They’d grown up together in the Underworld because of Ophelia’ unique kidnapped-by-demons-when-she-was-a-baby situation. Jinny and Ophelia had run away and come up to the living world for the first time recently. Ophelia’d been positively giddy with all the new creatures and plants they’d found. Before she could zone out even more, Jinny was pulled out of her thoughts by Albert’s reedy voice.

“I still think this seems like a horrible idea.” He said. Albert had a way of doubting Jinny’s plans, though she didn’t see why.

“Even if my impeccable idea ends badly, at least we got to see this view!” Jinny chimed.

The breeze had a tinge of Autumn sweetness to it. The steep hill they were on overlooked the small forest-surrounded town. Jinny could see tiny people and cars on the streets, all living their lives. The town reminded her of an ant colony, always moving and changing. 

The Underworld wasn’t like that. Sure, it was full of activity, but ghosts or imps didn’t change in the same way actual living people did. The bustle up here felt… different.

Jinny shook her melancholy away and turned to Ophelia, who was climbing on the bike now. 

“Are you ready?” Jinny asked, grinning. Ophelia nodded, her lips pursed together. On the count of three, Albert and Jinny pushed the bike with a heave! Ophelia bolted forward, letting out a squeak. Jinny watched as Ophelia barreled down the hill, the bike bouncing every which way.

“This was probably a terrible idea, huh?” Jinny said.

“Definitely.”

As if on cue, the bike crashed into a crag on the hill and Ophelia flew over the rock like a candy wrapper. Jinny yelped and sped down the hill after Albert. 

Ophelia sat at the bottom of the hill, holding a scraped knee, tears rolling down her face. Jinny felt a pit of guilt form in her stomach. She floated next to Ophelia, asking her if she was okay. Ophelia shook her head and blubbered in the same manner as a sopping wet cat. Without speaking, Albert whipped a small first aid kit out of his backpack and started to put some sort of ointment on Ophelia’s nasty-looking cut. 

How the heck is he prepared for everything? What does he keep in that backpack? Jinny thought. One time, Ophelia had needed something to dig with, and Albert offered an egg beater he’d had on hand. Not a hand shovel. An egg beater. It also seemed that Albert had a never-ending library of his favorite comics in his backpack. Jinny thought about Albert more than what was considered normal. Or completely platonic. But Jinny was getting lost in her thoughts again. 

Ophelia was still sniffling when Albert pulled her to her feet. They were all in agreement that Ophelia should never get on a bike again. And that they should all go home.

That night, the house was still and quiet. Too still and quiet. The house felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for everyone to come back to life in the morning. 

Jinny laid on the living room floor, turning the events of the day around in her head. Jinny hated silence. It unsettled her. The quiet drone of the tv— still on even though Ophelia was asleep on the couch— mingled with her self-deprecating thoughts.

I shouldn’t have even made Ophelia get on that stupid bike, Jinny thought. She got hurt because of me. Jinny’s thoughts continued to spiral like this until she realized she kept coming back to one thing: Ophelia bled when she scraped her knee. Jinny couldn’t do that.

Sure, it was trivial to mull over the fact that Jinny couldn’t bleed, being a ghost and all, but this fact just felt like yet another barrier between Jinny and her friends. Another piece of evidence that Jinny was only a paranormal puppet, pretending to be like everyone else. Jinny smiled as she came up with yet another immaculate idea. 

I can make myself like them.

 -   -   -

As soon as Jinny saw the morning light stream through the window, she popped up and started to poke Ophelia awake. 

“Rise and shine!” Jinny said in a sing-songy, overly-peppy tone. Ophelia simply responded with a series of grumbles and rolled over. Jinny shrugged off Ophelia’s less-than-friendly greeting. “I’m gonna go out! Be back soon!” 

Jinny had originally planned to bring her friends on her people watching/mimicking mission too; that was, until she realized they’d probably question why she was taking notes on everyone she saw. It’d be better for everyone if Jinny did this particular activity alone.

Jinny bounced out the front door, notepad in hand. She’d already planned out her entire day, from the places she’d go to the weather she’d expect (lacking the ability to sleep well will do that to you). The main place Jinny had planned to go to was the local park. She floated down the street in that direction, passing through the occasional person. 

Jinny arrived at the playground as the sun was approaching its climax. The park was very nice today! The forest encircling the park had a rusty fall time hue. People chattered and wandered like absent-minded mice. Jinny found a bench under a shaded tree and sat. Her leg bounced up and down as she forced herself to focus on the people passing by. 

She noticed a woman in a blue coat, leading an eager child to the swingset. She observed the way the sun’s rays bounced off of the fleshy faces surrounding her. She took note of how the people mingled with each other. How they all seemed to effortlessly fit together.

Jinny heard a mischievous laugh from behind her and whipped around. She saw a group of three older kids, plotting together. 

“We can’t explore the forest now! My sister’s still watching!” The smallest of them squeaked. 

“Oh c’mon! We won’t ever get a chance if we keep stalling! It’s not like she’s paying attention anyway.” The third child ignored the first two, simply reading a book off to the side. 

These kids striked Jinny as eerily like her friends. She wished they were with her right now. As the group ran into the forest, Jinny felt inclined to follow. It wasn’t too creepy if she was looking out for them, right?

Jinny followed the kids through clearings and thickets, dandelions and thistles. The forest was teeming with life and sound. Birds sang disjointed songs, creatures skittered everywhere, and ferns swayed with the gentle breeze. Jinny knew the kids couldn’t see her, but she found herself occasionally hiding behind  trees anyway. I guess I’m more tense than I thought. Every once in a while, Jinny smiled or giggled to herself when the kids would start bantering with each other.

Jinny found herself distracted by the canopy above her as she floated along. There wasn’t a sun in the Underworld (obviously), so Jinny was endlessly fascinated with how the sunlight danced through different things. Ophelia actually helped her notice this— Ophelia was always realizing little beautiful things around her.

Just as Jinny pulled her thoughts back to reality, she noticed that the quietest of the children was staring straight at her. Or, more accurately, through her. 

“Have you guys been hearing that?” The small girl squeaked, turning around to face her friends. “That rustling sound behind us.”

Jinny looked down and realized she had walked right into the middle of a bush while she was lost in her thoughts. Of course the kids could hear her now!

“Now that you mention it, I’ve been hearing it too.” The adventurous one replied.

Jinny felt an alarm begin to blare in her head. It’d be extremely embarrassing if she was caught by  5th graders! And it’d be even more embarrassing if she had to admit she’d been taking notes on socialization from these 5th graders!

Jinny bolted away from the little adventurers. She knew she was causing a ruckus, but at this point she couldn’t care less.

-   -   -

Jinny phased through the front door, walking in on Ophelia and Albert playing a video game. Ophelia was losing repeatedly, as usual. Jinny felt the shame and embarrassment set in as she approached her friends. She’d definitely have to tell them what she’d been up to now. And Jinny hated talking about stupid sappy emotions!

Albert greeted Jinny as Ophelia threw down her controller in frustration. 

“What the heck have you been up to all day?” He asked with a chuckle. Jinny’s face got uncomfortably warm. With a sigh, she plopped herself down between her friends. No way she could get out of explaining herself now.

“I… I was observing living people because I thought I could be more like you guys.” Jinny fiddled with her fingers. “I know it’s stupid and it wouldn’t work anyway but-”

“What? Why would you do that?” Ophelia asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

“I dunno!”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out so blunt. I was just wondering why you’d do something like that when you’re so awesome already!” Ophelia continued. Jinny further shrinked into herself with the praise.

“I, for one, think being a ghost is cool and sick and tubular.” Albert said. “Tubular” was an… odd choice of words. But the meaning came across the same.

Jinny smiled a little. Now she just felt silly for worrying so much before. Jinny felt love swell up inside her and pulled her friends in for a hug. She thought back on the experiences she’d had with her pals: watching ice cream drip onto the sidewalk, laughing through badly made rom coms, attempting to befriend stray cats. Jinny realized how warm she felt right now. Not temperature wise (Jinny wasn’t even sure she could feel temperature), but warm in an emotional way. 

Jinny had been too wrapped up in mimicry and expectations to realize who she was. But she knew when she found herself, her friends would be waiting with open arms and unending warmth.

YIPEE YAHOO THATS IT I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THAT A LIL BIT :3 this is one of the first writing things I've finished in a hot minute so it's very close to my heart!!!! writing is so silly I wanna get better at it hehe

[zootownplush]

🍄Creature Feature🍄

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Just a creature behind the camera. Sometimes just gotta know who is behind the scenes of the cute jellies right?!

🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴🪴

I struggle with self image and self acceptance as I am EXTREMELY self conscious about myself. So please think about that. I don’t take compliments very well or know how to respond. But I definitely try.

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

This won’t happen to often but when it does please be nice :3

🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐

These were from last week. I have more but this is enough.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Featuring; Cola (Perry Polar Bear), Sage Dragon, Baloo (Bunglie Bear), Nettle (Fern Bunny) and my sweet kitty Ophelia

[whatharrysang]

Harry Styles & I know

Harry Styles

Sweet Creature - We're both stubborn, I know

Sweet Creature - I know it's hard, we argue

Woman - I'm selfish, I know

Woman - I'm empty, I know

Fine Line

Golden - And I know that you're scared

Golden - I know that you're scared

Falling - And it kills me 'cause I know we've run out of things we can say

To be so lonely - I know that you're tryna be friends

Harry's House

Matilda - But I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside

Matilda - In other words, I know they won't hurt you anymore

Songs Harry wrote for other artists

I love you - And I know that it sounds so wrong

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart - I know I'm not your only

Someday - I know now that I need to

Someday - 'Cause I know he(she) can't hold you like I can

One Direction Songs Harry wrote on

Taken - And I know that you hate to hear this

Summer Love - And I know there's nothing that I want to change, to change

Still the One - Hello, hello, I know it's been a while

Still the One - Couldn't blame you 'cause I know I left you all alone, yeah

Still the One - I know that I left you all alone

Still the One - I know it's saying too much

Irresistible - But I know, if I go now, if I leave

Story Of My Life - I know that in the morning now I see us in the light upon a hill

Happily - It's four A.M. and I know that you're with him.

Right Now - And I know that we won't be going home for so long, for so long.

Right Now - But I know that I won't be on my own, yeah.

Fool's Gold - And I know in my heart, you're not a constant star

Fool's Gold - And I know in my heart, you're just a moving car

Stockholm Syndrome - I know they'll be coming to find me soon

Change Your Ticket - I know what you meant

Walking In The Wind - I know we'll be alright child

Unreleased Songs

Baby Honey - Oh, I know he's got the money, baby honey, does he make your night?

Endlessly  -  Because I know that you’ve gotta put the work in

Him - Now I know what it’s like to fall in love from the outside

Jesus Christ, Happy New Year - But I know that I’ll be back again

Make My Day  - Friends call me a loner I know they're wrong

Ophelia - I know that you're a little liar

Try Honey - Darling I know that you want

Without You - I know we’ll move on as time carries on

[sorchathered]

Thanks for tagging me @floydsglasses!

Rules: pick a song for every letter of your URL and tag someone

S- Sweet Creature- Harry Styles

O-Ophelia- the Lumineers

R- Rich girl- Hall and Oates

C- Come over- Noah Kahan

H- Hurricane- The Hush Sound

A- August- Taylor Swift

T- The general specific- Band of Horses

H- How long must I wait- Dr. Dog

E- Empire- Of Monsters and Men

R- Rustin’ in the rain- Tyler Childers

E- Evermore- Taylor Swift

D- Dog Days are Over- Florence and the Machine

Tagging- @mamachasesmayhem @bobgasm @sailor-aviator @goldenseresinretriever @attapullman