#((if you have a bad memory like me WRITE YOUR PASSWORDS DOWN))

[desigemini24]

Hi,

do you still take Gellert Grindelwald requests? If you do, could you please write a fanfic, where the reader is Newt‘s best friend (a bit younger than him) and is also relativly close with Dumbledore. She meets Grindelwald during his escape, with her being one of the aurors. (At the beginning of the 2nd film) At first she despises him, but slowly starts warming up. Newt and Dumbledore often try to save her (she also tried to escape in the beginning), but in the end (after FB 2) she chooses Grindelwald over them. Smut in the end?If you are comfortable with it.

Thank you for considering

AN - Yep! I still love that old and beautiful man and god knows how long I have not been on this platform. I forgot my password and what not so sorry for the dead silence. Hope you like this.

Enjoy your Read and Thank You!

Requests are Open!!!

Be By My Side

Gellert Grindelwald x Fem!Reader

Summary - What happens when Y/N finds herself on a crossroad and needs to decide between her best friend and the ultimate love of her life?

Warnings - You asked for smut, and you will get it (please pardon me if it's bad, its my first or second time) (Breeding Kink and Dirty Talk). Gellert Grindelwald (He requires his own warning).

Tag List - @lady-athanasia, @littlesatanicassholebitch, @eudximoniakr, @hyacinthus007, @shopping, @choccocake, @andlizeth, @lady-juliettes, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @killing-gremlin, @narcy, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad

GIF Credit goes to @grindeldore-is-real

Y/N FOUND HERSELF STARING AT THE BLUE FLAMES WITH WIDE EYES AND A RACING HEART. This was it, she thought to herself as she watched the loyal followers of the blonde man step through the circle of fire and disappear. Perhaps to Nurmengard, she assumed.

The past few weeks raced through her mind, memories turning her mind dizzy as she was overwhelmed by the burden of the choice that weighed her down; turning her body to stone.

Months ago, had she been told that she would need to choose between Newt, her best and probably the only friend who had ever stood by her side, and Gellert Grindelwald, the dark wizard she was supposed to catch. She would have chosen her best friend and had allowed her former professor's words to sink deep into her. But now, she felt her mind and heart conflicting.

Don't choose a man who is capable of destroying you, Dumbledore had said on the day she had graduated from Hogwarts and started her job as an Auror. Probably he knew that she had a liking for questionably type of men, or perhaps he could see future; Y/N doesn't know.

"Y/N/N." Newt's scream fell on deaf ears as the young girl remained locked in her own memories. Remembering the first argument she had with the Master of Elder Wand, having pointed her own wand to his face while he had not even flinched. Perhaps he knew that she would never harm him or kill him. She was not allowed to.

The young Auror could remember the day vividly when she had tried to escape her prison, caught only due to the cold winds and the snow. I do not wish to harm you, I never will, he had said, carefully placing his wand on the snow, disarming himself to comfort her. You are a liar, she had argued only to earn a smile and a deep chuckle.

If I had lied to you, then I can assure you that this moment would have never happened. He was right, she knew in her heart. Gellert Grindelwald was a master of words; had he truly ever wished to trap her, he would have already.

The gentle brush of his lips against her was still fresh in her mind. A deep hum from his throat, a moan from hers. One hand sliding down her sides to hold her against himself while the other pursued its way into her hair.

The electric tinge she had felt was unique, something she had never heard of. The same could have been said for her heart skipping a beat or the butterflies in her stomach, but was it really unheard of? No. Those were all indications to a revelation she wished not to see. But how long could she run away from the truth?

"Y/N," the rumble of Gellert's deep voice made her open her closed eyes, inhaling sharply as she felt every pair of eyes present watching her. But above all, the mismatched eyes of her lover watched her with a tilt of his head.

He took a step, and again, and again. He approached her, never letting go of her eyes as he walked up the stairs. His hand was outstretched, empty; waiting for hers patiently.

"Come join me, beloved," he whispered, making the girl gulp as her eyes trailed off to her best friend who watched her with desperation. 'Don't,' she saw him mouthing, but her mind could no longer register anything, frozen in a single place.

Gellert's lips brushed against the outer shell of her ear, eliciting a deep moan which made him chuckle. His hand cupped the side of her face while he whispered: "Be by my side. Be my Queen."

All the thoughts vanished from her mind, leaving behind only a single man in focus. One who had platinum locks and mismatched eyes which resembled so much like his own personality. The man who stood in front of her, waiting for her to say the word, to give him the consent.

"Yes."

Silk sheets covered her bare body from the preying eyes of her lover, whose fingers drew patterns on her back while she slept peacefully. The soft glow of the first sunlight entered the bedroom, filling it with a golden glow.

Y/N hummed to herself, snuggling deep into the arms of Gellert who smiled down at her; a smile reserved specially for her. His fingers deliberately moved south, running along her spine before they moved to touch her thighs.

His fingers were calloused, rough, against her skin. Creating the perfect sensation that had her moaning prettily into his shoulder. A light flush painted the skin of her neck and cheeks, touching the tips of her ear as she tried to hide herself in the crook of his neck.

"How pure," he whispered with a smirk, his fingers teasing her folds, gathering the moisture that had coated her lips. Another moan left her lips involuntarily as the pad of his thumb came in contact with her clit, rubbing a slow circle that had her withering.

"Yet so desperate," he growled, retrieving his hand as he flipped them. His eyes watched with amusement as the girl underneath him flustered pink at his words.

She leaned up, chasing his lips into a shy kiss that had Gellert groaning as his hips snapped against her. His hand moved eagerly, intertwining with her hair before tugging her back, baring her neck. The sight of purple bruises and bites had him grow harder as he nipped on the skin on her collarbone.

"Gellert," she moaned, hands shooting off to tug at his disheveled hair. "Please," she mewled, moving her hips desperately. With a smirk plastered on his angular face, the wizard taunted, "what do you want, rabbit?"

The cry that left her satisfied him enough as he slowly settled inside her, grunting at the feel of her insides squeezing him. A broken moan left Y/N as a single tear rolled down her cheek, her nails digging into his back as she forced herself to relax around his length.

Moments after, the entire room was filled with loud sound of moans and grunts and the peculiar sound of skin slapping against skin. Filthy words escaped Gellert's mouth as he praised her while pounding deep into her.

"Such an obedient little girl. A perfect slut. So tight, so pure, so innocent. The perfect little wife. Should I make you a mother? Would you like that? Carrying my child. I feel you clinging around me, seems that you like that idea."

The sunshine filled the entire room in a holy glow as Gellert and Y/N cummed on the same time. Breath labored, both of them slumped against each other, foreheads pressed together as they came down from their peaks.

"I love you," she whispered, the words almost lost between the heavy pants. But Gellert heard them anyway, and with a smile and a light heart, he whispered the words back.

"I love you too, beloved."

[harfanfare]

Hey! I really love your "how to win the heart of." Can you do one for Vil? If not that's totally fine I'm just curious.

How to win the heart of Vil Schoenheit?

Be a fan.

You like to think that the oldest memory you can recall is how you became Vil’s fan.

Until then, the recitals your school took you on were boring. Only in fifth grade, the teachers realise that, hm, maybe ancient plays might be a bit too much for those little brains, and in a spark of determination to change something, your class was taken to watch a staged version of a fairy tale, played by youngsters for youngsters.

The memory of Vil, the villain of the story, entering the scene is much more vivid. Even as a child, he was inarguably elegant and strikingly beautiful, it left you agape and your curious heart beating loudly in your chest.

���It’s better than having a completely fictional crush,” your classmate said after you confessed how much endeared you were by Vil and his acting. You listened as you typed a password to a newly-created Magicam account, solely for following him there. “There is a chance that you and him will be together.”

“A big chance?”

“Uh, like this?” She tries to show how big your chance is with her fingers. She wants to leave a gap between her fingers, but ultimately, they touch, and she puts her hands down. “I mean, we are almost the same age, so maybe you can go to the same high school as him? In a very long future…”

“I am not delusional…”

Nonetheless, the thought did make you hope.

After you reached the age of sixteen, the invitation came. For a whole year — since you saw Vil’s post on his new college choice — you’ve been pondering whether you’ve possessed enough magic talent to get into Night Raven College, the school of chosen. In good dreams, the Magic Mirror deemed your soul to be solely fit for Pomefiore. In nightmares, you were doomed to… well, any other dorm, if you were a student at NRC at all.

And maybe dreams really come true because the future you’ve anticipating has turned into a reality.

“Alright, is everyone from Pomefiore here?” Your heart stops when you hear that wonderful voice, this time not from your phone nor from 100 meters away from the speakers. You turn around, and there he is, Vil Schoenheit in all his glory stands and guides the students to the hall of mirrors. He looks like a portrait, and even if you saw his face thousands of times, the glint in his eyes redeems you speechless. “Congratulations, everyone. We will hold the welcoming introductions at our dorm. Follow me!”

Yes, Vil Schoenheit is your idol. And in the first seconds of meeting him, you were ready to follow him to the end of the world.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Get rejected. Have your heart broken.

“I apologize,” Vil says slowly, and you notice how his voice is a little monotonous. Just a bit, as if he had repeated these words countless times like the lines before a recital. “And while I wholeheartedly appreciate your feelings, [Name], I want to focus on my studies and career. It’s a bad time for me to think about dating. Nonetheless, thank you for being brave and sincere enough to tell me all of this.”

You nod. The pain in your chest gives you goosebumps. It makes your head spin so fast your legs feel unstable as if there is some shift in gravity. You bow with curtsy because every Pomefiore student should be able to do so elegantly even on a space station. “Thank you for listening to my confession.”

“Of course,” he says and looks down at the letter he got from you. It’s neat, somehow cute with how carefully his name is written on it. He holds it gently so as to not crinkle the delicate paper. “I will read the contents tonight.”

“Thank you. No need to write a response,” you force a little chuckle and excuse yourself. You will be overthinking how could you say something like that after you get over your stupid letter and even dumber confession.

Vil doesn’t say anything as you walk a little too fast to keep the step elegant. He sighs at this view and mindfully tucks your letter amid the pages of the book. Now’s the time for history class. He shouldn’t get distracted—

—and soon enough, you’re out of his mind.

That is until he reads your letter.

It's a beautifully crafted confession, put into elegant lettering and a pale pink envelope. It's sealed with red wax in the shape of a perfect heart; if you haven't used magic, it must've taken several evenings to get the precision you wanted.

You’re his fan. He knows it even if you hadn’t pointed it out; the well-tailored sentences betrayed your utter attention on him in the last several years. You’re his fan, but you don’t cheapen yourself. He is the idol you admire and love, but you don’t degrade yourself to a servant or a worshiper. And that is, unexpectedly, uncommon.

The letter is—also—a challenge to yourself. “If you were to reciprocate those feelings, I will prove myself worthy to stand by your side,” it reads.

He likes that letter. Once he finishes it, he skims over the text one last time and puts it between many other letters he has gotten. Between them, another envelope seems unremarkable, yet the words there…

Unforgotten.

He sighs. Maybe he will pay more attention to you from now on.

‏‏‎ ‎

3. Don’t remember all the etiquette rules.

“You wrote in your letter that I've inspired you to learn. Go on, then. Show me how motivated you are.”

So, now Vil bullies you over your letter.

He can’t be satisfied with your scarce etiquette knowledge—he wouldn’t be content if it was decent, as it would be a dishonour to Pomefiore—but amusement crinkles in his eyes at your utter confusion over the numerous forks, knives, spoons and glasses. They’ve been spread out in several rows and columns varying from the oyster forks to champagne flute.

You hesitate. Maybe you could point out which one is the butter knife or sugar spoon, but you never cared enough to discover which fickle knife is a fish knife. Should you be looking for the one with grooves or an extremely thin one? Would it hurt to use a normal knife to eat the salmon?

Oftentimes you’re thankful there is no awkward silence between you and Vil after your confession, but you can’t shake off the impression he’s been harder on you.

“On second thought, maybe I wasn't motivated enough to learn all the names of cutlery,” you say, not daring to try your luck in labelling each piece.

To your surprise, Vil smiles and uses a teasing tone that leaves you stunned and wide-eyed. “Is that so?”

You take a breath and huff, lowering your eyes. “Yes. The power of—,” unrequired, you bite your tongue on that bitter word, “—love ends here.”

Vil cracks another delighted smile. You start suspecting that someone drugged him with a smiling potion, as you should have received a severe scolding by now. You don’t have anything against the change, so the mention of Vil’s (relative) laid-backness goes unmentioned.

“I will have you seated next to me on tomorrow's dinner, so don't even think of slacking off,” he says, putting a hand on your lower back and gently pushing you towards the next table where the heavy textbooks look so very uninviting. “I won't have any student under my wing not know the basic etiquette. Especially if it’s my fan.”

‏‏‎ ‎

4. Have opinions and the courage to voice them.

Because standing for your own makes you flourish in your own colours and not blend into the monotony of the mainstream. Seek truth, good, and beauty and you will bestow the brilliance upon yourself.

‏‏‎

5. Try to have a healthy lifestyle.

You’ve never imagined Vil barging into your room with a tray of food. Why would he? But here you are, sitting in front of an aesthetically pleasing breakfast, mouth-watering pancakes with cream and a bit of honey, and the deep green shake in question that suits the colour palette but probably tastes awfully, like all good stuff packed with vitamins.

“You should never starve yourself if you want to live healthy.”

It’s hard to swallow anything as your dorm leader glares at you, but Vil refuses to leave you before he sees you eating the stuff he brought. You wondered if he prepared the breakfast himself. Probably not.

“No? I thought that keeping a diet is good.”

“If you are dieting you eat,” Vil hisses and sinks a little more into the couch. He brings a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as if he suddenly got struck with a headache. “Oh, heavens. What am I going to do with you?”

“Maybe—”

“Quiet,” it apparently was a rhetorical question. Maybe Vil would be mad at any answer from you as he considers you a fool. He waits until you take another bite of the pancake. “A dinner break will be in two hours, and I expect you to be there.”

“I think I will still be full by that time,” you admit, glancing at a pancake and a half. “These pancakes are savoury but so very filling.”

“Savor them as much as you like,” Vil says somewhat proudly. …Maybe he did make those pancakes? No. He wouldn’t bother this much. The satisfied note in his voice makes you ponder nonetheless. “But you have no excuse for yourself not to sit with us on the meals. Also—”

His gaze grows unexpectedly impish as his eye catches something.

“I will reeducate you on the topic of a healthy lifestyle,” he glances at the bowl of bland lettuce you prepared for yourself. He smiles, either in amusement or light pity. “It should have a little more… spice.”

‏‏‎ ‎

6. Take an interest in high culture.

“It feels like the hellish lessons of Heartslabyul…”

“The Queens’ 810 rules?” Vil’s smile is lopsided and his eyes render into a knowing look once they meet your gaze. “They are nothing compared to a number of customs in etiquette.”

You take a turn. The classes for today might have ended, but if hearing all that useful stuff meant you would walk with Vil back to Pomefiore, you could bear another few minutes of a lecture. You know that everything he tells you about, he already mastered. He wouldn’t teach you anything half-heartily.

“The etiquette of speaking, the dress code, the knowledge of dinner manners (well, you’ve mastered some part of it already, with the cutlery lessons), the control of body language, the indication of voice, the honorifics, the art of writing letters and emails… You don’t want me to list all of the things I expect from you?”

You would like to, because Vil’s voice is beautiful, but the student part of you takes over control and shakes your head. Just like Riddle, who has a reputation for demanding impossible care and inquiring rules, your dorm leader is not much better — maybe even worse, because while Heartslabyul has to oblige the absurd in chosen hours or circumstances, you are on your toes in every moment.

“So much to master in just four years in the NRC…”

“It’s a lot,” Vil says, and he’s the only person you would doubt if he speaks the truth in that matter. Especially if through your walk his strides seemed perfectly calculated and hand gestures finely planned. “But if you put a mind and heart into it, you will learn all of this in no time.”

You hum. It’s hard to think of having any more motivation than from where you were a zealous Vil fan.

You ask (ponder) and he delivers.

“Actually, I have an offer: if you’ll learn it all in ahead of time, I will teach you a dating etiquette.”

…

What?

“…Dating etiquette?!” You shriek so loudly, that several students turn their heads. You cover your mouth as if it would do something, and ignoring Vil’s delighted gaze, and lower your voice to a whisper. “There is such a thing?”

“Of course. Who should invite who on the first date and where, what gifts can you give and what can you accept, and how to behave with your loved one, like,” he pauses a little, and you almost know he bites the sides of his cheeks to contain himself from smiling, “How to kiss someone in particular situations.”

You want to die. How else should you react? How can he tease you so much when he rejects you? (Not like you were expecting much at the time, yet…)

“There is no kissing etiquette. You tease me…”

“Just a little,” Vil laughs, and you slowly relax. “But take my proposal seriously. If I can give you another motivation to engage in your studies, then I will by all means do so.”

‏‏‎ ‎

7. Get an access to his private Magicam account.

“Do you have Magicam? If you want to, you can add me.”

Vil asks the question. He should have chastised you for mindlessly scrolling through social media because you can probably put your mind and hands to better use. The casual tone surprises you, but the inquiry gets you defensive as if it questioned you being Vil’s fan.

“I’ve already been following you for years,” you declare and pull up your phone.

Before you get to his profile, Vil sighs.

“Not the promotional account,” he says. “Mine.”

You frown. Many times you’ve seen Vil posting the photos on the “promotional account” with his personal thoughts. Maybe because you've been blinded by the elegance and harmony of every post, the idea that he would operate the Magicam profile solely for business purposes has never occurred to you.

“You have another account?” You ask, flabbergasted.

Vil rolls his eyes at the surprise in your tone and sits next to you. Your phone beeps as you get a notification about a new user following you. In a heartbeat, you follow the account back. You almost gape at the pictures there; they are beautiful, elegant, and all in Vil’s manner, but he looks like… a common student. Not ethereally, not otherworldly, but still enchantingly.

“It’s a private profile, so I ask you for discretion. I would like to keep this one for my close friends and family,” Vil says, and you hastily nod, your heartbeat sounding like a drumbeat in your ears. Having access to his personal account felt… personal, ironically.

I would like to keep this one for my close friends — he said that, didn’t he? Does he consider you a close friend?

That’s more than you ever imagined.

And yet you dare to dream for more.

You pull your phone close to your chest. “I feel honoured.”

Vil smiles at the statement. “Of course. As you should.”

‏‏‎ ‎

8. Let yourself be pampered.

“Don’t move,” Vil asks for impossible because you want to bolt as he leans to you once again and only the glare he staggers you with as you push away the urge to close your eyes. You hope the foundation is thick enough to cover a blush that creeps on your face. “You will ruin my work.”

You give up and glance down, earning another heavy sigh from your superior.

“Maybe I should finish the eye makeup myself?” You offer. “I am unused to anyone doing my makeup, so it’s hard not to flinch.”

Your good intentions get ruined as the question aggravates Vil even more because he frowns at you. Staying put and keeping quiet about that whole ordeal would seem like a lovely idea, you question whether your heart could manage another hour in this setup.

“Don’t be absurd,” he says. “We need to handle your sensitivity to the touch or you will struggle in the future if you decide to be a model.”

“I am not—”

“Stop.”

“I—”

“Silence. Be quiet, potato,” he presses his finger to your lips to seal them shut. You feel something sticky, and as his finger traces your lips, you realize it’s the lip gloss, and it’s a very good-smelling one like a strawberry; you didn’t expect something so sweet-tasting to be in Vil’s liked products. “You are under my care now. It also brings me satisfaction to see my skills used on someone.”

“Vil—”

“Shut up,” it’s hard to get offended at him, as he uses such a gentle tone. He takes a good look at your lips and as he glances up at you, probably to see if the colours of the whole makeup are consistent, your mouth goes dry. “Before I tell you to do so, don’t speak. You will mess up with the lip gloss and it’s… difficult to apply one on you.”

What? It’s difficult to apply the lipgloss on you?

Alright**,** you nod, pondering if the lip makeup is really that difficult. Do you have an unusual shape of lips (it’s probably not that?), or is this balm so hard to spread? You sit still, as Vil moves closer to you.

Yeah, except for the touch you need a way to ignore the beating of your heart.

‏‏‎ ‎

9. Move on from your heartbreak.

“Would you like to go out with me today?”

A kind smile convinced you to agree, although you barely recognize the name of the boy standing in front of you. His voice was hopeful, and you were reminded of the time you bore the same expectant expression.

You had no heart to let it fall, not right now, not so quickly, so you paint a delighted smile over your face. “Thank you. I would love to.”

…

You should’ve done this a long time ago.

For the sake of your friendship with Vil, you decide to stop hoping that the man of your dreams might change his mind after getting to know you better. He found a friend in you, and you would hate to disappoint him with your longing for him.

So, you should distract yourself from him and fall in love with someone else.

Today’s date will be a perfect opportunity.

You dress quite stylishly, not enough to steal all the attention, but enough to impress your date. You put more effort into the makeup this evening and spend some time picking the most fitting jewellery. The perfume you picked is subtle but alluring and chic, an excellent concoction, but you could’ve expected nothing less from Vil’s recommendation.

…It feels kind of wrong to use everything he taught you to prepare for a date, but you would’ve used this knowledge one day either way, no? It’s not like he is your first… and last love.

“I heard a boy from Scarabia have confessed to you,” the familiar voice you love but don’t want to hear like now spooks you. Vil leans on your door frame, and you wonder how much he has stayed here.

“I just agreed on a date,” you say, standing up and adjusting the folds of your outfit. You look him in the eye. “How do I look?”

Vil snorts, and his lips stretch into a mean, devilish smile. “Are you expecting an approving comment from me?”

Asking the fashion icon to rate your outfit might’ve been a wrong move. You shake your head.

“Nevermind. He’ll have to deal with however I am if he doesn’t want me to be late,” after glancing the last time into the mirror and receiving a smile from your reflection, you pick up your phone. “Well then. I shall get going.”

Vil is still, as if he hasn’t been blocking the exit or as if he wanted to keep you here. You would have loved for him to stop you here. It’s hard to stop the disappointment from flooding over your composure when Vil moves away.

“Alright. Your look is satisfactory so that Scarabia boy better be grateful for being able to go out with you,” he says something ambiguous again, and you feel bad for your date who will have to deal with such a lovesick fool as you. “Enjoy your date.”

The pang of pain pierces your heart. You smile slowly and leave the room.

The heartbreak better goes away as soon as possible, or you’ll go crazy if the thought of dating anyone else hurts that much.

‏‏‎ ‎

10. Look kissable.

“You’re late.”

Maybe you are, but you haven’t been expecting Vil waiting for you. He sits on a sofa, a book is in his hand and the tea that was served in front of him looks cold. You can guess he’s been sitting here for a while.

“How did it go?”

“It went well, I think,” you say. The date went well. Yet, you couldn’t have enjoyed it. The throbbing pain in your heart strained each of your smiles, and it surged when the Scarabian student started to be flirty. You felt as if you were cheating. “He is a kind guy. He has some hobbies and is quite charismatic, so… He’s alright.”

Vil hums. “Will you settle on ‘alright’?”

You stare at him wide-eyed, but he doesn’t look bothered at all. He didn’t lift his gaze from his book, and his tone was nonchalant, so he almost seemed not interested. He was. He is because Vil never asks the question to whose answers he doesn’t want to hear.

“Pardon?”

He spares you a glance.

“I thought your resolution was stronger. What happened to the person who confessed to me and was so willing to determine their worth to me?”

“Are you jealous?”

“I am furious,” he lifts from the sofa, the book forgotten. The air around suddenly grows warmer, and the shiver you didn’t mind that much runs down your spine. Vil’s strides are slower than usual, creating an imposing image of himself before he stands just before you. “If you want to set the bar so low, go on. But let me give you a taste of ambition.”

He twists his head so his eyes meet directly yours. He doesn’t touch you — not yet — but you can feel a warm breath on your cheek, and the scent of his light perfume envelops you. You have the urge to move away and cling to him at the same time. They balance, and you stay still.

A taste…

Vil puts a hand on your cheek. The gesture is much softer and more benevolent than when he was putting makeup on you. His eyes lock with yours, your heart stops, and then they drop to your lips. He moves a thumb over them.

And he kisses you.

In your dreams, you had him kiss your hand, the top of your head. The corner of your mouth. In your boldest wishes, you wanted him to kiss you like that, so lovingly, with so much care. It makes you want to push away for more air, but it makes you worry Vil will disappear if you break the kiss, as all the dreams shatter upon the morning.

He moves away, not breathless, yet not unaffected either. His cheeks burn slowly into a red shade, and his eyes look somehow glassy. “I told you, I will give you just a taste.”

How disappointing.

Before you can say something, he pushes a letter between your fingers. Its envelope matches the one you gave him several months ago. “Read it. I want an answer by midnight.”

The big clock on the wall shows you have over three hours. So much time, and you already know the answer. “You will wait this long?”

“I am giving you a chance and hope,” he says with a subtle smile. The blush on his face makes him more beautiful than you’ve ever seen him. “It’s my duty of your idol to do so.”

[galamalion]

┈ ✧.* 𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ summary﹕you experience a shameful hangover after you night out at the baratie, then go get breakfast with your new friends. how could anything bad happen at breakfast?

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing﹕one piece x fem!reader

┈ ✧.* chapters﹕[i] [ii] [iii] [iv]

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ w/c﹕3.1k

┈ ✧.* chapter ii﹕drunken memories

Your first night at the university was a rough one.

Upon waking up in your bed—and thankfully not the street—you immediately felt sick. You threw your blankets off and looked around the room, standing up to see Vivi and Nami still lying in bed, the latter looking rather worse for wear, tossing and turning with her blankets.

You threw open the door to the bathroom and sprinted inside, leaping across to hunch over the toilet to puke your guts up. Your stomach was never the strongest, and unfortunately neither was your alcohol tolerance. Speaking of, how much did you drink? You only got a small glass of wine to fit in with the Italian vibe, and you hadn’t even drank half of it! But—oh, that’s right, Nami was there. 

A memory—or rather, memories— came flooding back in an instant, all of Nami ordering small little fruity drinks. She insisted you tried all of them, ‘just a sip!’ she said. Well, all those little sips clearly did a number on you.

“Damn you, Nami…” you grumbled, stumbling back to bed.

After exiting the bathroom, you picked up your phone from your desk, noticing it had been charging. Did someone do that for you as well? It would have struck you as kind if you hadn’t been hungover. All you could think about was your pounding headache and upset stomach.

Before inputting your password, you noticed you had a text from one ‘Mr. Prince,’ a name and number you hadn’t recognized. 

| Mr. Prince: Hello Sleeping Beauty!! &lt;;333 | Mr. Prince: I hope you slept alright, you got were pretty smashed after Baratie  | Mr. Prince: but not in a bad way!! in a super cute tipsy kind of way!!!! | Mr. Prince: Also it’s Sanji!! I put my number in your phone so you wouldn’t be confused or anything!! | Mr. Prince: Luffy saw and also put his, and then Usopp wanted to put his, and then Zoro decided to put his…… | Mr. Prince: Anyways, just text me when you wake up Sleeping Beauty, just want to know that you’re safe!! <333 ^3^

Were you really the drunk one in this situation? You were pretty sure you hadn’t even spoken to him, only remembering his flirty attitude and writing him off as a playboy. But if the name in your phone was anything to go by, he seemed more like a Prince Charming-esque character. 

| You: i’m ok | You: thanks :)

You hoped the smiley face would help you sound like less of a prick. It was hard to be friendly after years with no friends, and you were doing your best to adjust to the sudden change. 

Before returning to bed you chugged a glass of water for your nausea and headache, praying the pain would go away after your short nap. Nami and Vivi would probably be awake by then too, giving you an even better reason to take this nap. And maybe your dreams would be more pleasant than your current state of consciousness. Nausea doesn’t follow you into sleep, right? Right?

“‘m not drunk…” you mumbled, staggering out of the restaurant with your new friends in tow. 

“Come on, ____!” Luffy begged, trying to drag you down the sidewalk. “It’s time to go home!”

“No use arguing with a drunk, Luffy,” A voice chimed in, slowly getting closer to your location.

“This isn’t home~” you hiccuped, “‘is college!”

“Alright, let’s go…” the voice spoke, leaning down near you. “Arms around me, darling.”

You felt yourself being hoisted up, and despite your drunken flailing, your front fell firm against a solid back.

‘Smells good…’ you thought, laying your head on the warm structure before you.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” the voice whispered to you. “Just keep everything inside and we’ll have a wonderful conclusion to this wonderful night.”

“Yer’ warm…” you mumbled, snuggling your head into their neck. 

For a moment you were able to focus, seeing the bright lights of downtown flicker all around the streets, as well as the blonde head of hair directly in front of you. It looked soft, like that Chinese cotton candy stuff you’d heard about. What was the name again? Would his hair taste like it? No, better not to try now…wait for later, when he’s not looking.

He? Oh, that’s right, Sanji’s blond. Or did he have red hair? You were having a difficult time remembering. But you did know he was a flirt, and not a good one. It wasn’t gonna work on you, even if his hair smelled delicious…

Thousands of thoughts raced through your mind, and their constant thrum slowly lulled you into sleep, head still resting on Sanji’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, that happened,” you mumbled drowsily, half asleep.

The conclusion of your dream-memory had roused you awake, your muscles slightly achy after only an hour of sleep. You really were that drunk, and not the ‘cute tipsy kind’ like Sanji said. But college was supposed to be a learning experience, and last night you learned the valuable lesson of watching your liquor.

You hoped Sanji didn’t take your drunken rambles the wrong way. But you didn’t voice all of your thoughts, just that he was warm! He didn’t know that you thought he smelt good. Unless your sniffing was really loud…

Oh God, what if you were sniffing him really loudly? At that point he probably just thought you were weird. But he called you a cute drunk, right? That meant something! But then again, you hardly knew him. And yet you had his number!

Your obsessive pondering was interrupted by another text, and from Sanji no less. Was he going to confront you? He seemed so pleasant in his last texts, what more does he have to say?

'Just stay calm, stay cool, and stay casual,’ you breathed, ‘if you pretend like you don’t know, maybe he’ll pretend like he doesn’t know!’

| Mr. Prince: HI | Mr. Prince: GOOD MORNING | Mr. Prince: WANT 2 GET BRAKFAST?

‘What the fuck?’ you thought, quickly typing a response.

| You: breakfast? | You: also why are you typing in caps lol | Mr. Prince: IT LUFFY STOL SANJI PHONE RUNNING

‘Well that explains it,’ you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

| You: didn’t you also put your number in my phone?

A moment passed without a text back, leaving you anxious for Luffy’s safety. Sanji wouldn’t hurt him too bad, would he? You soon got your answer through another text.

| Straw Hat: Hi this is my phone want to get brakfast? | You: lol brakfast? | Straw Hat: Ya you want? | Straw Hat: Zoro and Sanji and Usopp and Chopper too | You: chopper? | Straw Hat: New friend!!  | You: nice, can vivi and nami come? | Straw Hat: Ya!!!!!!!!!!!! | You: will be there soon! | Straw Hat: Attachment (1) Image

The picture in question was of Luffy holding a much smaller, cheerful boy who looked to be about 13, but if Luffy just met him, he had to be a college student. Unless Luffy kidnapped a local child, which you wouldn’t put past him. Luffy looked worse for wear despite his classic grin, having a large bump on his head and a very angry Sanji behind him, mid scream.

You giggled at the image and got out of bed, preparing to wake Nami and Vivi up. But after standing up, you noticed that both of them were gone. Did they leave without you? How long were you asleep for? It was just a small nap, you woke up in the middle of the night, after all. They probably thought you were weird after that night out, saw you still asleep and snuck out without alerting you—

“Good morning, ____!” Vivi’s voice called out as the door swung open.

You jumped backwards at the sudden intrusion, subsequently tripping over your feet and falling flat on your butt.

“Oh my gosh,” Vivi rushed over to you, “I’m so sorry, I thought you’d still be in bed! If I had known I would have—”

“What’s done is done, Vi,” Nami stepped into the room, “one apology is more than enough…”

You glanced up at Nami, noticing her familiarly sour expression.

“Hungover?” you asked.

“Hungover,” she sighed, fumbling over to her closet to change.

“I made some tea for Nami to help her,” Vivi offered, picking up the small pot of hot tea. “If you would like a cup, I can pour you a cup!”

“Thanks, Vivi…” you smiled, accepting the fresh cup from her. It tasted sweet, with just a slight tingle of mint within the brew. Even if it didn’t cure your headache, at least it tasted good.

“Hey,” you stood up from your spot on the floor. “Luffy texted me and asked if we wanted to get breakfast with the guys again. Are you guys cool with that?”

Nami immediately sprung up as if she wasn’t hungover two seconds ago. 

“Sure! Anything to get to his brother!”

“How about you, Vivi?” you asked.

“I would love to,” she replied gracefully.

With that matter settled, the three of you prepared for the day and left together towards the dining hall.

The three of you entered the dining hall, grabbing breakfast and reconvening at one of the numerous tables. You didn’t see Luffy and company when you walked in, and you didn’t see them after sitting down either. Maybe they were at one of the outer tables?

| You: u here luf? Delivered 9:34 | You: earth to luffy? Delivered 9:39

Memories of Luffy’s carefree nature danced in your head, and with that in mind you decided to text a different member of the party. One with more sense. The question, however, was who?

Despite your pleasant conversation with Zoro, you felt like he might leave you on read, and not because of his stoic attitude, no. He gave you an archaic vibe, like your grandparents asking you for help sending a text. So he was off the list.

Usopp was your best bet, but after careful consideration you decided against it. You hadn’t had a conversation with him, and despite his seemingly more mature attitude—at least compared to Luffy—he gave you a cowardly vibe. 

And that left Sanji. The most sensible? Maybe, maybe not. But, you were nervous to text him. The texts he sent you made you feel tiny butterflies in your stomach. It wasn’t his flirting that caused that tickling, it was the care he put into contacting you. He didn’t have to text you, but he chose to.

You felt stupid, like the kind of childish stupid where you have a crush on the kid who lets you borrow their pencil. But you were older, more mature. You knew not to read into every little message and movement of a person. So you could text Sanji, easy peasy!

| You: hey sanji, u guys at the dining hall? Read 9:39 | Mr. Prince: I’m sosososo sorry my Princess!!! | Mr. Prince: We let moss head lead us to the dining hall and we got lost ;o; | Mr. Prince: Lesson learned!! heading over asap!!! ^3^

“Alright, looks like they’re on their way,” you sighed, looking up to your friends.

“Are you kidding me? They’re the ones who wanted to meet!” Nami grumbled, “what gives?”

“According to Sanji, they let Zoro lead them here, but then they got lost.”

“What the hell? Their dorms are, like, fifty feet away?  How the hell do you get lost?” Nami scowled.

“I believe that’s a question for Zoro,” you replied, taking a bite of your toast.

Ten minutes later and your rag-tag crew of misfits barrelled into the dining hall, almost knocking over a dozen students on their way in.

“____!” Luffy called out, heading spinning around as he searched for the three of you.

“Over here,” you yelled, raising your hand up.

You should have realized the consequences of your actions sooner, as Luffy hurled himself at the three of you at full force. There weren’t many options to ensure safety, besides cover your heads or duck under the table, which you and Vivi immediately did. 

Nami, on the other hand, stood up and pulled her fist back. Luffy was going too fast to avoid her punch, and knowing how powerful Nami could get when she was angry, there was no way he’d be able to tank it without injury.

It passed by in slow motion, you and Vivi peeking up to see the collision, Usopp yelling in fear, Zoro and Sanji running to try and stop their friend, and the remaining student population watching in horror.

And just like that, it was over. Luffy laid on the ground, utterly defeated by Nami’s strength. A small bump arose on his head, slowly growing in height.

“Jeez, Nami,” you coughed, “nice…shot?”

“Thanks!” she giggled, flexing her surprisingly muscular arm. “I like to keep people on their toes. If you two ever need a strong-arm, just call me, ‘kay?”

“A-alright,” you stuttered.

Why did you stutter? You weren’t scared of Nami, were you? No, this wasn’t fear, it was more like awe. But not the kind you feel when you see someone do a card trick. More like when—oh, dear. The butterflies were back, fluttering around in your stomach, bouncing off the walls of your intestines, scattering through your body and hitting all of your nerves—

“Luffy!” Usopp and a boy—Chopper, if you remembered correctly— screamed, rushing over to cradle the body of their companion.

“You killed him!” Usopp declared, pointing an accusatory finger at Nami.

“Actually, he’s alive,” Chopper chimed in, “he’s just sleeping.”

“He’s what?” Nami and Usopp deadpanned.

Luffy shot up like a zombie rising from the grave, earning a shriek from Usopp. He stretched his arms above his head, letting out a long yawn.

“Oh boy, what happened?” Luffy asked, looked around at the crowd of spectators before he landed on you. “Hey, ____!”

You gave him a small wave, trying to keep your horrified expression hidden behind an apprehensive smile. Before you could get a word out, however, Luffy was quickly sent back into the ground by a punch from Sanji and Zoro.

“You idiot,” Zoro growled, “way to cause a commotion.”

“You scared my lovely ladies!” Sanji hissed, turning to flash a reassuring smile at you three. “I hope you’re alright, my Princess!”

“I just wanted to say hi to ____…” Luffy croaked, eyes falling shut.

“Oh my God, he’s dead!” Usopp wailed.

“Nope,” Chopper reassured, checking Luffy’s pulse. “He’s just asleep again.”

“Again!?” Zoro and Sanji yelled, staring shocked at their sleeping friend.

Vivi slowly uncovered her head, looking at Luffy, “Maybe we should stop hitting him…?” she offered.

The two men huffed, stuffing their hands in their pockets.

“Perfect,” she sighed, doing her best to smile. She turned towards Chopper, who was doing his best to tend to Luffy’s injuries. “And what is your name?”

Chopper looked up, startled before stuttering, “C-Chopper, miss! I’m a medical student who is staying on the same floor as Luffy!”

“A medical student?” Nami asked, “but you’re…”

“I know, I know,” Chopper sheepishly grinned, “I was able to skip a couple grades when I was younger, so…”

“Wow, you must be smart,” you blurted, peeking from under the table.

“N-not really!” Chopper reassured, “I just know a lot of medical stuff! I had a teacher when I was younger…”

“Meat…” Luffy muttered, drooling in his sleep.

Zoro sighed, “Well, you heard the man, let’s get some grub.”

“He didn’t mean you, idiot,” Sanji argued.

“The hell?” Zoro barked, turning to face Sanji.

“Now now,” Usopp interjected, separating the two men and walking off with them, “I think there was wisdom in Luffy’s words…”

The three of you—not including a sleeping Luffy and attending Chopper—sat back down, saying nothing for a minute as you all processed the events that occurred.

“Well,” Vivi finally said, breaking the silence, “I’m grateful that our friends are quite energetic! Back in Alabasta, I would have been escorted to a bunker if this happened!”

“I’m glad you got something out of it, girl,” Nami groaned, eating a tangerine slice.

“I kinda get Vivi,” you replied, finishing off your slice of toast. “It’s an exciting change of pace compared to my life before.”

“Alright, I get it,” Nami mumbled, “maybe you two have a point…”

Suddenly, Luffy arose from his slumber, awaking with a cry.

“Meat!” he howled, rushing to the lunch line.

The four of you watched helplessly as Luffy ran over the entire line of students, piling his plate full of meat, so much so that there wasn’t room for anything else, much less more meat.

“Do you think every meal will be like this…?” Chopper whispered, horrified by the display of gluttony before him.

You stared at your table, seeing Vivi’s intrigue and Nami’s curiosity. Then you turned to watch Zoro and Sanji argue, a moment away from turning into a full on fist fight. Finally you looked at Luffy again, seeing the joy in his eyes as he not-so-carefully maneuvered his giant pile of food.

“I can’t say for sure,” you sighed, a smile gracing your face, “but I’m hoping they’ll be similar to this.”

“Look!” Luffy shouted, slamming his plate onto the table. “They let me have all of this! Isn’t this place great?”

“I doubt they let you, Luffy,” Sanji said, approaching the table with Zoro. “More like they were powerless to stop you.”

“Shishishi!” Luffy chuckled before diving into his mountain of meat.

Before long the dining hall’s aura returned to normal as students resumed eating, only glancing at your table occasionally.

‘Probably to make sure they’re at a safe distance,’ you thought, finishing your food.

But after a while the chatter once again died down, only a whisper being passed along tables as an odd air filled the hall.

“Well,” Nami huffed, “you five took so long that we’re all done with our food, so you better hurry!”

“Go get more, then,” Zoro retorted, earning him a bump on the head.

“That’s a good idea!” Luffy cheered, “let’s all go get more food after—”

A small black blur zipped across the dining hall, barely scraping by the top of Luffy’s head and bisecting his plate of meat. You all turned towards the source, shocked at the blatant murder attempt, with hundreds of witnesses no less. But Luffy was furious, standing up and turning towards the culprit.

“What’s the big idea!” he yelled, clenching his fists.

“Oh, come on now, Luf! That’s no way to greet somebody!” a voice called out, stepping through the crowd of students, wearing the most ostentatious outfit you’d seen during your time here and carrying a hockey stick, clearly his weapon of choice.

You watched as Luffy’s fists unclenched and his expression changed to one of brief confusion, quickly morphing to one of insurmountable joy.

“Ace!” he cried out, sprinting away from the table.

“Ace?” Chopper questioned.

“The hockey player?” Sanji gaped.

 “The brother?” Vivi asked.

Ace grinned, tucking the hockey stick behind his shoulders.

“The one and only!”

tag list: @sylum , @dimplewonie

[samptlay]

To My Sweetheart Who Carries A Wounded Heart Ch. 8

A/N: February 29... It's been more than two weeks, my apologies... But enjoy, btw I'm uploading 9 & 10 today.

~

Series Masterlist, Chapter 1 🤍, Chapter 2 🖤, Chapter 3 🤍, Chapter 4🖤, Chapter 5🤍, Chapter 6🖤, Chapter 7🤍, Blade & Reader's Relationship,

Taking a deep breath in and out, you make a beeline out of the guest bedroom and make your way towards the kitchen. At this point, you've lost your appetite and don't feel like eating.

You're not eating for two any longer either way, so the only person you're harming is yourself. Who cares?

Deciding that coffee is enough to satisfy your needs, you open your phone to find no new notifications, (from other human beings, not some Pinterest board of house decor) which makes you both relieved and irritated. At this time of the day, March and Stelle would be bantering or debating on some random political topic in your group chat (including Himeko, Welt & Dan Heng) that you would jump in on for fun. It was oddly quiet today, and you were glad that they were taking into account the loss of life, yet conflicted about the change.

It wasn't routine. It was change, something you suddenly weren't accustomed to yesterday night. You physically shiver at the thought of everything that’s happened. You felt the same way when you woke up alone today, but you’ll get over it. Speaking of alone, you still have no idea where your husband is. You trust him, but did he have to leave without any notice? You gave him a call, but after two rings it went to voicemail, Opening Messages, you click on “Dearest💙” and write a text.

(Y/N) ❤ Honey, where are you? I went to the guest room and found the bed empty, I was hoping we could make breakfast together this morning. Call me when you can. I’m sure there’s a lot of things on our minds but we’ll be okay.

Well, it was delivered, so you know it went through. But after sitting in silence for a few minutes, which turned into ten, you wondered if it did. It wasn’t like him to take long to respond to you, especially since he’s been all over his phone for the past 6 weeks. Protective as well, he even changed the password on it without telling you. You’d leave the memories of confrontations in the past since thinking about them is what caused all this to happen. But you’ll inevitably think of them again.

The silence takes you back to a conversation with Himeko around two weeks ago when she invited you over for afternoon tea (or coffee). It was a rainy day and the breeze was chilly, so what better thing to do but have a friend over to talk to while enjoying the beautiful scenery outside? She could tell there was lots on your mind, so she decided you needed a small break from your husband and his shenanigans.

During this relaxing afternoon, it suddenly turned sour whenever she mentioned that you had seemed more on edge lately. It was likely because he was at home more frequently, caused by a catastrophic event at his workplace he refuses to tell you about. According to him, HR was sticking their noses into something that shouldn’t have concerned them, and since he worked with computers he was sent home with his stuff to work from there.

You didn’t want to seem pushy or disrespect his boundaries since the matter seemed personal to him, so you didn’t pry further. Himeko was intrigued by this and looked a bit taken aback, since you were his wife, exactly what boundaries were there that would be crossed by asking a simple question? She found this suspicious, which rubbed you the wrong way and caused you to become defensive. He was your husband, you trusted him more than anything and she was his friend as well, so why would anything be said by her that painted him in a bad way?

Irritated, you stormed out of her penthouse and made your way down with Himeko calling out to you. She had meant no harm and was only trying to look out for you, but you were too caught up in your own head to see that. However, later that evening you gave her a call pleading for forgiveness & blaming it on the pregnancy. She knew you wouldn’t usually react that way if she had advised you of something similar, so she wasn’t upset with you at all. She even apologized for doubting Levi. You two quickly made amends and all was forgotten, but the conversation still replayed in the back of your mind occasionally.

You were sad to admit you felt rather lonely and were left alone with your thoughts. Looking out the window, and bringing your mug to your mouth your mind trails off into a place you don’t want it to be. You’re in desperate need of a distraction, and you want to distract yourself with someone else. You could be entertained together, shut away from the rest of the world.

Picking up your phone again, you scroll through your favorite contacts until you come across the one name that always made you smile.

‘Ren🥀🖤’

What better way to get away from it all than to spend your time with the person associated with the one thing you knew would never change?

His stance by your side.

~

Taglist: @uhfhfhfhf @xdrin @msun1c0rn @lovingnahida @strrawb3rrysh0rtcak3 @ssecylia @skyl8ver @immahuman @meowmeowraven @01234 @markexplanation @esthelily @dawnofazrael

Borders by @cafekitsune

[aparticularbandit]

Of A Fatal Captivity: Technical Memory (III)

Summary: When do they decide that she can’t leave? That they’re going to keep her there no matter what she wants? That’s the day her captivity begins. Is that today?

Some of you will think that this beginning is a gimmick. Up to you! Think what you want! (It’s not a gimmick more than anything else in writing is a gimmick, which is to say, of course, it’s a gimmick, because that’s all writing is, really, isn’t it? A bunch of gimmicks? Some of them more successful than others? Isn’t that why we have tropes? The trappings of a Tragedy to tell us whether that’s really what the story is or not? (Do you know the story you’re in?))

Enough games.

You’re here for something better than that.

Or: Junko Enoshima’s factory reset may or may not be going as planned, and Ryoko Otonashi has plenty of things to say about that. Or will, once she realizes what’s going on.

Chapter Rating: M for Gore and Violence. Fic Rating: M for Danganronpa reasons, including the above.

TW for Gore and Vomit.

AO3

previous chapter | next chapter

Book One

MEMORY UNLOCKED.

CONTINUE?

YES | NO

Memory #??? Found.

Password: So there’s no…there’s no logic to which memories I get when?

Incorrect Password.

Attempt #1 of 5 Before Permanent Lock.

Password: Nope!  All at random!  Although I must say, your luck has been pretty good so far.

Incorrect Password.

Attempt #2 of 5 Before Permanent Lock.

Password: …you’re not lying to me, are you?

Incorrect Password.

Attempt #3 of 5 Before Permanent Lock.

Password: Why would you ever think that?

Incorrect Password.

Attempt #4 of 5 Before Permanent Lock.

Password:

Password:

Password:

Password: 284539579875

Memory #??? Unlocked.

Memory Downloading….

A Long Time Ago.

(Your Whole Life Is A Tragedy.)

“I don’t think you should come.”

Ryoko’s head pops up.  It’s not like it’s sudden – she’s felt just how much Mukie’s wanted to tell her this for a while now and intentionally cut her off at every turn – but she’d hoped Mukie would just give up.  Unfortunately, she’d been wrong.  (She knew she would, but still, she’d hoped.)  The pang of something uncomfortable settles in the middle of her chest at Mukie’s words, but she ignores it.  “Why?” she asks, although she already knows how Mukie will answer.

“I just….”  Mukie’s brow furrows.  She’s so much taller and lankier than she used to be, and it makes Ryoko uncomfortable.  Her mama keeps saying that she’ll grow up like that, too, sometime soon, and maybe that’s true, but it’s not fair that Mukie gets to grow up and be bigger first!  She’d stamp her foot if she thought it would do any good.

Mukie pushes a hand through her long black hair.  (It will not be long for very much longer.  Soon, it will all be cropped off and shaved bare, although Ryoko will never see that.  She’ll only hear about it afterwards, after Mukie returns with hair that barely creeps past her ears, a horrible look that’s gone by the time she comes back to stay.)  “I think something bad’s gonna happen,” she says.  “Oto-sama hates you.  He doesn’t want you to—”

“He’s my oto-san, too,” Ryoko interrupts.  She pushes her clothes all the way down in her bag, presses them in so that they’ll stay in, and then forces the zipper shut over them.  “He just thinks I’m a threat to you because you’re the heir or something like that.”  Her brow furrows, and she lies with her whole heart, says the lie that she hopes to be true and believes in it enough that she might force it to be.  “He thinks if we’re friends, then you’ll want me to take on the Ikusaba name, too.  In stories, when there are two heirs, they’re always fighting.  Then everything gets split down the middle or they hate each other or something like that.  And sometimes one of them kills the other.”  She looks up and meets Mukie’s eyes, and she tells the lie like it’s the truth because it’s what she wants to be true.  “He just loves you so much that he doesn’t want me to hurt you.  That’s all.”

It takes a moment, but Mukie’s gaze drops.  She shuffles her feet.  “You’re sure?” she asks.  “You’re the one that knows all that big stuff all the time, and everything.  He’s not just gonna hurt you?”

Ryoko laughs and surprises herself with it as much as she does her sister.  “No, silly!  He’d never hurt me!”  She pulls one eyelid down and sticks her tongue out at her.  “I’ll be fine!”

(This one is only not a lie because she refuses to consider the possibility that she won’t.)

~

MEMORY UNLOCKED.

CONTINUE?

YES | NO

Memory #??? Found.

Password: I don’t like where this is going.

Incorrect Password.

Attempt #1 of 5 Before Permanent Lock.

Password: 284539579875

Memory #??? Unlocked.

Memory Downloading….

A Long Time Ago.

The First of Your Tragedies.

Europe is more beautiful than Ryoko ever imagined.

They’d left before the winter break quite started, but Ikusaba-sensei was insistent about that.  Ryoko’s mama hadn’t been too terribly happy about that – she actually hadn’t wanted Ryoko to go on the trip at all – but her papa had just patted her on the shoulder and murmured something that sounded like, “We did the best we could,” in a tone that sounded like the truth but felt like a lie.  It was only then that her mama had given in, provided that Ryoko had all of her schoolwork done before she left, of course.

Ryoko finished everything in the blink of an eye.  It was all so easy.  She even sat down with Mukie while snacking on ginger candies and onigiri and helped her through the much harder schoolwork her sister had.  Mukie was enrolled at one of those special, expensive schools – the elementary division of…something or other – one that required her to have a fancy title of some sort that Ryoko knew but also knew that Mukie hated so she pretended to forget.  Somehow, Ikusaba-sensei didn’t seem to care whether Mukie should finish it or not, but Mukie cared.

She’d even met Mukie’s oka-sama before they left!

~

MEMORY UNLOCKED.

Password: 284539579875

Memory Downloading….

A Long Time Ago.

(Your Whole Life Is A Tragedy.)

“Oka-sama, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Ikusaba-sama rarely, if ever, leaves her room.  Ryoko’s only seen glimpses of her through one of the windows as she walks to school, and even then, she’s mostly only caught the silhouette of her through thin curtains.  She’s wondered about her, of course, because she’s Mukie’s mama and she’s Ikusaba-sensei’s wife.  But—

Mukie gives Ryoko’s hand a gentle squeeze and tugs her into Ikusaba-sama’s singular room.  “It’s okay,” she whispers.  “You’re with me; it’s okay.”

Ikusaba-sensei would kill her if he found her in this room.  Ryoko is certain of that.  But Mukie is her sister, which means that Ikusaba-sensei is her papa, too, which also means that Ikusaba-sama is—

“Oka-sama?”

Mukie’s mama turns from the shrine in front of her.  “Mukuro, dear, you know that—”  She cuts herself off as she notices Ryoko.  Her head tilts gently to one side as she stares at her, and her eyes blink with blurry recognition.  “Mitsuki?”

Ryoko nearly misses the name, but doesn’t.  She leans to her sister and whispers, “Who’s Mitsuki?”

“I don’t know,” Mukie whispers back.  “Oka-sama?  This is my—”  She glances to Ryoko, hesitates, lies.  “—my friend, Ryoko.  I wanted you to meet her.  She’s going to go on the trip with us.”

But Ikusaba-sama just stares at Ryoko blankly.

She looks just like Mukie.  That’s the thing that strikes Ryoko the most, just how much Mukie’s mama looks like her.

(That, and the wolf tattoo on the back of her right hand.)

Memory Downloading….

A Long Time Ago.

The First of Your Tragedies.

To be fair, meeting Mukie’s oka-sama was weird.

She was spacey.  She kept missing stuff.  And she called her by the wrong name!  It was weird!

And.  And!

She wouldn’t. stop. staring at her.

Like…rude much?

And the thing is – Ikusaba-sama still won’t quit staring at her.  Any time they’re in the same room, which is oddly not often for going on a trip with Mukie’s family, Ryoko can always feel Ikusaba-sama’s eyes on her.  She even caught her once, nudging Ikusaba-sensei and pointing at her, whispering something, eyes lighting up.  Happy.  It would have been different if Ikusaba-sensei had reacted at all, but.  but nothing.

There’s something…something there, but not.  She can’t reach it.  Not yet.

Not that it matters!

They’re in Europe!  She’s in Europe!  With Mukie and Chiaki!  And it’s beautiful and they’re having fun and it’s actually nice and warm here!  All tropical.  She’s never been out of the country before, even though Mukie and her parents go pretty much every year.

She doesn’t know what she Mukie was so scared of.  This is….  It’s fine.  It’s good, even.

And nothing – absolutely nothing – bad is going to happen.

Nothing, do you hear me?  Nothing bad.

Memory Downloading….

A Long Time Ago.

The First of Your Tragedies.

She can’t remember when she first notices that Ikusaba-sensei and Ikusaba-sama are gone.

It’s not a big deal, usually.  Sometimes Ikusaba-sama reaches the bulk of what her mind can handle, and she needs to go back to her room to rest.  Ikusaba-sensei always walks her back.  In all ways, Mukie’s papa is the perfect gentleman with her mama, so much more gentle and soft and considerate with her than he is with anyone else ever – even Mukie.

(But then he’s never particularly soft with Mukie.)

So Ryoko doesn’t clock when they leave.  Notes when they’re gone, maybe, the way she always does, but it’s background noise behind everything else.  Chiaki isn’t even playing her game as they’re walking; she looks around at everything just like Ryoko does, taking it in with everything she has, twinkling lights reflected in her eyes.

It’s snowing.

Ryoko remembers that it’s snowing.  Remembers the way her air puffs in front of her, the cutest little cloud.  She remembers saying something like, “Look, Chicharin!  I’m a dragon!” and unhooking her elbows from the two of them, springing ahead, and then whirling around with her hands on her hips, leaning forward and blowing hot air – clouds – all over them.

Then she hears something.

Turns to it.

Life is a Game.

Feels the tiny hands pushing her out of the way before she feels the hot burn of something sharp against her cheek before she feels the ground racing up to face her before she feels the weight of a whole other body dropping onto her back before she feels her knees, her elbows skidding across the concrete before she feels—

Then she hears the muffled gunshot.

Then she feels something—

No.

She feels nothing.

This has nothing to do with her.

Mukie places a hand on her shoulder.  “Stay here.”  Races off.  But not far, because as Ryoko slowly lifts herself up and drags herself out from under (she isn’t moving), she can see Mukie off in the distance fighting with…with someone.  Multiple someones, even.

“Chicharin?” Ryoko whispers, shifting from beneath her, unbelieving, hoping.  “Hey, hey, Chicharin?”  She moves out from under her, and Chiaki drops, turning just enough that her face doesn’t directly hit the ground.  “Hey—”  Ryoko presses her hands against her, pushes her over onto her back, and sees the bullet hole shot clean through Chiaki’s left eye.  She stumbles backward, scuttling like a crab, hands behind her, back and back and back.

She can’t breathe.

Blood – thick, red, bright – drips from Chiaki’s eye.  (So does something else.)  Stains the ground – the snow.

It takes another moment.

It’s so easy – so, so easy – to focus on everything else.  To miss…to miss.

Ryoko can hear Mukie behind her, fighting with someone.  Maybe multiple someones.  She can hear her own breath, hard as it is to get it through her lungs, to get it past the pain in her throat.  Her eyes are dry, and it feels like they’ll water just from that dryness, not from tears, because she’s not crying – not yet – she can’t cry, she doesn’t think, because it’s not…it’s not real, whatever’s just happened.

That is when Ryoko notices that Ikusaba-sensei and Ikusaba-sama are gone.  Surely she must have noticed it before then.  They must have said something about needing to leave, and Ikusaba-sensei must have said something about meeting them somewhere later.  That’s how it’s been.  Or something about when he expects them back by – and that sweep of his eyes that says he means Mukie and Chiaki but not her.

But she remembers…she remembers that look Ikusaba-sensei gave her.  She remembers Ikusaba-sama’s blue-grey eyes tearing up.  She remembers Ikusaba-sensei gently pressing his hand against Ikusaba-sama’s chest and forcing her away.

This was planned, Ryoko thinks, and the moment she thinks it, she knows it, and she knows that somewhere deep inside of her she knew it from the beginning and just refused to believe it, knows that she’d hoped Ikusaba-sensei wouldn’t have—

“Ryoko!  Run!”

Ryoko doesn’t listen.  She turns from Chiaki (not her body, from Chiaki herself because she’s not—) and sees Mukie so much taller than she is right now, all willowy thin and bright, fighting.  Attacking.  Defending.  Yelling at her to run.

But Ryoko can’t move.  She can’t.  And when she finds that she can move, it isn’t away like Mukie wants.  It’s forward.

Whatever Mukie can do, she can do.

Ryoko doesn’t know how she knows that, but she does.

She does.

~

MEMORY UNLOCKED.

CONTINUE.

Memory Downloading….

During The Second Game.

(You Are Always Learning What Tragedy Means.)

“I’m sorry.”

The goal was to clean up the bodies – body, this time – of any murders during the Class Trial.  Her classmates are all locked in the basement, yelling and debating each other over who could possibly have killed one of them.

(Leon.  It’s Leon.  She saw, you know.  She sees everything.  But then, she’d seen everything before it happened, all of the possibilities, and she’d set other things in motion in case she’d needed them, in case other pieces had to be pushed into place.  There are always so many options to reach the end, but there’s really only one end.

That’s the point, isn’t it?  To write the story to its end?)

Stupid Sayaka, deciding to fuck up Makoto’s dorm, which means that she has to spend more time cleaning everything there so that when the trial is over and everyone is exhausted he can just go back to his dorm and pass out.  Which means she’s spending the entire Class Trial just there.

Later, of course, they’ll still go straight to their rooms, and she’ll have more time to finish with cleaning up while they’re asleep.  That wasn’t the original plan, perhaps, but it works just as well.

Or.

It will.

It’s not like she’s there yet.

The gym is off-limits when they come back up, not that any of them care.  They hadn’t known what to expect from a trial – from an execution – not that….

Not that it matters, really.

She sits in the gym completely locked to the outside world, and she cradles her sister’s broken body against her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

She brushes her fingers through that stupid fucking wig and she pushes it back and she brushes her fingers through her sister’s short hair and she curls against her and lets all of that clotted blood stain her skin as her tears wipe away the stupid make-up she hated from her freckled cheeks.

“You should have let me die, Mukie.  You should have killed me yourself.  You shouldn’t have—”

Her sister is so much heavier like this.

She holds her against her chest and she rests her chin on her shoulder and she stares at the pink-spattered spears.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

(Her fingertips bleed where the spears broke them.)

Memory Downloading….

A Long Time Ago.

The First of Your Tragedies.

She should be dead.

She is not dead.

Mukie’s killed most of them.

Mukie’s killed—

(There is blood on her hands.

She does not know where the blood came from.)

((She knows where the blood came from, she saw the openings, she saw where they were going to be before they were there, and she is not Mukie, but she moved like Mukie, and when she started to stumble because she could not keep herself going, Mukie stepped into the empty spaces, and between them…between them—))

Ryoko doesn’t look back over her shoulder because she knows exactly what she will see and she can’t she can’t she won’t she can’t she can’t—

This has nothing to do with her.

This has everything to do with her.

This has NOTHING to do with her.

“Let my sister live,” Mukie says, knife held against the grown man’s neck.  (Where did she get it?)  (You know where she got it.)  There’s a tattoo on one side.  It looks familiar.  Why does it look familiar?  Where has she—

Ikusaba-sensei.  Just beneath his robes, right at the curve where his neck and his back meets.

Ikusaba-sama.  On the back of her right hand.

They’re talking, but Ryoko isn’t listening.

She knew not to look back over her shoulder.

But this conversation has nothing to do with her.

Chiaki is cold.

It’s snowing, and there’s snow covering her, and there’s a red tint to the snow like cherry snow cones, but she’s certain if she tries to eat it, it won’t taste like cherry snow cones but like copper pennies torn out of the violently salty sea, and Chiaki is cold, but she’s not shivering.

Chiaki’s not breathing—

“Ryoko.”

She startles, looks up at her sister’s eyes, finds them dark and cold, and drops her gaze to the edge of her blade, covered with blood.

Memory Downloading….

Memory Downloading….

A Long Time Ago.

The First of Your Tragedies.

“Ryoko, you have to run.”

“Run?”

“Find Yasuke.  I’ll take care of things here.”

“But Chicharin—”

“I’ll take care of things here.”

“I don’t have my passport.  I don’t know how to—”

“It’ll be okay.  You’ll make it.  It’ll be okay.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to go.”

“You’re leaving me.”

“I have to go.”

“I can’t do this on my own—”

“Don’t go back, okay?  Find Yasuke.  Use a new name, use a new…a new something, you can’t be Ryoko anymore, but you’re so good about new names and everything, and you said Ryoko always itched but you haven’t found something good, so you have to find something and you have to find Yasuke and you have to go or you’re going to die, too, so—”

“But what about you?  Won’t you die?”

Like Chicharin—

“I won’t die.  You have to go.  You have to run.  You have to—”

Memory Downloading….

During The Second Game.

(You Are Always Relearning What Tragedy Means.)

Time for the spears to rest.

Memory Downloading….

A Long Time Ago.

The First of Your Tragedies.

She vomits when she runs.

[apieceofsonja]

Tuesday, August 15.

Hi, D.

If this post is here, it means that you have successfully killed yourself. Because I just don't know where to write to you. I bet you don't even have Wi-Fi down there, or up there? geez, I have zero knowledge of anything that happened after death. Wish you could tell me, though.

Your last scheduled text to me was a lists of sad apologies, I mean, come on, you could've done better than that. An explanation would works better. What was your last straw? how could you find such horrible suicide method? why there? what happened with you and that asshole? anything? your death left me with endless questions I won't find the answer to. That's unfair.

Anyway, about those apologies...I kinda want to offer you the same exact thing. Can you forgive me for being such a bad friend? I can't even remember your birth date even though you usually let me access your Twitter for stalking my stupid ex. Your birthday was the password, and my mind has been erasing your memories. Holding on to you feels like chasing an actual ghost.

For your amusement, I want to share some trivial details about my life: I gained some weight. Most of my old clothes won't fit me anymore...But honestly, I can not look any better than this. I am happily fat. Can you even picture that?

I am still struggling with a lot of things, especially when it comes to my relationship with God. But it's far too personal to share, even to you. Just know that I am working on it, as best as I could. Might even send you some prayers, idk, just wait.

Also, things didn't work out with that person. And trust me on this: it was for the best. I ran out of excuses to make him a slightly decent person that what he actually is. There's no remedy for the things he did. He deserves no forgiveness.

But hey,

I married a nice guy, nicer than anything I've ever imagined. I did what we always talk about; settling down before 25. I just wish you could see my husband. Maybe threaten him a little just to make it fun? some "I'll kill you if you ever hurt my best friend" kind of thing? Jokes aside, I want to say that I love you, and I know he would've loved you too. I'm in good hands.

I am also 11 weeks and 5 days pregnant. A soon to be mom. You missed out on a lot of things.

I'm sorry for not forcing you to stay, I kinda wish I did.

Sleep well, aunty D.

I love you, and I miss you everyday.

[misiahasahardname]

🎵 one of these things is not like the others, one of these things doesn’t belong🎵

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Rewatching S3 and it gave me an idea, Tay do you think you can write something about a reader who just found out that they can see their rank on their hand? But… Y/n:“How come mine doesn’t appear?” R: “Let’s see…” *grabs hand Y/n: *😳 R: “Say the password again.” Y/n: “Show me my rank…🫣” R: “Ah! There you go! :D” *hand still in his as it carves out the word “mizunoto”

a/n: E my beloved :D ask and you shall receive my dear ^^ i dont actually know if the hashira have a ranking on their hand like the other ranks- and i dont know if its in the manga or not bc i haven't read it yet- but for this particular scenarios they do LOL (this isn't proofread im soRRY)

-x-x-x-

you found out about the ranking marks much in the same way the kamaboko gang did

you were still lower ranked and found it frustrating and at the time rengoku was with you (whether you're traveling with him, training with him temporarily, his tsuguko, what have you)

after hearing your small argument of annoyance at what you think is your lack of experience he quickly encourages you

"you are close to being promoted very soon! your ranking will start increasing the more youre in the field of battle!"

easy for him to say- he's a hashira when you currently sat at the bottom of the barrel

"are you so ashamed of your ranking?" he tries to pry more out of you before trying to slap a bandaid of words over your emotions to try and lift your spirits

"it's bad enough i haven't gone any higher, but i don't even have a way to see if i do get promoted anyways."

"that is incorrect!" he was quick to correct you since Wisteria Flower Engraving was placed on every member of the corps. "i shall show you, watch my hand"

he makes sure to pull his sleeve up past his wrist to ensure his entire hand is visible before he closes his fist and you can see the muscles in his wrist and what little of his forearm is showing grow tense

"show me my rank" he would actually say it quieter than usual, lowering his almost permanently loud octave down just a notch, but enough to be noticeable

you watched in awe as a red ink started to fade onto the back of his hand in splotches before the rank of 'HASHIRA' was painted boldly on his hand

"you see! this is called Wisteria Flower Engraving. if your memory serves you well, you should remember your arm being tinkered with after the Final Selection! by simply reciting the password and flexing your muscles your rank becomes visible!"

and so you try, but for some reason it doesn't work?? and that just makes you more frustrated- much to rengoku's entertainment

he didn't like when you were frustrated, but it was interesting to watch you get huffy over something so small

"try again!" he urges you and you do, but still the result was nothing

"how come my rank isn't appearing like yours did, am I rankless or something?" you huff

"certainly not," he reaches out and takes your hand in one of his, curling your fists as his palm ingulfs your curled fingers. his other hand went to lightly push his fingers around your wrist

"you are not flexing your hand enough. come, try again once more. say the password."

you almost hesitated, not sure if you could take another fruitless effort to see the rank you so much detested at the moment

still, the way his eyes focused on the back of your hand before they lifted to your own gaze to silently encourage you, you decided one more go wouldn't be so bad

"show me my rank" you almost murmur it, ready to rip your hand out of his grasp if that red ink you had seen on his hand did not appear on yours this time

"now flex, quickly and as tightly as possible," he quickly tells you as soon as the password leaves your lips

following his instructions, you squeeze

you feel his fingers pushing against your muscles as your wrist hardens and his hand around your fist tightens as if you help you

then those red splotches fade onto your hand before a bold 'Mizunoto' rank is painted on your skin

"ah! there you go! that is how it is done!" rengoku congratulates you as he continues to hold your hand in his as you stare at your rank

his hand that squeezed around your wrist moved so it not hovered over your ranking, pushing his index finger into the center of it

"all you have to do is remember to put enough strength into your muscles and your rank will appear once you say the correct words."

"i feel a bit silly," you admit as you try to slip your hand out of his as your rank starts to fade when you let your muscles relax again, but he keeps a firm grasp on you not allowing you to pull away

"nonsense! not everyone knows of the engraving, so it is not something to feel silly over at all!"

although the engraving had slipped your mind altogether, it wasn't exactly what was making you feel the way you did

more so it was the minor tantrum you were throwing bc of your position- the process to show that blasted rank only making you feel more childish

"you have only just recently passed Final Selection and began your job as a demon slayer corps member. you must keep that in mind- one does not just kill one or demons and get promoted. it is a tough process and you should not let it weigh on you!"

his words made sense and in the same silly sense that made you feel weak, his justifications made you feel silly since they began to cheer you up

you nod to him, understanding

"i'll just need to keep working hard, huh?" you lightly joke at him as he finally drops your hand and he laughs at your resolve

"that's correct! although, remember to be mindful not too push yourself too hard! it is dangerous to fight demons while fatigued."

"i'll do my best"

he smiles at you warmly before he nods at your words

"you always do."

[samwisethewitch]

dorm friendly magick for broom-closeted student witches

Got roommates that aren’t into witchcraft/magick? Can’t burn incense in your dorm room? Don’t have time for elaborate rituals between studying for exams and writing papers? I’ve been there. Here are some of my favorite undercover spells and rituals for witches living that college life. 

Journal Magick

Keep a manifestation journal! Find a journal that really speaks to you and makes you feel good every time you open it, whether it’s a bulky leatherbound tome or has a holographic cover and hot pink pages -- what matters is that you feel a connection to it. 

Every morning, write down the things you want to manifest in your journal in the present tense, as if they had already happened. [Note: this works better if you are writing the same thing every day for at least a few weeks. Consistent intent is key!] 

For more information on this type of manifestation, just search “scripting” on YouTube and you’ll find approximately 642934 videos on the subject. 

This is a really great technique for closet witches, because no one is going to be suspicious of you writing in a notebook -- plus, it’s normal for people to want to keep their journals private.

Work with correspondences just like you would for a normal spell! You can print out photos of herbs, crystals, tarot cards, astrological signs, or moon phases that correspond to your intention and glue them into your journal (or draw them, if you have artistic talent). You could even get an essential oil that matches your intention and dab a drop of it on the page. You’re essentially creating an altar dedicated to your intention, just on paper instead of in a physical altar space.

Tap into the magick of color by writing your intentions with a pen in a corresponding color (green = abundance/wealth, pink = love and friendship, yellow = academic success, etc.).

Tea and Coffee Magick

Tea and coffee are already essentially potions, and no one is going to think twice about a college student drinking a lot of coffee/tea. 

Coffee is associated with grounding and protection, and it adds energy to any spell it is added to. Black tea is associated with protection, courage, and abundance. Green and white tea have their own, slightly different magickal uses. Based on these correspondences, you can use coffee and tea as a base for undercover potions!

For mental clarity and memory retention, brew a mixture of black coffee, lion’s mane, chaga, and ginger. For a caffeine-free alternative, brew an herbal tea with rosemary and peppermint. 

To cleanse negative energy and release stress, brew a mixture of black coffee, Ashwagandha, cinnamon, tulsi or basil, and Eleuthero. This is based on a Four Sigmatic blend, lmao.

For a sneaky prosperity spell, brew a mixture of black coffee, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and vanilla. Yes, that is essentially pumpkin pie spice, and yes, you can use a pre-mixed pumpkin pie blend instead of buying the individual spices.

I could go on, but you get the idea. You can customize your morning beverage to suit any magickal or spiritual need. 

Most plants have medicinal uses that are the same or similar to their magickal uses. So if anyone asks, tell them you’re adding these extra herbs for their nutritional and/or medicinal value. 

You can also charge your tea or coffee with crystals. Just set a small crystal associated with your intention (amethyst for mental clarity, black tourmaline for protection, citrine for prosperity, etc.) next to the mug for a few minutes, or place it on top of your coffee maker. Be sure to charge both the crystal and the drink with your intention!

Candle Magick

If your dorm lets you have candles then congrats, because candle spells are both super powerful and a super easy way to hide your magick in plain sight.

Find a candle in a scent and color that match your intention. For example, you could use a pink, rose-scented candle for a love spell. 

You can find custom spell candles made by witches for witches on Amazon and Etsy, and these have the added bonus of having been specifically created for magickal use. Some of the businesses I’ve personally had good experiences with are Art of the Root (available on Amazon), Esoteric Arts (available on Etsy), and Crystal Journey (Amazon). 

That being said, I’ve gotten good results with $1.99 scented candles from Walmart, so please don’t feel like you need to spend a fortune on special candles for your spell to be successful.

In a pinch, an unscented white candle can be used for any intention. You can get these at the dollar store, and it’s never a bad idea to have a few on hand.

Oil Magick

Your dorm has a no-open-flames rule, so candles and incense are out of the question. No problem -- you can get similar results with essential oils. 

An essential oil literally contains the concentrated essence of a plant. Magickally speaking, this makes them a powerful way to add some oomph to your spells. They’re also commonly used for aromatherapy, so your roommate probably won’t be phased by you diffusing them in your dorm.

You can create custom EO blends the same way you would create an incense blend, by combining different plants based on their correspondences. You can also buy pre-mixed blends online if you’re feeling lazy or if you have a certain blend you know you’re going to use a lot like, say, a focus-enhancing blend for studying.

Another option, and one that’s more traditionally witchy, is to use magickal oils/ritual oils. A magickal oil is an oil that has been created for a specific magickal purpose -- it’s like a spell in a bottle. A ritual oil is created for a specific use in magickal ritual. You can find tons of different ways to incorporate these oils into your daily life for some very subtle witchcraft.

You can create your own magickal oils by combining herbs, essential oils, and crystals that match your intention, or you can buy magickal oil blends from witch-owned businesses. Art of the Root has my absolute favorite oils -- I have like six different blends, and they’re all ridiculously powerful.

Some ways you can use magickal oils: 1.) wear them as a body oil, 2.) diffuse them like you would an essential oil blend, 3.) use them to anoint and bless objects, like tests or study guides, 4.) add them to spiritual baths, and a million more. [Note: many magickal oils come with real herbs and resins in the bottle. These chunky bits could damage a diffuser, so do keep that in mind.]

Personally, I wear magickal oils on a daily basis in the place of perfume, since most of the ones I own smell really good. As I apply them, I say a small incantation to power them up. For example, if I’m wearing an attraction oil, when I put it on I’ll say something like, “I am powerfully attractive to the people and things that will improve my life.” Which oil I choose to wear depends on the day and the area of my life where I want some extra help. 

Tech Magick

The nice thing about being a witch in the 21st century is that, if all else fails, you can keep your entire magickal practice contained on your laptop and/or phone. And even if you’re not doing 100% of your witchcraft in a virtual space, you can still use your technology as a tool in your practice. 

Pinterest is the ultimate visualization tool. You can create a virtual altar to a deity or spirit guide by dedicating a Pinterest board to them, or create vision boards for the things you want to manifest, or create a brainstorming space to plan your full moon rituals... the possibilities are endless. 

Keep your Book of Shadows and/or manifestation journal in a Word document. If you’re really concerned about privacy, you can even password protect these documents. Another pro of an electronic Book of Shadows is that most word processors have a “search” function that lets you look things up more easily. 

Make a devotional playlist for a deity or spirit guide. Making Spotify playlists for my deities is one of my favorite devotional acts! I’ll put together all of the songs that remind me of that deity, and I can listen to it anytime, anywhere to instantly connect with them. And don’t be afraid to ask your deities what type of music they like -- you may be surprised by the answer!

If any other witches have similar tips, feel free to add onto this! This is just stuff that I’ve found works for me, but magick is deeply personal and everyone will do things a little bit differently. 

And not to shove my content in everyone’s faces, but I did just post a spell to enchant your school notebooks on my YouTube channel, so check that out if you’re interested!

[iwishicanbeagoodpianist]

the Wifilcon and the Winter Router

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC/Reader Summary: When Bucky learns that his neighbor has been stealing his wifi for months. Warnings: None A/N: I'm not a fanfic writer at all, this, like all my stories, are adaptations to fanfics. My original stories are not written in english, so this is also a translation. please do not repost my work

For an instant, Bucky thought that the knocking he was hearing was coming directly from his head, I mean, it wouldn't be the first time his mind played tricks on him, but he realized that the sound was actually coming, unluckily for him, from his apartment door. Oh no no no no no no no, I just got back from putting up with Sam for almost 6 full weeks, I don't need interaction with more people for now.

Bucky thought for a minute to ignore the sound, to wait for the person to give up and leave, anyway he didn't spend many days on this apartment, almost no one had seen him leave or enter the building and he had no contact with the neighbors, only with the lady on the 7th floor who once lost one of her cats, which ended up in Bucky's apartment, accidentally. Not that I found the cat in the alley and actually brought him to my apartment, it doesn't mean that I stole the cat, he was in the street by himself, I rescued him.

When the banging on the door stopped and Bucky thought he could breathe calmly again, a voice between altered and annoyed was heard all the way to the living room where he was sitting trying to overcome his third panic attack and fourth existential crisis of the day .

-"I know you're in there! I saw you coming in a few hours ago! I've been waiting for days for you to come back!"-

More out of instinct than anything else, Bucky pulled out the knife hidden in his right boot as he slowly backed away from the door. Do I really have a spy as a neighbor? Should I call Sam? Is he in danger too? Never mind now, you need an escape route Bucky, concentrate, third floor, window to the alley, 2 minutes max, the bike is parked far away, I'll have to run, but to where, rendezvous point, safe place, think....

- "for God's sake, open the door, I need you to pay for your fucking internet plan, I'm in the last season of my series and I need to know if Carolina died or not!"-

- "The internet?"- Between the andrenaline from escaping and the shock of not understanding what was happening Bucky spoke louder than an assassin, with over 60 years of experience, should have spoken. Oh, shoot.

-"Yes! Your wifi, I need it to finish watching my series"-

Whispering "wifi" to himself, Bucky tries to remember where he has heard that word before, this is what I get for never listening to Sam when he talks to me. But before he can continue his mental analysis of all the conversations with Sam about such stupid things as his favorite American Football team, the New Orleans Saints, that I remember, to how Antonio could possibly leave María on the last episode of the 6 o'clock telenovela of which Sam is a fan, his apparent "neighbor" spoke up again:

-"Jesus Christ, can you open the door? So we can resolve this like adults"-

Bucky resigned to the fact that he has given his position to the "enemy", walks to the door and opens it waiting for his death. Well at least if I die I won't have to listen to Sam again talking about Antonio and María. But on the other side of the door, there was a woman, who in her pajamas, very unthreatening but cute, was watching him as if he were a ghost but still with defiance in her eyes, in one breath she introduced herself and continued her speech about her complaint to Bucky:

-"As I was saying, I need you to pay for your internet"-

-"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understand what you mean"- mumbled Bucky.

- "Good Lord"- To Bucky's surprise his neighbor, pushes him and enters his home, well not so much a home home, more like the headquarters of his secret club, of which he is the president, vice president and only member, the point is that it is his place, where he can (and wants to be alone), as she lives here. This must be a dream, maybe I hit my head too hard in the last mission and I am unconscious in the hospital.

Crossing the room, Bucky's unwanted visitor looks around searching for something while whispering the words "I see you are quite minimalist, but maybe this is too much, someone urgently needs to look for some inspiration on Pinterest". She stops abruptly in front of the shelf where, in theory, a TV should go, while shouting: "EUREKA", she bends down and picks up a white device which has two antennas and like a million little blinking lights, damn, that looks like something out of a spaceship, I'm being watched by aliens? I'm being spied on by Kree?

-"This is your router, this is where the internet signal comes from, which I need you to pay for so I can finish watching my series"-.

Bucky, still in shock for the third time in less than 15 minutes, as he processes the idea that perhaps Thanos' unknowing twin is spying on him for a second invasion of earth and revenge for his brother's death. He can only nod to his now more relaxed and happy neighbor.

-"Perfect, thanks! I need to check the food I left in the oven, I'll talk to you later"- and as quickly as she came she left through the same door, leaving Bucky with more doubts than answers, peeking down the hallway, he realizes that she is the neighbor who lives next door, to his right. When Bucky comes out of his initial stupor, still not fully understanding what is going on, he decides to take his cell phone out of his pocket and call his own personal Google to solve his doubts about this century: Sam Wilson.

-"Hey Buck! What's up?"-how does he always manage to sound so happy? focus Buck.

-"What the hell is a router and why do I have one in my house?"- somehow Bucky manages to formulate, although maybe his voice cracked a little on the last words.

-"That thing's been there for at least two months and you didn't even notice it? Have you even paid the bill?"-

-"You put this in here? Without telling me????"- maybe Sam is also a Kree? Who can I trust now? It's all a trap?

Listening to Bucky's accelerated breathing, Sam tries to explain to him slowly, that in this century life without internet is not life, but obviously as Bucky does not even know how to set the alarm on his own cell phone, he was in charge of buying the router and creating the contract with the company so that, the 106 year old man could have his personal network at home. He had given it the name but he had not given it a password so that Bucky himself could set it up later. "I am an excellent friend, I mean co-worker, if I may say so"

-"Sorry man, after all that happened, we got called for a mission and I forgot to tell you, do you have your laptop over there? I'll help you set up a password, so your neighbors won't steal your internet anymore"- and with that comment everything started to make sense in Bucky's slightly screwed up but functional mind about the events with his seemingly non-spy and harmless neighbor.

Meanwhile Bucky was trying to remember his own password to unlock the laptop in front of him, also courtesy of Sam. "Bucky, when you learn about online banking and that you can pay your rent, electricity, phone and everything with a click of your computer, you will thank me". It should be noted that Bucky hasn't used that laptop once, like a good 100 year old grandpa he goes to the bank to make his deposits and pay his debts, which obviously consisted only of electricity, water, gas and phone because the man had no idea that there was a device in his house that spit out internet, apparently only his next door neighbor knew this. Buck tells Sam how he thought his router was an alien device and how he thought his neighbor was a KGB agent coming to kill him. "Relax Buck we all have undesirable neighbors that steal our internet signal sometimes", well undesirable is not the word I would use to describe her but ok.

When Sam finally explains to him how to connect his computer to the internet, Bucky can finally see the name that his wonderful co-worker, not friend, because he could never be friends with someone so stupid as to think that the name "THE WIFILCON AND THE WINTER ROUTER" was a good name.

- "my god Sam, you're such an asshole!"-

-"HEY! That's a great name!"- Sam responds with as much indignation as possible, he's the best at naming everything from dogs to wifis.

- "I can't believe you're Captain America, I can't believe we're even friends"- Bucky really can't understand his luck to have friends, well, co-workers whatever.

- "Well excuse me but we're co-workers..."-

- "Well, take this call as my formal resignation, bye"-

-"Wait a minute Buck..."- Bucky ended the call, to finish -his self-imposed- punishment of listening to Sam Wilson talk for over an hour. At least I asked him how to use the bank's website to pay for the internet. Suddenly, without warning and without explanation, the memory of his neighbor is lodged in his head, her hair in a ponytail, her reading glasses, pink shorts, her sweater from some university of which he can't even remember the name because he was watching out for other things... that she wouldn't kill me obviously, he was watching out that she wouldn't pull a knife out of her back and kill me right there. The message on his laptop indicating that he can now set a new name and password to his wifi distracts him enough to stop thinking about his sweet and cute non-spy neighbor and how she would look with her hair down and her glasses off.

Still with the sweet feeling in his chest and the desire to see her again he writes as the new name of the wifi, while laughing:

"If you want free internet, you owe me at least one free dinner"

After paying the internet debt and closing the laptop, Bucky gets up hoping to find something edible in the kitchen, while leaning over to look inside his fridge and analyzing how bad it would be to eat a fried egg with pasta and sriracha, he hears again a knock on the door, but this time it does not cause Bucky the anguish and anxiety that caused him the first time, but quite the opposite.

-"Open the door Winter Router! I prepared chicken pot pie for dinner"-.

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 5

First

Previous

Tim finished up pretty quickly.

After all, all the baby toys seemed to just be different variations of each other. Some crinkle, some make sounds, some squish, some… do nothing at all? Tim had no clue how he used to get by as a kid.

He ended up getting Damian three toys:

A tiny rubber duck. He’s almost completely sure that Marinette would have bought one if Tim hadn’t. At least when he was the one buying it he could opt to get the Darth Vader one (Damian had always been woefully uncultured, this was his one chance to make the kid watch sci-fi without risking getting stabbed).

A plush cow with crinkly ears. He had to hope that this could maybe jog memories of Batcow and, in turn, everything else. Tim had tried to think of something a little more relevant but all he could think of were things related to Batman, to Superboy, to the League of Assassins (did their lives really revolve around vigilante-work that much?)... and, unfortunately, this reality didn’t have merch that he could give the kid.

And a squishy plastic baguette. Because that was all he could think of to get back at Marinette for the duck thing.

When it came to little kid books he hesitated for just a bit before getting the basics -- stuff like animals and the letters and Spot The Dog. He wondered, vaguely, if he’d have to teach the kid numbers since they already used the Arabic numeral system. He got a book on it just in case.

Then he got a couple of books on parenting.

He checked out and then walked back to the sitting area where he was supposed to meet Marinette.

… she was taking forever.

He sighed quietly and skimmed through a book on parenting.

… oops they were supposed to breastfeed until Damian was about two. No clue what to do about that. Maybe the kid was already used to a bottle? He hoped so. He’d watch him more carefully while Marinette was holding him to see. In the meantime, he’d get a bottle and some formula on top of the baby food they’d been getting so far.

Alright so the kid was supposed to learn behaviors and language through observation. Good. That, hopefully, solved that problem. Tim probably would have just given the kid a textbook and said ‘good luck’. Marinette… he didn’t really know what Marinette would have done, but the woman wasn’t a teacher as far as he could tell and asking her to teach the kid properly was a little unfair.

Babies around his age are supposed to speak in something called… protowords? Like… a baby language? Damn, he has a miraculous and it seemingly allows him the power to understand every language but apparently ‘baby-speak’ didn’t count as a language. Tim called bullshit.

He felt a weight settle down on the bench next to him and absently glanced over.

Marinette sent him a slightly tired smile. She was wearing a new, dark red scarf.

He opened his mouth to say something only to have her shake her head and adjust her scarf a little to show him something.

Ah. It looked like Damian had fallen asleep on her shoulder so she’d fashioned the scarf into a makeshift baby sling.

“Could’ve used the stroller,” he whispered, setting his receipt in the book to mark his page.

She snorted. “And risk waking him? He cries every time he wakes up, I’m not dealing with that right now.”

He bit his lip. “You know… this book says he’s supposed to cry for, like, an hour to an hour and a half a day.”

She tipped her head to the side a little. “He’s cried like… three times.”

“Yeah, and he was really easy to shut up. Decidedly not normal.”

They looked back down at Damian, identical frowns on their faces.

“Does it have an explanation for why he’d be like this?” Marinette asked, her voice soft.

Tim hesitated.

“The only reasons I can think of are that he doesn’t think we’d help him if he cried or he thinks crying is something he’d be punished for. Considering how he was raised… it could be either. Or both.”

~

Marinette yawned as she sat back on the hotel bed. She leaned back against Tim, leaving him to bear the weight of both her and Damian.

He, to his credit, barely even blinked. He turned slowly until they were both leaning back against each other.

She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder.

She could fall asleep like this, she thought. Propped against Tim. Damian, in her arms, watching an episode of something called True and the Rainbow Kingdom… it was nice.

Or, at least, it would be if Tim could stop that infernal tapping.

“Ugh, could you stop that? Some people actually sleep.”

He gave a tiny puff of laughter that acknowledged that he heard her but, alas, he continued typing.

She groaned a little and reached a hand behind herself to give him a tiny bap to his side.

“Hm. This may shock you, but hitting me really hasn’t helped your case.”

She huffed and twisted around to try and see over his shoulder. She’d given up on sleeping, anyway.

“What are you even doing?”

He shrugged just slightly. “Trying to figure out what to do about money.”

She nodded slowly, looking over his shoulder as he scrolled through jobs they could do with zero experience or degrees. That could sustain a family of three and pay for the daycare they would have to take Damian to. The options... weren’t great.

Damian tugged on her shirt for her attention and she looked down as he pointed at his screen with a bright smile. There was a black cat on the screen. She didn’t really know what he wanted until he kept saying ‘ma’ over and over. She nodded and said ‘cat’ in both Arabic and English, which seemed to sate him as he went back to watching… the giant green yeti monster stealing a basket of candy? What the fuck was even going on on this show? Were kids’ shows like this in her own world, too? Or was this one’s shows just especially weird?

A thought occurred to her and she looked back over at Tim.

“You exist in this world, right?”

He nodded absently and opened a tab that, despite its claim that it was an entry level job, apparently required two years of experience and a degree. He closed it quickly.

“Why don't we just mooch off of the other you?”

Tim sighed. “Because that’s illegal?”

“You’re a vigilante. I don’t think that ‘borrowing’ money from your alternate self is where you should draw the line on illegal activities.”

“I draw the line when it harms innocent people.”

She laughed at that. “He’s rich. It’s not like he’s going to miss it. Think of it as… giving the money to people who need it.”

“You’re a regular robin hood,” Tim said sarcastically.

“I know. I’m so kind,” she agreed, grinning.

There were a few moments of silence.

Then, finally, he shook his head. “Even if we could somehow do that -- which I can’t guarantee because I’m not completely sure I could guess my passwords -- the fact that we’re in Texas… he’d notice.”

She shrugged. “Then let’s move back to Gotham.”

He blinked and finally looked up from the computer. “What?”

“We don’t have much of a life here, really, so why not move?”

He considered this for a while before sighing and flopping back on the bed. “Let me see if I can even get into the account. There’s nothing to say that I even have the same social security number here...”

She nodded her understanding and laid back next to him. Damian whined a little at the sudden displacement but just ran a hand up and down his back absently until he was watching his show again, completely silent as he stared at the screen. Now the main girl was reaching into her bag for a weird orb of light that was, apparently, sentient. Was this the Dora of their world? God help their children.

Speaking of helping their children...

She picked up a parenting book to read while Tim tried to guess his otherworldly counterpart’s passwords.

~

Tim managed to get in.

He rested his head in his hands, cursing quietly.

She glanced over and smiled at his slightly flushed face.

“What was the password?”

He grumbled under his breath.

This only seemed to encourage her more because she started nudging his shoulder, the soft smile morphing into a cheeky grin.

He sighed and took a moment to gather himself before looking over at her. “It’s… ‘<3Richard<3graysons<3little<3brother<3’.”

“... I don’t get it.”

“Good. So you can’t tease me about it,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.

She scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Totally is.”

He set the computer down beside himself and stretched his achy old bones. He’d had a baby for approximately two days now and he could already feel the bad back setting in. Tomorrow he would have gray hair.

“I’m going to look it up if you don’t tell me.”

“... he’s a celebrity,” Tim said quietly.

Her grin wavered back towards that genuine smile for just a second before spreading into an even wider grin. She reached out and pinched his cheeks. “Awwww, Tim, that’s so cute --!”

“Shut up,” he complained, batting her hands away.

She snickered. “No. I’m going to write that password on your tombstone.”

“You’re assuming I’m going to die first.”

“I have an extended lifespan. You’re only going to have that for another fifteen years. After that? Unless I’m really stupid you’re gonna die first.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to find out how to be immortal now. Purely to spite you.”

She snorted. “Okay. Good luck with that.”

“Thank you.”

With that, he pushed himself up with a groan. “I’m going to get him ready for bed.”

She nodded her understanding and continued with her reading.

Damian whined a little when Tim tried to take him away from where he had curled up next to Marinette but that seemed to be more because he was tired and cranky than genuine distress.

Tim was the one to bathe him. It wasn’t a bubble bath, he wasn’t eager to repeat the previous night’s mistakes, but he did give Damian the rubber duck. This seemed to work for all of them, since Damian now allowed them to take him out of the bath as long as he got to bring his duck.

Marinette grinned when she looked over at where Damian was chewing on his rubber duck as Tim struggled to click the annoyingly difficult buttons of the onesie into place.

“Told you he would love it.”

“We both know that wasn’t why you wanted to get it.”

“And we both know you didn’t get that squishy bread-thing just because you thought he would like it, either.”

He smiled. “Maaaaaybe.”

The onesie finally allowed itself to be buttoned and Tim picked Damian up so he could get into bed.

Marinette frowned. “This book says we shouldn’t let him sleep with us every night. Says it creates a bad habit that’s hard to break.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at her but, reluctantly, carried the kid over to the crib so they could sleep separately.

“Fine. But I’m going to sleep before him so I don’t stress out all night.”

She snickered. “Fine. Fine.”

He climbed into bed, set a pillow between them, and promptly dozed off before he could get woken up by Damian whimpering through the night.

… Tim woke up a few hours later -- his body wasn’t quite used to sleeping through nights just yet -- to find that Marinette had brought the kid into bed with them again.

He smiled a little and moved the pillow out from between them. Even if Damian was currently too trapped in Marinette’s arms to even reach it, it was best to make sure it couldn’t happen.

Damian whimpered a little in his sleep again and Tim tipped his head to the side. He reached over and gently combed his fingers through the fuzzy little tufts of hair that the kid had so far. Damian relaxed.

Tim sighed and shifted in the bed until he was closer to Damian, then maneuvered through Marinette’s mess of limbs to press a tiny kiss to the top of his head. The baby smiled in his sleep and, though the kid couldn’t see it, he returned the smile. He rested an arm around the kid as well in hopes that it would keep the kid feeling safe before allowing himself to drift off.

~~~~~

Next

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[leafs-lover]

Prompt List

Hey I've been in somewhat of a rut for writing, in an attempt to get my wheels turning I am doing another prompt list/ blurb weekend. I will be accepting prompts from the following list today and will be writing/ releasing them over the next little bit.

+ pick a player or two for each prompts

+ pick one or two prompts, if you pick more than two for each request I more than likely will only write two of them

“It’s 1AM. Go to sleep!”

“Who buys 25 packs of balloons?!”

“Could you please make an effort with them?” “I don’t care about them, I only care about is you.”

“Rules are meant to be broken.” Actually, that’s not-“ “Come on!!”

“If you don’t stop now I’m calling your mom!”

“Calm down, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“I’ve never wanted anything so much in my entire life.”

“I thought I could trust you.”

“What’s the password?”

“How long are you planning on staying?”

“It’s okay to cry, you know.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I can’t stop crying.”

“I can’t quite believe you’re standing here in front of me.”

“It’s awfully dull around here without you.”

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

“Doesn’t take an idiot to figure it out.”

“I wanted to kiss you.”

“Of course I stayed”

Wow…you…you look stunning.”

“It's okay, I promise you, I will be here when you wake up."

“Sometimes, i guess i kinda wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

“Is that my shirt?”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I feel safe in your arms, I always have”

“I could get used to this”

“I can’t wait to wake up and see you in the morning”

“I like the way your hand fits in mine”

“Stop distracting me”

“Were you touching yourself?”

“I’m at work.” “all the more reason”

“I thought you said he was gone for the night”

“I would have stayed if you asked”

“You know I’d do anything for you”

“I feel so fucking stupid”

“Please don’t go”

“We just don’t really talk anymore”

“You’re nothing more than a memory”

“This isn’t what I wanted”

“I’m not drunk enough for this”

“Take off your shirt”

“I told you not fall in love with me”

“We’ll figure this out.”

“Do you still love me?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Maybe you should just leave.”

“Maybe this is all it will be”

“How long?”

“What are we doing here?”

“We we’re on a break”

“It’s snowing!”

“It’s going to get hard.”

“They are so cute when asleep.”

“Can you come over?”

“I knew you’d miss me.”

“Are you…are you jealous?”

“It’s not you it’s me.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You expect me to just forgive this?”

“Drunk saying are sober thoughts.”

“If we stay still they might not see us.”

“Just forget it.”

“Why are you lying?”

“Lie to me then.”

“I can’t keep pretending strangers are you.”

“I don’t share.”

“I still remember the way you taste.”

“We’re not friends.”

“You’re so oblivious.”

“You’re going out, dressed like that?”

“Please don’t go.”

“One last time.”

“Shouldn’t you be with them?”

“This isn’t goodbye.”

“Dance with me.”

“Even after everything you don’t believe me.”

“I could never forget you.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I lost our baby.”

“That’s wifey level shit.”

“They’re monsters.”

“I just need you to smile.”

“I had a bad dream.”

“Want to just run away from all this?”

“Are you done?”

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Take your clothes off.”

“You know what that face does to me.”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

I never meant to hurt you.”

“This is new.”

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being an Avenger with a photographic memory

Avengers x reader

warnings: alcohol mention

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Hcs for the Avengers with reader who has eidetic memory? They just remember ever little detail about everyone there?”

you were a great asset on intelligence missions, for starters!

if data couldn’t physically be acquired, they’d send you in to gather info

“y/n, everything going okay in there?” -cap

“well, yes and no”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“the mission is going smoothly, don’t worry...but while searching these files, i found some...unsavory images that i’ll never be able to forget”

“i don’t want to know”

remembering all the avengers passwords for all of their accounts, which is both a blessing and a curse

“y/n, what’s my instagram password again?” -tony

“man-of-iron79”

“thanks! you’re a lifesaver!”

or you could pull some REALLY FANTASTIC pranks on them by sending very questionable emails to nick fury

Dear Fury, I am afraid that I prefer the ice over this day and age. Please put me into cryosleep at your earliest convenience. Tony is exhausting and I need another long nap. Sincerely, Steve Rogers

you’d never seen fury laugh so fucking hard

cap had to change his password

but he did get a kick out of it

“hey, y/n, can you remind me to tell bucky to ‘fuck off’ whenever he comes back?” -sam

“this seems like something you would remember yourself but okay?”

“yeah, well i try to ignore him when he’s nearby. thanks.”

sometimes people forget that you’re not omnipotent, you just have a really good memory

reading up on as many SHIELD files you can get your hands onto for future missions

also bc sometimes clint and nat forget that they added very minor details into their reports and clint gets worked up when you somehow know about some miniscule fact from a mission 5-15 years ago

“how the fuck does y/n know about budapest?”

sometimes you wake up at night to find tony in the kitchen wearing nothing but underwear and you just regret getting out of bed

“i would say ‘forget this ever happened,’ but i know you wont so just keep moving”

unfortunately you remember all the “party nights” too

bad for you but also good for you

you remember all the stupid things you did while drunk, but you also hold all the cards since your teammates dont 😌 only steve and you know the truth and that’s enough

the team also likes talking to you !! abt anything !! bc wherever they leave off, they can immediately pick back up and you won’t forget a thing

tony said JARVIS is better than u

wanda!!! you’re collectively trying to figure out how to get rid of certain memories with her bc....no

the team encourages her to get rid of their most embarrassing moments from your head

“if you happen to find the time where y/n saw me slip down the stairs and, well, see my butt hit every step...could you just get rid of that please?” -bruce

“yeah, they’ve heard me sing before, we can’t have that existing in their mind” -natasha

“wait, no! please don’t get rid of those ones, they’re my favorite!” -you

“y/n’s mind, y/n’s rules” -wanda

stupid fucking quotes buzzing around your head all the time and every once in a while you mumble one to yourself and an avenger LOSES IT (esp if it’s their words)

“on va voir, motherfucker”

*steve’s jaw drops*

sometimes you randomly laugh at a vivid memory that comes up and everyone tries to guess which one

“uhhh, that time clint crushed a smoothie on his head?”

“when peter cried during patrol because he had finals the next day?”

“was it when tony choked on a blueberry?”

“natasha doing tiktok dances flawlessy?”

“what about thor kissing mjölnir?”

“oh, was it that time we caught steve listening to katy perry with tears in his eyes?”

good times, really good times

there were other...bad memories you wish you could have forgotten

casualties of battle.....failure......your own embarrassment

but at least you were a valuable member of the avengers !

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiant // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm //

[parkers-gal]

you dont have to write this if youre not comfortable doing it, but could you do something where the reader is toms girlfriend and is diagonsed with a brain tumor and starts forgetting things, like she suddenly cant remember his family anymore or that toms spider-man?

wc: 1.4k words - please READ WITH CAUTION. it's heavy tw // brain tumors, diseases, MRI's, crying, angst

requests are open

—

“And I’m telling you there’s something obviously wrong with her.” Tom was just on the edge of yelling at the doctor. You were sitting on the medical bed in the lonesome room.

One month of Tom being home was enough time for him to realize you were not the same person you were when he left for filming. You were quiet, more conserved, and a bit more curious than you normally were. But not in the sense that you were inquisitive about new things. No, you were forgetting what you already knew to be true.

“Sir, we just asked her a series of questions and she’s showing no signs of change.”

“Then that’s not enough, goddammit!” His fist slams down on the counter, startling everyone in the room.

“Please refrain from raising your voice, sir.”

“I won’t refrain from doing anything until you keep running more tests. Try- try something different if you’re not getting anywhere with these ones!”

The man, his tag reading Dr. Goldstein, offered a tense smile. He whispered something to Tom, something out of your earshot, and he nodded.

“I’ll be right back, okay baby?” He leaned close to your ear, leaving a gentle kiss under the lobe while you nodded. His fingers slipped from yours and suddenly you were alone in the room.

Goldstein brought Tom into a separate medical room, and Tom sat in one of the chairs provided while the doctor logged himself into the company database.

“Can you explain what you’ve been noticing? Your reason for being here?”

“She’s having a lot of headaches.” The doctor hummed, a sign for Tom to elaborate. He did. “She- she told me to bring home extra medicine but the headaches got so bad she had to call in sick for work. About three days later she was throwing up frequently. We took her to the local doctor but they said it was a stomach bug and it would go away.”

“And it didn’t?” Tom shook his head. “Is that all? Has she had any seizures?”

“No.”

“Does anyone in her family have a history of having seizures?”

“Not that I know of.” Goldstein looked at Tom through the tops of his glasses, eyebrows raised as he wrote all the information down.

“Has she had any memory loss, fatigue or sleeping problems?”

“Yeah, sleeping problems were big with the headaches. She- uh… she’s been forgetting things a lot easier now, too.”

“Do you know any of the things she’s forgotten? Anything major, that is.”

Tom scratched the back of his neck in thought. “I mean… she forgot her phone password once. A few hair appointments maybe, or a dinner reservation. I think the big one was when she forgot how to drive.”

“She forgot how to drive?”

“Not entirely, just a couple steps.”

The doctor clicked his tongue. It wasn’t calming Tom’s nerves. You, however, were swinging your legs back and forth as you waited patiently for someone to return. A nurse had come in to give you some water, which you gratefully accepted. You weren’t sure what was taking so long for Tom to get back; you were the one sick, afterall.

“We’ll have to run a few tests just to confirm anything, first. Can you make an appointment with the front desk?”

Tom nods, standing as the man leads him out of this room and into the one with you.

“Hey,” He breathes out. “You okay?” You nod, he hums with a small smile.

“Everything okay?” He nods.

“We’ll have to come back, though.” You frown but nod nonetheless.

**

Medical dresses reminded you of movies that would leave you crying for a happier ending. You felt like you were the movie, a camera in your face while family members cried because of the news.

You had just gotten an MRI-scan. Magnetic resonance imaging, as the doctor had put it. They explained everything to you in such detail that the information had flown right over your head. You drowned everything out, the only thing keeping you grounded being Tom and his voice.

You were still wearing the dress as the doctor came back in forty minutes later with his head hung low and your verdict on the slip of paper.

“Well?” Tom’s voice was eager, and not in a positive way. His hand was holding yours tightly as his nerves rose to an all time high.

Dr. Goldstein sighed as he sat in his rolling chair. “It’s called neurofibromatosis. It’s a tumor located in the prefrontal lobe. It’s a hereditary disease that can last a lifetime.” Tom physically deflates at the news. A tear slips from your eyes, but the doctor keeps going. “Though we just performed the biopsy, we can already tell it’s spread to the temporal lobe. We can predict it’s probably going to affect your spinal cord and your central nervous system.”

“Can… can it be cured?” Tom was so hesitant, so afraid he’d lose the one stable thing in his life. He was afraid of losing you, watching you slip through his fingers while he tried to hold on, grasp as much of you as he could. What he didn’t want to admit, though, was that you were already slipping, and his hands were already losing grip.

“No. But treatment can help prevent the spread.”

“Am I going to die?” Your shrill, quiet voice cuts the tension, asking the question everybody was afraid to know the answer to.

“The average life expectancy of a patient with your tumor is eight years.” He clicks his tongue and Tom scoffs.

“Eight years? Of what, chemo?”

“Sir, there’s no way to tell if it’s permanent or not. If the treatment goes well, it could die out without killing her. You’re lucky you’re still in the early stages.”

The drive home was quiet. You weren’t reacting the way Tom wanted you to. You were acting normal, and it killed him inside that you weren’t batting an eye or pointing out the elephant in the room.

“Can we go bowling tomorrow?”

“I have work tomorrow.” Tom sighs as he grips the steering wheel harder.

“Work…?” You look at him expectantly. He blinks

“We’re filming Spider-man 3 for the next five months.” He tells you almost irritatingly, as if he expects you to know his schedule better than himself. And you do. But not anymore.

“You’re an actor?”

When he pulls up to the driveway, he parks the car and looks at you strangely, as if a piece of his soul just washed away, lost to never be found again. He looks as if he’s about to cry.

“Sorry if you don’t like talking about work,” You say it defensively. “I just didn’t know you were an actor.”

“Love….” He sits back defeatedly, shoulders sagging. “Maybe Harry can take you bowling tomorrow instead. I need to talk to Jon about something.”

“Harry…?” You trail off as if he’ll fill in the blank to who this person is. Before he opens the car door, he stops to look at you again.

“My brother?” He’s soft as he tries to see if you’ll remember him. You don’t. “You don’t remember my brothers?”

“You have multiple?” The two of you step out of the car as you head inside.

“I have three.”

“I wish I knew them all.” Tom chokes on air.

“Y/N, you do know them.”

You watch as Tom’s figure nearly deflates again, and you pout. “I’m sorry.” He turns around hastily.

“For what?”

“I just… it feels like I’m not trying hard enough.”

“Baby… ” He pulls you into his chest as you gasp out a cry, sucking in a breath as new tears fall. Tom cries too, gripping you tightly as the salty waters flow out of the rivers, breaking the dams and flooding all around it.

“I’m so-” You whisper out between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” He’s trying not to cry too loudly, too harshly. “‘S Not your fault.”

He feels you nod against him, and for the first time in weeks, he feels as if he finally has a grip on you again, as if he can pull you out of the drowning waters, let you come up for air before another wave crashes over your helpless body. For the first time in weeks, he feels like you might actually be his Y/N again. But you’re not, because as soon as you’re in his grip, he loses you again.

He just doesn’t want to see what happens when he loses his grip for good.

hello here’s part two <3

[livingmydreams13]

Make Me Yours - Chapter 4

Pairing: Dave York x Fem!Reader

Rating: +18

Warning: rough sex, oral ( f rec), p in v, mentions of infidelity, daddy kink, dirty talk, mentions of rape, violence, mentions of death, unprotected sex, angst (if i forgot something let me know)

A/N: so sorry this take long, i have really bad days, yesterday especially, but i take my time last night and i finished, hope you liked guys.

MasterList // FicList // TagList

Part 4: Thursday

»»———————►

8 am, Dave wakes up slowly when he feels a void in his bed, yes, you were not there, but the clothes he had taken from you last night were still lying on the floor, only his gray shirt was missing, he still had in his memories waking up in the early morning and how good it felt to see you next to him sleeping, you looked so calm and peaceful.

But his eyes return again to the mark on your arm, and he starts to put the pieces together, clearly something happened in that house you ran out of but you weren't going to tell him, Dave will have to investigate more, a noise brings him out of his thoughts and he sees you cross the door of the room and god….

You looked so perfect, you were wearing just his gray t-shirt compared to Dave his t-shirt was bigger and longer, but your tits were framed perfectly, especially your nipples.

As soon as you realize that Dave was looking at you, you smile at him.

"Hi… I hope you don't mind but I went to get a glass of water" Dave laughs and shakes his head.

"Don't be silly, of course it's okay, you can take whatever you want here". you lay down next to him but Dave pulls you into his lap, straddling your thighs on either side of his. Dave sits up so he can press harder against you to make you notice that his cock was already hard for you. He begins to kiss your neck biting and sucking while he slowly lifts up your shirt.

"Mmmm wait… I forgot to tell you I want to pick up my phone, I forgot it and my wallet in my car" Dave protests not wanting to let you go.

"Ok let me go get it for you" you nod and move from his lap, you see him get up and put on his pants and take another shirt out of the closet "Do you have your keys?" he asks you as he comes and sits next to you "I left them on the table next to your door"

Dave reaches over and kisses your cheek and whispers to you "When I come back you won't be able to escape" you just smile at him and watch them disappear out the door.

Once Dave has your things he goes back to his building and goes up the elevator, he can't avoid seeing your cell phone and to his surprise it was without a password, he goes into your photo gallery and smiles when he sees so many random pictures and videos he finds, one catches his attention and it's a picture of you and your brother inside a car, he recognized the clothes you were wearing and it was from the first day he met you, you were smiling next to him, maybe that was before he met you.

He keeps looking and it's a lot of selfies of you and random landscape photos, until he gets to ones where you were wearing a dark blue lingerie set and you were in front of a mirror, you looked so fucking sexy, Dave could feel his dick harder than it was when he saw you wearing his t-shirt this morning, he definitely had to see you in person in that lingerie.

Suddenly you get some messages that take him out of his thoughts, he frowns when he sees that it was a number you didn't have in your address book, he knew that maybe he shouldn't look but he opens the messages and his breathing becomes hard when he reads them.

Hey, i know you blocked my number, so I'm writing to you from another phone, my intentions are just to talk. Tom

I was wondering if you maybe want to go for a coffee or i could go to your place, i just want to talk, just that i swear, please answer me as soon as you can. Tom

Suddenly Dave's anger increases, who did this idiot think he was? Wasn't it clear to him last night that you were no longer interested? It wasn't clear to him who you belonged to? he definitely wasn't going to let you see these messages so he deleted them immediately.

The elevator stops on his floor and he enters his apartment, he goes to his room and you weren't there, but he hears the sound of the shower and with a half smile he takes off all his clothes and goes straight in there.

When Dave leaves to get your things you lie down again but on his side of the bed inhaling his smell, he had his perfume on his pillow and you loved it, the t-shirt you were wearing also smelled of him, suddenly you hear something ring, it was his cell phone that was on the table next to the bed, you bite your lip thinking if you should answer but that would be too much invasion, so you wait until they cut and you grab it, but he had a password, it was probably something from work but you prefer not to get involved.

You start thinking about that crazy fantasy you had when you were with Tom and it was sex in the shower, for some reason you wanted to experience that, maybe it wasn't something special or different but it was something that was always on your mind, although Tom didn't really like the idea he always said no, he just liked the classic him on top and you on the bottom with nothing else, but you think that maybe Dave would get the hint.

Smiling, you take off the shirt you were wearing and your panties and go to the bathroom, there are all Dave's things and his perfume that you like so much, you turn on the shower and get in, you are going to be patient and wait for him to come.

Although you start to get a little distracted and steal his shampoo, while enjoying the water you didn't realize that Dave was already back and that as soon as he heard the sound of the shower he went straight there.

You hear the curtains open and feel him behind you wrapping his arm around your waist, you give him an innocent smile and turn around to kiss him, Dave puts you against the wall as the water runs down his back.

"I knew you'd get the hint"

Dave smiles as you start kissing his jaw and go all the way down his neck.

"What do you mean?"

"I always wanted to get fucked in the shower, so instead of waiting for you in bed I came here" and you look at him with a smile, Dave looks at you with his dark eyes full of lust, and kisses you fiercely and possessively, it turns into a messy and desperate kiss, suddenly you give a scream as he turns you around and you stand against the wall as he holds you against him, feeling his cock against your ass.

"So that's what my little girl wants huh?" Dave starts biting your neck while touching your tits and pinching your nipples.

"Do you want daddy to fuck you here in the shower?"

"Ohh… fuuck.. yeah please" you are at a loss for words as Dave reaches down and begins to fiercely rub your clit.

"Yes what?" he asks and bites your shoulder.

"Yeees daddy… please… fuck me" Dave laughs darkly.

"My needy little thing… do you feel my cock getting hard just for you? huh?" Dave starts playing with his cock at your entrance.

"You can't just walk around wearing my clothes… I wanted to fuck you right then and there against the bedroom door" you were already completely wet and ready for him, but he was torturing you.

"But if my little girl wants me to fuck her here in the shower that's what I'll do" and finally he thrusts inside you and you both moan.

"Always so tight and wet for me"

You could easily lose your balance and fall but Dave held you with one arm around your waist tight against him, he starts rubbing your clit hard and you arch your back at the overstimulation, your face is smashed against the wall but you don't notice, you are totally lost in the sensation, but Dave grabs your neck and slams you against his chest as he moans in your ear.

"Come on babe… tell me who you belong to" Dave began to penetrate harder and slower.

"Mmm to- to you i'm… all yours and no one else's!" Dave smiles against your neck and puts you against the wall again while his hand goes straight to your pussy.

"Are you gonna cum for me? huh?" and rub faster against your clit "Are you gonna cum for daddy? I want to feel it, I want to feel how you cum on my cock, come on baby"

You cum screaming Dave's name, you almost fall down but he holds you tight against him and the wall, his thrusts become harder and faster seeking his own pleasure, with the little breath you have left you try to encourage him more.

"Come on daddy... cu- cum inside me, I-.. i want you to fill me up" Dave grunts in your ear and starts moving faster.

"That's what you want isn't it?... y- you want me to fill you up baby girl".

Four more thrusts and Dave comes inside you biting your shoulder where he leaves a mark.

Both of you are shaken and Dave is still inside you kissing your neck.

"You make me feel so good babe… I won't ever let you go"

At that moment, Dave's cell phone rings.

"You should... you should answer it, when you went to pick up my phone, yours rang too".

Dave nods and comes out inside you, turns you around and kisses you, but this time it was a quieter kiss, he gets out of the shower. After you turn off the shower you get out too and dry off, you go to the bedroom but he's not there, you proceed to grab your clothes that were left lying on the floor and get changed.

When you see your phone on top of the table you grab it but... no messages or calls, you put it in your wallet and go to the living room to wait for Dave, it's still a weekday and you know he probably has to work so you don't want to bother him too much.

You receive a message from Luke to have a coffee….

"Are you leaving?" Dave enters the living room, looking you up and down as he runs his tongue across his lower lip.

"Uhmmm yeah i got a message…"

"Message?" You watch as Dave frowns and moves closer.

"Yeah from my brother" his face changes and he smiles at you.

"I thought you were going to stay here…" and starts kissing your neck "with me…" and starts to run his hand down your back "there are still many things we can do".

"Yeah… but" you put your two hands on his chest for separate "I know you have work to do, I don't want to interrupt anything" he just smiles at you.

"Yes... I'm actually going to work from here, since I made up a business trip for my wife, although tomorrow I'll have to go back home" you look at it with curiosity.

"Is uhmm… is everything ok?" Dave puts his hands on your shoulders and guides you to the door.

"You don't have to worry about anything here, go and enjoy your coffee with your brother" he turns you around and presses you against the door. "If there is anything you need, or you need help or anything else, call me ok?" you frown, this is kind of weird.

"Uhm sure... I will" Dave grabbed your waist and kissed you but this time more calmly and softly, once in your car you are leaving for breakfast with Luke.

"Guess who" You put your hands around your brother's eyes and laugh.

"Mmmmm Let me guess, a loser who stays home all summer?" You hit him on the head and you sit in front of him while he laughs.

"I am not the only one, am I?"

"Well... I guess we're even, here's your coffee".

There is a silence as the two of you eat breakfast, you knew he wanted to tell you something.

"I have to tell you something" You look at it with a smile, there it is.

"But please… don't get mad at me"

"After all the stupid things you did and I haven't gotten mad... what is it?" You see him settle into his chair and finally he looks at you.

"I've been talking to Tom these days... and he may have expressed to me his desire to get back to you" you cross your arms and frown.

"And… well, I may have also encouraged him to try it a little bit"

"Why?" Luke was trying to explain but didn't know how, you roll your eyes and stand up.

"I better go" he grabs your arm and you look at him.

"No no no, please let's talk, I don't want you to be angry, please...." You sigh and sit back down "Well... the truth is that no matter what you have done, we are not going to get back together".

"I really don't get it, you guys looked so happy together…" you start laughing and shake your head "Happy? Really?" Luke frowns.

"You may see him happy but I wasn't, and in the end he ended up cheating on me with his new neighbor... reason enough to end it"

"He told me that he is sorry and that it won't happen again" You sigh and you can't believe your brother's innocence.

"Sorry Luke, it's not going to happen"

He laughs "Yes... and he already told me why"

You look at him intently, already knowing what he's going to say.

"He saw you making out with an "older" man outside the fast food place you always go to"

"And…?" Luke laughs and shakes his head.

"You talk so hurt about how he cheated on you and you go and fuck a married man?" he says whispering so as not to create a scene. That... that really hurt you, and even more that he said it, inside you knew it was true but you didn't want to see it. Luke knew he had screwed up.

"Wait no… i'm sorry" You get up and go straight to your car and drive out of the parking lot, as you drive his words are still in your head and repeating themselves, you knew from the day you decided to sneak into his house, from the day Dave got into his bathroom with you and made you cum in his hand, that you were getting into dangerous territory, he was a fucking married man and you messed with him anyway and now you feel bad. But you didn't know how to leave him, because you didn't want to, he made you feel so good, and he treated you well, but he is married and has daughters, but you were starting to feel things for him, what if he did too? or he was just using you to fuck? He already has a family... people to count on, you were just for fucking. These are the moments where you wish you had Audrey and Kaylee, your friends, but they were far away and on vacation, you didn't want to bother them, you were also talking to your friend and boss Andre, but he was also on vacation and you didn't want to bother him either, hell! you were alone!.

You don't want to go to your apartment, so you start driving around the city, in the end you decide to spend most of the afternoon at the mall and eat something there, and buy a few things, your cell phone had 20 missed calls from your brother that you completely ignored, sometimes the truth hurts and this time it hurt too much. Dave had sent you some messages as well but you ignored them.

Once you decide to go back to your place you see him sitting against your door.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Tom looks at you and immediately stands up.

"Hey…" Tom smiles at you but your face doesn't show much happiness. "Uhhmm did you… did you receive my messages?".

"No." you stand in front of him and gesture to him to move.

"Oh… well, I didn't say anything important, I just wanted to talk to you... well, since we are here, could we... talk? I brought food" you look at the bag and then you look at him.

"No thanks, you can go" once you open your door you are surprised as Tom grabs your arm and neck and pushes you inside against the wall. "What the hell is your problem?" Tom growls in your face, you want to talk but he squeezes you too tightly by the neck.

"You put on a whole show for me because I cheated on you and then... what? uh?... you go like a whore to fuck a married man, you fucking slut" tears are streaming down your face and you want to scream for a neighbor to hear you but you can't. "What is it? uh?... I didn't fuck you enough? you didn't like the way I treated you? you wanted me to treat you like the whore you are? is that it?" all you could think about was how you would kill him if you had the chance. "Why don't I take you to your bed and fuck you… so you can see that I can be better than that old son of a bitch" you shake your head in despair thinking that this damn idiot is not going to do something to you, and the fact that it is just the two of you and there is no one to help you, you start to panic but your eyes go to his head where you see a gun being pointed at him. Tom panics and drops you, you fall to the ground and coughing from lack of air you look up and it's Dave with a gun in his hand.

"You'd better get out of here now before I regret it and paint this floor with your brains and blood" Tom gets up quickly but Dave gives him a direct hit and puts him back on the ground. "Nobody touches what's mine, she's mine" and Dave gives him about three more hits.

You were absolutely paralyzed on the floor and even though the situation was not right, that single sentence made your excitement run straight to your pussy, you just wanted to run to Dave and make him take you straight to your bed. "I see you again and I'll put a fucking bullet in your head"

Tom gets up and runs out, you get up slowly and close your door locking it, you turn around and see him looking at you, he still has an angry face but it is softening little by little.

"I could hear everything... I didn't kill him just because you were here, I wouldn't want you to see it" the whole situation that had just happened was difficult to process, but something bloomed inside of you at the sight of someone... No, seeing Dave pointing a gun at someone, someone who was hurting you, and who knows what would have happened if Dave hadn't gotten there in time.

"How do you know where I live?"

Dave smiles at you "I hope it doesn't scare you but... I have contacts and I know how to find out things about people, the benefits of my job".

Scared you weren't, maybe surprised, but in a good way? Dave is really interested in you that he even found out where you live... and he probably knows more things.

"I don't know what... I uhmm.... I could tell how nervous I was in this whole situation but you... you have a gun" Dave looks at his gun and raises his hands and looks for a place to put it "Don't worry, I would never hurt you" Dave puts his gun on the small table in front of your couch, you walk over to him.

"I can't go on... with you" Dave frowns and walks over "What are you... what are you talking about?".

"I don't feel good, the fact that you're married and i'm... you're cheating on someone and it's my fault" he puts his hands on your shoulders and kisses you on the forehead.

"You don't have to worry about anything, this is all my decision... please don't leave me" and gives you a short kiss on the lips "I need you, I came all the way here because I need you too much" The reality was that you needed him too, you wanted him, after seeing how he even almost killed someone for you, it ignited something inside of you, and suddenly all that guilt you felt was buried and you fist grab his shirt and pull him in and kiss him desperately, Dave growls into your mouth and grabs you around the waist. "I want you to fuck me" you say against his mouth and guide him to your room "I want you to fuck me in my bed, I want to be yours, do whatever you want to me, I'm all yours" Dave throws you on your bed and looks at you wearing the same clothes from last night, that dress he had liked so much, he lifts the bottom of your dress and opens your legs while kneeling on the floor, and pulls out your panties, and starts biting the inside of your thighs while looking you straight in the eyes. And suddenly he smears himself on your pussy and starts licking, sucking, biting as much as he wants, the way he was devouring you, only moans came out while you screamed his name which made Dave grunt against your pussy, suddenly he put two fingers inside you while he sucked hard on your clit, you were about to cum. "Come on baby girl… come for me, I want you to cum in my mouth, I want to eat everything you give me" Screaming his name and grabbing your boobs hard and pinching your nipples you cum, hard, it was so liberating, your heart is pounding, you see Dave stand up again and start to take off his clothes. "Wait" Dave frowns. You get up and grab him to settle him on your bed and put the buttons back on his shirt. "I want you to fuck me with your clothes on" as Dave sits in the middle of the bed and leans against the backrest you climb on top of him and press your wet pussy on his erection. "Well with this particular outfit.. you look great in it" you pull down the straps of your dress so that your bra is exposed. "Yeah? you want me to fuck you in my work clothes?.. that's what you want, you needy little thing? You nod, biting your lip and Dave grabs your ass in a fist and gives you a gentle smack. "Fine... get on your knees, I want to see that beautiful ass while I fuck your pussy" You smile and move to get on your knees, instantly you feel him behind you massaging your ass, and giving him a few strokes that make you jump. You hear the sound of his zipper and belt unzipping, as Dave pulls his cock out he starts to play and runs it all over your wetness making you moan. "Look at this cute little ass" and by surprise he fills you completely which makes you scream and you grab a handful of your sheet, Dave starts to move slowly. "Are you going to let me fuck this pretty ass one day? Huh?" he starts to move faster and all you could hear were the sounds of your bodies colliding and Dave's grunts as he placed his hand on your clit and rubbed it roughly "F-fuck Dave… i- can't" the overstimulation was killing you and while Dave was moving fast and hard you came hard and it was the most explosive thing you felt in your life, your heart was pounding and probably some neighbors heard you screaming or better, now they all knew the name of the man who was fucking you non-stop, Dave was slowing down now and you were all sweaty. "That's my baby girl.. look how you soaked my cock, you are so beautiful".

He slaps your ass and starts to move faster looking for his own release, you turn your head to look at him and he too was sweaty and gritting his teeth with his gaze fixed on your butt. Your ass was already red and scarred from so many times Dave pounded you, but somehow you liked it and it was a pleasurable pain, you had never felt like this, this sex was the best sex of your life, messy and hard, and watching with his work clothes made your pussy throb more than you could even come again. Dave grabs you by the waist and pulls your whole body towards him without taking his cock out of your pussy, their two sweaty bodies collide. "You're mine, aren't you?... Tell me, tell me you're mine, tell daddy who you belong to" he says in your ear with a grunt.

"To you Dave… I'm all yours just yours... please…" he bites your ear and with a couple more thrusts he comes inside you and holds you tight against him. When you both calm your breaths Dave comes out inside you and you lie down on the bed he is still in his clothes but all sweaty and you are in your dress, with the top up to your waist. You look at Dave and his eyes are closed "Dave?" quickly turns his head toward you "You... you were really going to kill him? for me?" he put his had in your cheek and sits up to kiss you on the forehead, Dave looks you in the eye.

"Yes"

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@readsalot73 @nicolethered @evyiione