#I could talk about books forever I really could

[yandere-writer-momo]

Hi I really LOVE your works literally so much😭, I just wanted to request, it may be weird, what about a witch reader who has social anxiety or just don't interacts with people, so when she would feel lonely she would bring her daily objects to life for company and turn them back into normal again, but one day one object manages to hide so reader isn't able to turn him back, and this object just feel absolute devotion to reader, bcs reader quite literally owns him

I haven’t really done a request in forever, but I absolutely adore this idea! Adore adore adore. Thank you so much, anon ❤️❤️

Yandere Head Canon: Prized Posession

Yandere Gargoyle x Fem Witch Reader

TW: Yandere content. You should know by now the content I write

You were often lonely in your cabin tucked away deep in the mountains. Your only living company was the animals that lived in the forest. Life was easier this way.

Humans terrified you due to their unpredictable and chaotic behavior. You appeared human for the most part, but you were a witch. And you never knew if they burn you at the stake if they found out, so you decided to live as far away from civilization as possible.

It did not help that you were incredibly, socially anxious, so you’d likely hiccup and reveal your identity anyways. So you decided stay in this forest in this old, abandoned gothic manor for the rest of your days.

You often wondered if the old master of this house with some kind of nobleman or maybe even a vampire. Regardless, this place was yours, and you could do with it whatever you pleased.

Yet, you were lonely. Painfully lonely. So you often used your magic to re-animate objects around your house for company.

It started off innocently. You would bring the teapot and the tea cups to life and they would be a happy little family as I talk with you about their mundane lives. You never realized how objects can hold memories… each object sharing memories with you until you ultimately returned them to their original form.

You began to grow bolder and bolder with the objects you brought to life until you finally stumbled across to gargoyle above the front door. It’s monstrous form crouched, menacingly above the manor to keep trespassers away. It’s large bat like wings spread out intimidatingly.

You decided to bring him to life. Your eyes widened when he flew down to stand before you. He was almost 7 feet tall and pure muscle. He was somewhat humanoid, but still obviously a monster. He stood on two legs his fingers and toes had sharp talons. His face elongated into the snout of a vampire bat.

His voice was deep, masculine, and gravely, like he had been a smoker for most of his life. Yet the gargoyle was very polite.

Out of all of the objects you brought to life, the gargoyle was the best company. He reminded you of those gentlemen written in romance novels with his manners and patient demeanor. It was only his monstrous appearance that startled you.

He would sit with you and stare at you with those piercing gray eyes, almost as if he was studying you like a specimen. He would hang on your every word, as if you were the most interesting creature in the world.

You weren’t used to such attention, especially not from the opposite gender. Yet he always made you feel special. Like a lady…

He would pull your chair out for you before he poured your tea, and then he would sweeten it exactly the way you preferred. You were both flattered and a bit frightened with how much knowledge he had of your habits…

The gargoyle would also dance with you under the moonlight, his hands were cold stone. Sometimes his hand would sneak around your waist and he’d pull you closer like you were his lover. A chuckle would always escape his lips when you’d gasp.

“ I want a name.” He whispered in your ear as he sat beside you as you read a book next to him in your study,

“A name?” You softly asked him. “Hmm… what about Grim?”

His face turned up into the slightest of smiles. His clawed hand took yours.

“Grim… my name is Grim.” He planted a kiss on the back of your hand. A shiver rolled up your spine from how cold he was. 

Since that day, Grim wouldn’t let you turn him back into a lifeless gargoyle. He would hide from you every time they broke.

“You’ll be lonely during the day if you don’t have somebody.” He would insist. Yet you couldn’t help the feeling that bubbled in your gut that something wasn’t right with him. Why was Grim so insistent on being by your side? Weren’t gargoyles always meant to be silent watchers over the home?

Sometimes, when you wake up from sleep, he would look through your spell books. Yet he didn’t even feel shame when you caught him. He would just give you that signature ghost of a smile as he held the book close to his chest.

“Good morning, mistress. I’m just studying these pages to see if I can find something to further deepen our bond.”

You hated confrontation, so you didn’t correct his behavior. A mistake that would haunt you.

A week later, and he became more and more animated. It began to scare you since he was no longer cold to the touch like a sculpture… no. He was warm like a body. He felt like a living creature.

You gulped when you felt a pulse. He wasn’t supposed to have one of those… this is why your instructors back in a day always warned you to never leave an object alive for too long. Objects could learn sentence and eventually become their own being… and now you had the full attention of a century old gargoyle. One that would never let you go.

He began to spin your body around in the daily waltz you always danced with him. His snout borrowed into the crook of your neck as he inhaled your scent greedily.

“I’m so happy I can finally smell your sweet scent, mistress. I was so lonely for a century in this manor. But you brought me to life. You listen to me and talk with me… I want to always be with you. Please… won’t you be mine as I am yours?”

You felt his bat like wings pull your body closer to his as he pressed his lips to the top of your head like a lover would. “I wish to be your one and only, mistress. I want to be your prize possession and you be mine. So won’t you stay with me?”

You sighed and wrapped your arms around him. It was not as if you had a choice. You had a responsibility now, and it was to keep this creature content. Even if you had to be his prized possession.

[thefandomsfervent]

JayVik x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 25) -Permanent Green Light

Gala chapter coming soooon <3

Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

This fic may enter a hiatus after a few more chapters so I can start other projects. Stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3 These aren't beta read, didn't really edit this one. May fix it up later this upcoming week <3

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Summer was supposed to wait another week or two but this heat was formidable. The halls of the Academy were stuffy at the best of times and now they were stuffy and hot. A truly wonderful combination, one that you didn’t detest in the slightest. It didn’t make you miserably sweat through your shirt in the first hours of the day. And it certainly didn’t make you irritable. These past few days you’d had to opt for less formal clothing. As a guest of the Academy you weren’t required to wear the uniform but you had tried to maintain the same level of formality. Layering and coordinating to appear put together. Not today. The cut of your shirt was looser and lower than you’d usually wear, instead of keeping the button up closed it was open. When it fluttered as you walked, it gave a cool breeze on your back. 

You gave simple greetings to Viktor and Jayce when you entered the lab, settling at your station. Today’s humidity meant that your paint would take forever to dry and you’d rather not get frustrated working on something just to put it down. Instead, you set up your drawing board. It’s been a minute since you had it propped up like this, your warm up sketches were usually just quick scribbles in your sketchbook. The window was open to get as much fresh air in as the lab would allow. For naught it seemed, no breeze shook the leaves today. A monotonous buzzing filtered in past the clanking sounds as your easel was repositioned and the board was set upon it. Neither of them look at you while you set up, the heat forcing all of you into a subdued silence. As if speaking would somehow make the heat, any extra movement considered unnecessary. 

You could feel the sluggishness in your limbs, heavy arms and clumsy hands. pulling out sheets of paper and clipping them to the wooden board. The sounds were grating on your nerves. The clattering of pencils and pastels were too sharp, the tearing of paper droning, the scrape of the stool so agonizing you choose to not sit on it out of spite. It takes more time than you’d like to get everything sorted but it gets done. When you finally settle you give yourself a moment. If you started to draw anything now you’d just get more frustrated. After a few minutes of focused breathing you let your eyes wander the lab. Jayce was sitting at his desk, reviewing tomes and notes. There would be an occasional heavy sigh before he scratched something out. He had undone his tie, letting it hang on either side of his neck. 

Viktor was in a similar state, vest on his chair and tie loosened from his neck. His back was to Jayce while he engraved runes onto various bits and bobs. He should be wearing his goggles, but those too were hanging off his neck. Things that if you asked him about you could get a whole lesson on, and on another day you would have loved to indulge hearing them talk about the process. Would have loved to take in their heat flustered attire. But today was so unbearably hot and there was work to be done. You keep scanning, looking for anything to catch your eye that wouldn’t make the heat worse. There was a stack of books on the floor, a ray of sunlight a foot or so away that would slowly creep up to it. Following the light you’re brought to the open window, the glass panes shimmering with the gold of the sun and the surrounding architecture. 

Your gaze shifts to the collection of colored sticks on your table. A wide array of options, of different materials and hues to pick from. You grab slate grays and blues, browns, yellows, lighter tans and off-whites. The now separate collection sits to the side for later, awaiting more sorting. Viktor says something to Jayce but you can’t quite make it out, ignoring it in favor of picking up a freshly sharpened lead pencil to sketch the base of today’s drawing. A crisp sound against the paper, light and fast. It’s quick work, the whole thing was mostly rectangles and triangles. Gently smudging out mistakes and revisiting lines until they were close enough to move on to the next part. Another round of reviewing after that, of fixing before you start to lay down color. 

You’re looking over the general selection when Jayce stands, saying something about water. You say your thanks and give him a wave as he makes his way out the lab. Putting some of your colors away keeps your attention. Pulling the too-green yellows and too-bright blues and setting them back into their respective tins. It’s a quiet groove you find yourself in, not full of the peaceful but excited energy you had found last week, but something just as magnetic. A large swipe of yellow, and smaller swipes of blue. Gray and brown speckling past the weaving of faux gold brown. You let your hands brush away the crumbled dust of pastels from your table and board. In doing so, you knock a pencil to the floor. 

“Shit.” The annoyance is small in your chest but it’s still there, a quick pinch in your stomach as you bend down to grab it. It fades just as quickly as it came when you stand back up, the air rushing down your back. Especially when the lab door opens and there’s Jayce carrying in liquid gold in the form of ice water. It’s a sigh of relief when he sets the first glass down by you. 

“Thank you,” barely gets past your lips before you drink it, the glass itself feels like heaven in your hand. 

Jayce gives a quiet laugh before looking over your shoulder, "The window today?" You set the water down to answer him, picking up a pencil.

"Just something quick, the sun is hitting the glass just right." Waving the pencil towards the source of your drawing, you give him a smile.

"I see," he says as he walks over to one of the many messy tables near you to set down the tray. He brings the other glass to Viktor and you turn back to your work. 

When you look up at the two of them they are both back at work, red tinging Viktor’s ears. The heat had to be getting to him. He must sense you looking because he turns around. His eyes meet yours, tired and a little surprised? You give him a lazy smile and he smiles back. The silence of the lab returns, each of you with cold water to balm the heat.

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--.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 24.-Next Part will be linked here.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .--

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[bambi-kinos]

Thank you for your refreshingly honest comments about Yoko Ono. I find people’s sycophancy towards her and refusal to examine her behaviour a bit sickening, to be honest. There’s clearly an unspoken rule that Yoko is off limits, which is very strange, given that no other person or subject is. Anyway, what I would like to ask you is this: to what extent, if any, do you think Yoko was herself a victim? Did she simply find herself surrounded by bad people who manipulated her (the Sams, John Green, Fred Seaman, etc), or did she seek those people out to do her bidding? From what we know of the plan she made at the start with Tony and the fact that Dan Richter (a very unsettling character in the whole sordid tale) was an old friend who she brought in as part of that plan, I think the latter. But most people on here think she’s great and that she couldn’t help being mentally ill, so hey, maybe it’s just me and my cynicism that says she’s every bit as wicked as her ex-employees claim. What do you think?

When it comes to how Yoko is treated, there's genuinely a lot of nasty history there so fans on tumblr try to tread carefully. It's not an exaggeration that Yoko faced a lot of horrible racism when she was with John and there were even moments when John had to shield her from physical harm. And she was a lightning rod of criticism for lots of other reasons. Once John died she was essentially put in the role of "grieving widow" and boy howdy she milked that forever but it also meant that people were suddenly less willing to criticize her because they didn't want to add to her troubles.

Not to mention John and Yoko worked very hard to network with up and comers once they realized old hands like Ray Connelly wasn't going to play ball with them since they were too experienced. They created a lot of journalistic careers by making the right friends in the 1970s. Many media personalities feel indebted to them and would happily throw themselves in front of a car if Mommy Yoko and Daddy John don't suffer even a whiff of a papercut. When you read Eliot Mintz's book you realize that John and Yoko very deliberately targeted emotionally vulnerable people with empty lives and no strong parental figures so that they could become a quasi-family to them. That's what happened to poor Mintz, John would scream racial slurs at him (because Mintz is Jewish) and Mintz would just kind of. Stand there and take it while John screeched and squalled trying to pretend he was still a bigshot and not a drunkard in his 30s abusing his personal assistant. So much of the public bubble you've noticed is a result of John and Yoko's recruiting tactics. Celebrities usually get a level of protection but John and Yoko cynically courted and elevated the right people to wrap themselves in adamantium.

Fans try too hard to handle her lightly as a result of all the heat she took after marrying John, especially since a bit more is now known about her life and how she grew up and how her dad didn't treat her very well. I also think that there's an element of disbelief, like Yoko's crimes are insane and outlandish, no one wants to believe that they are true. And I know from personal experience that if you try to bring outlandish but true things to someone's attention about their favorite celebrity, you immediately get screaming and hysterics. Cult think is strong.

I don't think Beatle fans on tumblr necessarily buy in to excuses about mental illness and trauma but I do think that they're scared of being criticized or being accused of racism if they're too hard on Yoko. Tumblr users are uniquely vulnerable to that sort of thing because of this website's history and demographics so they take the easy route. I don't really blame them tbh, you never know when something is going to blow up in your face and who wants to court that trouble? There's no benefit to talking about Yoko's problems and abuse of John and Sean in depth since most people are just here for the fanart.

But to move on to your question: I think Yoko was an experienced con artist and manipulator with a genuine artistic vision but I also think she got in way over her head. Yoko's thing appears to have been that she and Tony would scam John with art pieces and that's why they did insane shit like making a contract to split the earnings they got from John 50/50. Get him to buy some plastic crap (that was quite literally all the rage in the 60s "zomg plastic!!!!") and then take the money and run. But I think Yoko sensed early that John was an easy mark and that he was someone she could pump and dump. I think that Yoko started seeing dollar signs and pursued John to get a bigger and bigger payday, she was chasing that dragon.

When it comes to the people Yoko was surrounded by, it's another case of her walking in with her eyes wide open but not realizing how completely in over her head she was. She very deliberately surrounded herself with con artists just like her because she thought it would be easier to control John and fortify her power over him. There were outliers like John Green/Charlie Swan where she believed his bullshit (the man is a masterful con artist) but she was convinced that she was much smarter and savvier than she really was and that she would see through any scams. She was blinded by her pride and never realized just how many rides she was taken for. Like IIRC Charlie Swan helped someone fence a fake painting to her that she paid millions for lol. They realized that she was an easy mark specifically because of her conviction that she was a worldly and experience player. Reader, she is not.

You can see this mindset during her life with John, they were hiring people off the street to work for them and never noticed they were being robbed blind. Like she and John were hoarders to the Nth degree, they bought all those extra condos in the Dakota specifically so that had storage units for all the useless shit they bought. Hundreds maybe thousands of shirts, pants, dresses, coats, scarves, jewelry, never worn and never catalogued, never looked after. Paintings and ancient artifacts stolen from Egypt on the black market, Yoko may have purchased as many as two different Egyptian mummies. Those people that they brought in from the street learned quickly that they could steal whatever they wanted and John and Yoko would never notice. A few of them were caught but there was one case where someone lifted 5 Hermès scarves from Yoko and she didn't notice for over a month and then dragged her heels on filing the police report. Because the Hermès scarves were not actually important since she had dozens of them in the storage apartments. I imagine the staff that stayed on learned quickly that they could steal freely so long as they were smart about it. God knows that's what I would do lmao.

But the point is that Yoko knowingly took in people who were willing to steal from her because she thought she could outsmart or control them, she had no idea how to defend against complicated tactics like "I'll put this in my bag and walk out with it at the end of my shift." I have the feeling John took the theft a lot more seriously than she did. Not that he was willing to do his bit and look after their collection of high end junk, I can't imagine what all their expensive clothes looked like after 10 years in that storage unit since neither of them protected them from pests.

Yoko willingly took these people on and invited them into her home. She and John thought they could use the likes of Charlie Swan and Fred Seaman and the Sams the same way they used journalists like Jann Wenner. What John and Yoko did not realize is that journalism is Hollywood for ugly people, that journalists are uniquely deficient in character or backbone and that journalists are always on the look out for a new Daddy and Mommy to pat them on the head and say "good job son!" Journalists and Hollywood actors are the same, they have holes in their chests were Mom's love and Dad's pride should be.

The problem for Yoko is that the scam artists she hired were extremely skilled, experienced, and ice cold. I love Charlie Swan's book Dakota Days and I believe every word of it (I can repost my review of it if you like) but especially because he coldly shows how childish and self absorbed John and Yoko really were. While they were faffing around doing rich people shit like flying around to random cities based on one guy's bespoke numerology, Charlie Swan grew up having to work for a living before getting into the astrology business. He knew what it was like to work difficult jobs for little money and even attended university and earned a degree in a time before universities became diploma mills. He was savvy and educated and lived an entire life before meeting John and Yoko, got spiritual fulfillment and assurance from his magickal practice. Charlie Swan did not have a hole in his chest where Mom's love and Dad's pride should be. Which meant he simply could not be manipulated the way a journalist can be manipulated. And Yoko Ono could not comprehend this and could do nothing about it. Nothing she said or did had any power over Charlie. She couldn't do anything to him and he frequently scammed her out of millions all while laughing up his sleeve. She thought she could control him but the truth is he had her completely under his thumb. Kind of amazing actually.

The thing that has always baffled me about Yoko is how easy it is to kick her around and stand up to her. John Lennon too as a matter of fact, I don't understand this handwringing and moaning and fear around his "great wit." I grew up on 4chan, I know people who could turn John inside out with a well placed photoshop. It's genuinely baffling to me that Yoko and John were not savagely and relentlessly bullied. They should have been. It lead John and Yoko to develop inflated egos where they thought they were genuinely intimidating. They never realized how pathetic and easily taken in they were because everyone else found it more useful and lucrative to scam them. It's fascinating that Yoko willingly brought these people into her life with John and never once realized that there was a problem.

[cherryxbooo]

omg i love your mason fic, the angst one. please write more angst i love your writings!!

Lost me forever

Summary: You thought you had finally found 'the one' and that you were the first choice all along, but that was until the truth finally came to light.

Note: Thank you so much lovely! As for the angst request, your wish is my command! I chose to write this for Mason since I found it fitting. Hope you enjoy it!

Reader x Mason Mount

Genre: Angst

Loving Mason Mount felt like the easiest thing in the world.

It was effortless, like breathing, like waking up to golden sunlight streaming through the curtains, warming my skin before his arms ever had the chance.

From the moment we found our way to each other, it felt like the universe had been waiting for it to happen.

Like everything before him had been grayscale, and he was the color I’d been missing.

He made life feel lighter, and softer. It wasn’t just the grand moments, it was the little things.

Like the way his fingers would find mine beneath restaurant tables, absently tracing patterns against my palm as he listened to me talk.

Or how he would pull me back into bed on Sunday mornings, refusing to let me go,

his voice thick with sleep as he mumbled, “Five more minutes, baby. Just five more.”

And we both knew it would never be just five.

It was the way he’d insist on carrying my books when he met me outside my lectures, even though I told him I could handle it.

“I know you can, but I like taking care of you,” he’d say, pressing a kiss to my temple before reaching for my bag anyway.

Late-night drives with the windows down, my feet propped up on the dashboard as he glanced over at me, grinning like I was his favorite sight in the world.

“You know I love you, right?” he'd say out of nowhere, his voice soft but certain.

And every time, my heart would stumble over itself as I whispered back,

“Yeah. I know. I love you too.”

The way he’d tuck me into his chest on the couch, his fingers running lazily through my hair as we half-watched a movie, more focused on each other than whatever was playing.

Or how he’d tease me when I got grumpy, pressing exaggerated kisses all over my face until I was laughing, pushing him away only for him to pull me right back.

He made me feel adored. Cherished.

Like I was his entire world.

And for a while, I truly believed he loved me just as much as I loved him.

But I didn’t realize that, all along, he was still orbiting around someone else.

The change was subtle at first. So subtle that I almost convinced myself it wasn’t happening.

At first, it was little things.

Mason would forget to text me back, not just for a few minutes, but for hours.

I’d send him something funny, something I knew would’ve made him laugh before, and the read receipt would linger, unanswered.

Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s just tired. I made excuses, brushing it off like it wasn’t the start of something unraveling.

Then he started canceling plans last minute.

"Sorry, something came up. Training ran late. I’m exhausted, let’s do tomorrow?"

Tomorrow would turn into the next day, then the next, until suddenly, I realized I was the only one trying to reschedule.

Our deep, intimate conversations, the ones where we’d stay up until three in the morning talking about everything and nothing, where he’d tell me about his childhood dreams, his fears, the things he never admitted to anyone else, turned into empty small talk.

"How was your day? Did you eat?"

His words felt distant, mechanical, like he was just going through the motions.

I tried to ignore the way his responses lacked warmth, the way he barely asked about me anymore.

And when we were together, it felt like he wasn’t really there.

He’d sit next to me on the couch, but his body was tense, like he was waiting for an excuse to leave.

He’d hold my hand, but it didn’t feel the same, his grip wasn’t as firm, as reassuring.

His kisses were quick, and absentminded, like they were more of a habit than something he wanted to do.

The worst part? He stopped looking at me like he used to.

The light in his eyes, the way they used to soften when they met mine, it was gone.

Now, when I caught him staring, it felt like he was searching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

I tried not to let it bother me. I told myself it was stress, that he was overwhelmed with training, with matches, with the constant pressure to perform.

It has nothing to do with me. I repeated it like a mantra, like if I said it enough, I’d believe it.

But deep down, I felt it.

The distance. The absence of his warmth.

The quiet way he was slipping away from me, little by little, day by day.

Then came the late nights.

I’d wake up to an empty bed, the sheets cold where he should’ve been.

At first, I thought maybe he couldn’t sleep, maybe he was just restless.

But then I heard it. The hushed whispers from the other room, the way his voice softened in a way it never did with me anymore.

The first time, I told myself I was imagining things.

The second time, I told myself it was probably a teammate.

The third time, I stopped lying to myself.

Because when I walked in too quickly, when I caught him sitting on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to his ear, he snapped his head up so fast it was like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

His expression shifted, just for a second, before he forced a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“Didn’t wanna wake you.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust him like I always had.

But my heart was screaming at me. Telling me something was wrong.

I just didn’t want to ask.

Because I already knew I wouldn’t like the answer.

The night everything fell apart,

I was at Mason’s place, curled up on his couch, wrapped in the blanket he always draped over my shoulders whenever I got cold.

It smelled like him, like the faint traces of his cologne mixed with something unmistakably him, something that once made me feel safe.

I had been waiting for him to get back from training, my phone resting loosely in my hand as I scrolled absentmindedly, not really paying attention to anything on the screen.

The TV hummed softly in the background, playing an episode of a show we had started together but never finished.

He used to insist on waiting for me before watching the next one. Lately, he didn’t wait anymore.

I tried not to think about it too much.

I tried not to think about any of it too much.

The unanswered texts. The canceled plans.

The way his kisses felt like muscle memory instead of something he wanted.

I had spent weeks, months, convincing myself that this was just a rough patch.

That things would go back to normal once the season settled, once the stress faded, once he had time to breathe.

That we would go back to normal.

I wasn’t looking for answers that night.

I wasn’t searching for proof that something was wrong.

But sometimes, the truth doesn’t wait for you to be ready.

Sometimes, it finds you when you least expect it.

And that night, it found me in the form of an unexpected message on Mason’s laptop.

The screen lit up suddenly, casting a soft glow over the coffee table. At first, I barely noticed.

I was too lost in my own head, too focused on distracting myself from the gnawing ache in my chest.

I wasn’t the kind of person to snoop. I had never needed to be.

I trusted Mason.

Or at least, I thought I did.

But then, my eyes flickered to the name at the top of the message.

And my heart stopped.

Her name.

His ex Charlotte.

I stared at it, my breath catching in my throat.

It was just a name. Just a simple notification.

And yet, it felt like the ground beneath me had shifted.

There was no reason for them to be talking. No good reason, at least.

Mason never spoke about her. He had told me, once, that their story was over.

That I was the only one he saw a future with. That she was a part of his past, and that’s where she would stay.

I wanted to believe him. I had believed him.

So then why was she here, on his screen, reaching out like she had never really left?

For a moment, I hesitated.

I wanted to look away, to pretend I hadn’t seen it, to act like it was just some meaningless message.

That would be easier, wouldn’t it? I could go back to the way things were, smiling through the doubt, pushing aside the way he had been slipping away from me piece by piece.

But then I saw the preview of the message.

Just a few words.

But they were enough to send ice through my veins.

I miss you.

My hands shook as I reached for the laptop.

My heart pounded against my ribs, screaming at me, begging me to stop.

But I couldn’t.

I clicked on the message.

Then another. And another.

And with every message I read, my world crumbled around me.

It wasn’t just casual conversation.

It wasn’t Hey, how have you been? or Hope you're doing well.

It was confessions whispered in the dead of night.

It was I think about you all the time.

It was I miss everything about you.

It was Being with her doesn’t feel the same.

It was I still love you.

The air rushed from my lungs.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Waiting, praying, for the words to change.

For my eyes to be playing tricks on me.

But they didn’t change.

They sat there, staring back at me like undeniable proof that I had been living in a lie.

Every moment Mason and I had shared, every soft I love you, every late-night conversation, every time he had pulled me close and promised me forever, it had all been meaningless.

I had just been something to fill the space she left behind.

A placeholder.

A distraction.

A way for him to forget the girl he really wanted.

And the worst part?

I never even saw it coming.

I had been so sure of him. So sure of us.

I had loved him with everything I had, blind to the fact that his heart had never really been mine to begin with.

Tears blurred my vision, but I couldn’t cry. Not yet.

Not until I heard the sound of keys jingling at the door.

Mason was home.

And I had a choice to make.

Pretend I hadn’t seen anything, pretend I hadn’t fallen apart while reading his betrayal in black and white.

Or look him in the eye and ask the question I already knew the answer to.

When Mason walked through the door, tired and unsuspecting, his duffel bag slung lazily over his shoulder, I felt my entire body lock up.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, his shirt sticking slightly to his skin from the shower he took after training, and for a fleeting second,

I saw the version of him I used to love, the boy who used to make me feel like the center of his world.

But that version of Mason didn’t exist anymore.

He didn’t know it yet, but I had seen everything.

His lips parted slightly when his eyes landed on me, confusion flickering across his face as he took in my stiff posture, the way my arms were crossed tightly over my chest like they were the only thing keeping me together.

His gaze shifted to the coffee table, to where his laptop sat open, the screen still glowing.

He didn’t know yet, but he would.

The air in the room shifted.

"Hey, love." His voice was soft, familiar, too familiar.

Like he hadn’t just shattered me beyond repair.

I didn’t respond.

I reached for the laptop, my movements slow, deliberate, my fingers curling around the edges before I threw it onto the table between us.

The loud smack echoed in the silent apartment.

Mason flinched slightly, his brows knitting together. “What the hell—”

"Tell me the truth." My voice trembled, but there was an edge to it, sharp enough to cut.

His eyes darted between mine, searching, confused. “Y/n, what—”

I lifted a hand and pointed at the screen, my entire body trembling with the weight of what I had just discovered.

"Don’t. Just tell me the truth."

His eyes flickered down.

And in that moment, I saw everything.

The way his entire body tensed.

The way his face lost its color, his jaw tightening as his throat bobbed.

The way his fingers twitched at his sides, his breathing suddenly uneven.

He didn’t have to say anything.

I already knew.

But I wanted him to say it.

I wanted him to look me in the eye and own what he had done.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, his lips pressing together as if he was trying to find the right words.

"It’s not what you think—"

A bitter laugh burst from my lips before I could stop it.

I felt something inside me snap.

"Not what I think?" I repeated, my voice rising, the disbelief dripping from every syllable.

I jabbed a finger toward the screen, toward her name, toward the messages that had destroyed me.

“So you didn’t tell her you missed her? You didn’t tell her being with me wasn’t the same? You didn’t tell her you still love her?”

Mason inhaled sharply, his lips parting like he wanted to deny it,

God, I wanted him to deny it, but no words came.

His silence was louder than any excuse he could’ve made.

My throat tightened, the lump there threatening to choke me, but I refused to let him see me break.

I had already given him too much of me. I wouldn’t give him this too.

"Was I ever anything more than a rebound to you?" I whispered.

His face crumbled.

"Y/n—"

"Answer me!" I snapped, my voice cracking.

His lips pressed into a thin line. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

And then, hesitation.

Just a second. Just the briefest pause.

But that was all I needed.

I let out a sharp breath, my hands trembling as I wiped at my eyes, willing the tears away.

"I hope she was worth it, Mason." The words felt like acid on my tongue.

I turned away, grabbing my bag from the couch with numb fingers, my entire body screaming at me to run, run, run.

"Y/n, wait—" His voice cracked.

I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, not rough, not forceful, just desperate.

For the first time, I looked at him, really looked at him.

His face was drawn, his eyes wide, pleading.

His grip on my wrist tightened slightly, like he was afraid that if he let go, I’d disappear.

"Please." His voice was barely above a whisper.

I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

"You don’t get to do that," I said, my voice barely steady.

I yanked my wrist free, stepping back.

"You don’t get to break me and then ask me to stay."

Mason exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, through his hair, looking more panicked now.

“I never meant—” He cut himself off like the words physically hurt to say.

I shook my head. “You never meant for me to find out.”

Silence.

He didn’t argue.

He didn’t fight for me.

Because he knew.

He knew there was nothing left to fight for.

I felt a sob clawing at my throat, but I swallowed it down.

I refused to break in front of him.

I took a shaky step back. Then another.

"Goodbye, Mason."

And then I turned.

I walked to the door, my steps unsteady, my hands trembling as I reached for the handle.

"Y/n." My name was a whisper, a plea.

I didn’t stop.

I didn’t look back.

And Mason didn’t stop me.

Because he knew, he had already lost me. Lost me forever.

Mason stood there,

This is what he wanted right?

Now he could go back to Charlotte without having to hide it.

But if this was what he wanted, why did he feel so guilty? Why does it feel like he has lost something big? Why was he feeling... regret?

Mason shrugged off those feelings before muttering "She was just a rebound, this is what I wanted right?"

And that was all it took for him to move on.

Well at least for now.

Mason got back together with his ex two weeks later.

At first, it felt right.

She was familiar. She was comfortable. She was the girl he had spent so long missing, the one who had haunted his thoughts even when he was with Y/n.

For a brief moment, he convinced himself he had made the right choice.

But then, the cracks started to show.

The first time he noticed it was during dinner.

They sat across from each other at a high-end restaurant she had insisted on, a place where the food was overpriced and the lighting dim enough to make everything look perfect for Instagram.

Mason had been talking about his match earlier that day, how exhausted he was, how he’d nearly scored but missed by inches.

She didn’t even look up from her phone.

"That’s nice, babe," she murmured, her perfectly manicured fingers typing away.

He stared at her, waiting, expecting her to say more.

She didn’t.

Instead, she snapped a photo of their untouched plates, adjusted the lighting, and posted it with a caption that had nothing to do with him.

That was just the beginning.

The thoughtful gestures, the ones Y/n had done so naturally, were gone.

There were no lazy Sunday mornings where she curled into his chest, tracing mindless patterns on his skin.

No soft kisses just because.

No remembering how he liked his tea or sneaking his favorite snacks into the fridge after a long day.

Charlotte wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t awful. She was just… absent.

It was clear she loved the idea of him, the status, the lifestyle, the way people looked at them when they walked into a room together.

But him? The man behind the footballer, the one with worries and insecurities, the one who needed comfort just as much as anyone else?

She didn’t see him.

And suddenly, Mason realized, he had been chasing a ghost.

The woman he had truly loved, the one who had memorized every detail about him, who had supported him through every loss, who had loved him for the man and not the player, was gone.

Y/n had been that woman.

His Y/n.

And he had thrown her away like she was nothing.

One night, after another meaningless fight, this time over why he wasn’t posting her on social media enough, he sat alone in his apartment, scrolling through his camera roll.

The pictures of Y/n were still there.

Her smile, so genuine.

The way she looked at him like he was her entire world.

The little videos she had taken when he wasn’t paying attention, him cooking, him laughing at something dumb, him asleep with his arm wrapped around her waist like he never wanted to let go.

He had been so loved.

And he had destroyed it.

By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late.

Y/n had vanished from his life.

Blocked his number. Deleted their pictures. Disappeared without a trace.

At first, he thought maybe she just needed time.

That eventually, she’d cool down, pick up one of his calls, and answer one of his texts.

She never did.

He tried her best friend.

"She doesn’t want anything to do with you."

He tried her family.

"Mason, you hurt her. Let her go."

Her colleagues, her neighbors, nobody would tell him where she was.

And then, one day, when he came to her house once again he heard one of her neighbors call out for him.

"You should stop trying son. Didn't you hear? She left the country."

His stomach dropped.

"What?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, she moved. Took some big job offer or something. Left everything behind."

Mason’s heart pounded in his chest.

She had left.

His Y/n had left.

Started fresh. Moved somewhere new. Somewhere he could never reach her.

And for the first time in his life, Mason Mount, who had always been able to fix his mistakes, to win people back with a smile or an apology, knew he had lost her forever.

And this time, there was no getting her back.

That night, I made my decision.

I sat in my apartment, staring at the email that had been sitting in my inbox for days.

A job offer.

My dream job. The one I had turned down for him.

For so long, I had let my love for Mason dictate my every move.

I had stayed when I should have gone, let him convince me that we were enough, that we could make a future together.

I had put his dreams, his career, his needs first, and let mine slip into the background.

But that future didn’t exist anymore.

And now? I had nothing left to lose.

So, I took a deep breath, wiped away the last of my tears, tears that had been falling for weeks now, and clicked accept.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of packing, selling off things I didn’t need, and coming to terms with the fact that I was leaving the place that had once felt like home.

It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

"Are you sure about this?" my best friend asked, standing in the middle of my now half-empty apartment.

I exhaled slowly, trying to hold it together.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And I meant it.

The morning of my flight, I did one last thing before leaving.

I blocked Mason. Everywhere.

His number. His Instagram. His Twitter. His email.

I erased him the way he had erased me.

And then I left.

As the plane took off and the city shrank beneath me, I finally felt it. The weight lifting from my chest.

The space inside me that had been filled with doubt, uncertainty, and longing, is now empty but... free.

A new country. A new life. A fresh start.

No more waiting for someone to choose me.

This time, I was choosing myself.

And Mason?

He was just a chapter in a book I had already finished reading.

Mason thought he had made the right choice.

He thought that getting back with his ex would fill the emptiness he felt after losing Y/n, but all it did was magnify the hollowness in his chest.

It was then, in the quiet moments of the night when he lay awake in his bed, that it hit him.

Y/n had been the one.

She had been the one who truly understood him.

The one who saw the person behind the jersey, behind the fame, behind the image.

She was the one who had loved him for him, not for the trophies or the spotlight.

And he had thrown it all away.

He had thrown her away.

But now, it was too late.

The more he tried to convince himself that things were fine, the more he realized that nothing felt right.

His ex wasn’t the person he needed.

And he was so damn lonely.

Training started slipping. He missed passes, lost focus, and the frustration was unbearable.

His coach started noticing, and his teammates were starting to get concerned.

He couldn’t even summon the motivation to push himself. Every match felt pointless, every goal out of reach.

He couldn’t concentrate. His heart wasn’t in it anymore.

His head wasn’t in it. His life wasn’t in it.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Y/n.

The way she would smile at him after a tough day, the way her laugh would fill the room like music.

The way she would hold him close when he was stressed or frustrated, as if just being near her was enough to make everything better.

The way she’d remember the smallest details about him, how she would surprise him with his favorite snacks or take care of him when he was sick.

He had taken it all for granted.

And now, he would never have it again.

One night, after yet another argument with his ex, something about him not being “present enough”

Mason sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone.

He had tried calling Y/n again. She didn’t answer.

Of course, she wasn't going to answer.

She had blocked him everywhere, but every day he hoped that for some magical reason, she would've unblocked him everywhere.

He checked his messages, hoping, praying, that maybe, just maybe, she would reach out. But nothing.

It was as if she had vanished from his life completely.

And that’s when the weight of it all crashed down.

He realized that he had let her slip through his fingers, and now, she was gone.

For good.

Days blurred together as Mason sank deeper into his depression. His training was a mess.

His performance on the field was getting worse by the day.

His teammates were starting to notice his lack of focus and his erratic behavior. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

And then, it hit him like a slap in the face.

It was Y/n all along, not Charlotte. Y/n was his girl and not that fame-sucking ex of his.

Mason had spent so long taking her love for granted, thinking it would always be there, thinking he could come back when it suited him.

But now? Now he realized the truth: She had been the love of his life.

And he had lost her.

Forever.

He spent days in his apartment, alone with his thoughts, battling the crushing weight of regret.

He would never see her smile again, never hear her voice telling him that everything would be okay.

He had let the one person who truly loved him slip away because he couldn’t appreciate her until it was too late.

And in the silence of his empty apartment, with nothing but his thoughts and his guilt to keep him company,

Mason finally understood what he had lost.

Y/n.

The girl he had taken for granted. The one who had loved him without hesitation.

The one he would never get back.

The end

[saints-who-never-existed]

1, 12, and 19 for the book related asks

Thank you for these, my lovely pal! You always come through with thought-provoking asks and I appreciate it so much! <3

1. Book you’ve reread the most times?

If we're talking rereading cover-to-cover, one that springs to mind is Angela Carter's The Magic Toyshop. It's a coming-of-age story, albeit a strange, surreal, sexually-charged one, and I think I happened to read it at just the right time in my life for it to really resonate/intrigue.

12. Did you enjoy any compulsory high school readings?

In my day and my part of the world, there wasn't really any compulsory high school reading in a traditional/US sense, and the majority of books that we did read in class were ones I'd already read myself independently, precocious little shit that I was/am!

One thing I always really enjoyed in high school was reading Shakespeare. Through a quirk of fate/poor lesson planning, I ended up studying Othello three years in a row so that's always held a special place in my heart.

19. Most disliked popular books?

There are very few books that I actively dislike, full stop. I think many that did fail to strike a chord with me did so mainly because they didn't come to me at the right time (and I'm sure if I tried them now/revisited them I'd have a different opinion).

I like the works of Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters well enough, for example, but I read many of them at a very young age, too young to really understand them fully or have them light my world on fire.

On the other hand, I was just slightly too old to be caught up in that glut of YA literature in the 00's/10's - things like The Hunger Games, Divergent, and Twilight. But again, I can't in good conscience say I dislike them when I haven't actually read them! :P

[s0fter-sin]

one of my favourite aspects of supernatural that you very rarely see in paranormal shows is that sam and dean are already versed in the world they live in. there’s no sudden discovery of ghosts and demons and now they have to learn about them along with the audience; they are born into it and already know all about it. it allows the audience to follow their personal story instead of also trying to figure out this new world and its rules

the first season is full of knowledge we never see them learn; “w*ndigoes are in the minnesota woods or- or northern michigan. i’ve never even heard of one this far west.” […] “great. well then this [his gun] is useless.” (1x02), “you don’t break a curse. you get the hell out of its way.” (1x08), d: “it’s a god. a pagan god, anyway.” […] “the annual cycle of its killings? and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. like some kind of fertility right.” […] s: “the last meal. given to sacrificial victims. d: “yeah, i’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god.” (1x11)

almost every episode in the first season is a monster they’ve faced before that they then explain to the audience in a way that should feel patronising; like it’s the same speech given over and over again but instead, the audience almost feels included in the knowledge. it’s stated with such an innate confidence and comfort in said knowledge that it feels like we already knew it too; “spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. if they want inside, they just go through the walls.” […] “the claws, the speed that it moves; could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” (1x02), “it's biblical numerology. you know noah's ark, it rained for forty days. the number means death.” (1x04), “no no no, not the reaper, a reaper. there's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names.” […] “you said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? reapers stop time. and you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why i could see it and you couldn't.” (1x12)

they already know and, at least in the first season, already have what they need to kill whatever they’re hunting; already know to salt and burn bones for spirits, fire for a w*ndigo, exorcisms for demons, a silver bullet to the heart for shapeshifters. there’s only three times in the entire first season that they run into something new to them; 1x14 when sam gets his first vision that leads him to another psychic, 1x16 when dean calls caleb for help on the sigil he put together and he tells him about daevas, and 1x20 when they find out vampires are real- and they only don’t know that bc john thought they were hunted to extinction and not worth mentioning

(there’s also technically two half instances if you count one of them knowing something the other doesn’t - sam figuring out the tulpa in 1x17 and dean already knowing about the shtriga in 1x18 - but those still rely on sam and dean having prior knowledge)

even when they’re uncertain about facing something, it’s not bc they don’t know what it is; it’s precisely bc they know what it is and acknowledge that it’ll be a difficult hunt (“i don't know, man. this isn't our normal gig. i mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. this is big. and i wish dad was here.” 1x04)

so much of the tension in paranormal shows typically comes from the main character(s) not knowing what is happening to them/the people around them and having to find out how to resolve it. supernatural is unique in that it operates more like a police procedural. the tension comes from solving the clues and identifying patterns to figure out who (what) the killer is and intercepting before they can take another victim

it’s such a different tone to go for when compared to other shows that came both before, during, and after its run. it sets sam and dean on even footing with each other since they both have the same knowledge going in, and it puts them in a place of authority usually reserved for an outside character

the shows i compare spn to most is charmed, buffy and teen wolf; every main character in those shows are brought into the paranormal world knowing nothing, putting them on the same level as the audience, and they have their mc interact with others already knowledgeable about that world in order to overcome their problem/monster of the week. the audience organically learns about this new world as the characters learn about it. it’s a sound writing strategy that prevents “as we already know”-style exposition but something that complicates it is if your world building isn’t unique or intriguing enough, this slow introduction can become boring

we’ve seen shows like these before; sitting through the same tropes of characters learning to use their powers, struggling with no longer feeling normal/relating to the regular world around them, and not knowing how much they can trust the people already involved in this new world gets repetitive. all three shows eventually reach the same level of comfort with their new world that spn starts with but if the characters aren’t enough to draw you in, you can end up dropping it before they reach that point (and often, before the overarching plot can really kick in and evolve the show beyond the villain of the week format)

it’s the superhero origin movie in tv format; dragged out and overplayed. dropping the audience into an established world of course comes with its own problems but you also have the benefit of pre-existing established character dynamics that let the audience slot in like they’ve always been there instead of just getting to know all the characters while the characters also get to know each other

sam and dean already knowing about the supernatural lets the audience immediately get to the core of the story; the conflict between sam and dean, the search for their father, and the mystery of what killed their mother

[soullessjack]

conservative X-men fans will see a franchise about an oppressed group of people who fight for their civil rights and freedom in a world that sees them as freaks and monsters and imagine themselves being on the mutants’ side but then can’t even handle masculine cis women in sports or a man with painted nails or cisgender teens on puberty blockers for health issues.

conservative X-men fans will see that oppressed group of freaks and monsters constantly facing the threat of an apocalyptic future specifically caused by hate mongers in powerful positions who very blatantly will and do destroy the same humanity they claim to be protecting if it means destroying Those Freaks and think “wow cool robot.”

conservative X-men fans will agree with the villain who was based on Malcom X and specifically came to hold his beliefs through surviving the Holocaust and claim that he can’t even be considered a villain anymore because his ideology makes sense and is consistently proven right by the humans’ unwavering intolerance, but go into hysterics the minute a real life minority holds any sort of hatred or resentment toward their oppressor.

conservatives in general will always pretend that the media they consume doesn’t have any deeper meaning or purpose other than being entertainment slop because they almost always retreat into media for some type of “comfort” or escape from having to acknowledge reality and their own bigotry. they want the freedom to be bigots without any pushback or consequences so they surround themselves in an echo chamber of fictional characters and universes who can’t argue with them or tell them they’re wrong and bad.

conservatives have to constantly and deliberately turn their brains off to consume a specific piece of media because they know that they would be the villain in it if they gave it an ounce of deeper thought and that’s exactly why they push back so hard against anything that drags them out of their comfy echo chamber, anything that threatens their blissful ignorance.

they thrive on the idea that their media isn’t “that deep” or based in/affected by reality; that there’s no such thing as representation or allegories or coding in media (and alternatively, that representation doesn’t matter or is just propahanda). they thrive on willful ignorance and they want to convince everyone else to be just as ignorant and the death of media literacy is exactly how they’ll achieve it

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[juney-blues]

99% of conversations on anarchism about here are hampered by people having no clue what anarchists are talking about when they refer to "the state", including, it seems, the anarchists themselves.

[giddlygoat]

my brother can make me laugh without moving at all. he can make me laugh on command, just by existing, and there is no physical tell or indication that it is about to happen. it’s like he can will me to laugh and i will. of course we’re not telepathic, but we do speak in unison sometimes. we improvise like no one’s business. we could fool anyone into believing we are psychically linked. when i try to explain it, i sound silly saying it out loud, but i really CAN tell what he’s thinking. we exchange so much information just with a look. he can make me cry laughing and he doesn’t even have to move

[easily-distracted-by-fandom]

Yall you don’t understand I’m so obsesigg over hive mind I just can’t stop rereading it. Yall NEED to read Janet Edward’s books Istg there like not fandom on here for them and that makes me sad yall

[sylkana]

i just don't understand people that claim you're friends and they love you and then they just stop talking to you randomly one day in march and never reach out ever again. not even to tell you about their book launch

[minakoaiinos]

Lost my original post of this from the other day but I genuinely don't understand how Black Butler discourse ever shifted into the does Sebastian ~really~ like Ciel or is Ciel just dinner line of conversation that is pervasive as it is because Sebastian is the one that has absorbed his whole existence into Ciel's. Sebastian's face is what Ciel wants Sebastian's whole purpose is doing things for Ciel Sebastian's every hell of a butler yes my lord speech is about how he's Ciel's and Ciel is the one going around saying shit like whatever Sebastian is just my pawn 💅

[skrunksthatwunk]

eughhh i feel dumb

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[garbagequeer]

the thing about beautiful riverdale is that there are a couple of people in my life who seem to have learned the trick to see me turn into the happiest person on earth with the biggest smile under any circumstances which is asking me about riverdale