#I know this is a little messy but I’m writing this spontaneously

[snowball-maltese]

I’ve been having some anxiety over stuff I see about trans stuff here on tumblr. Mosty just intrusive thoughts. But I always get uncomfortable when I see stuff about ftm bc it makes me feel self-conscious and anxious. Like I have to do that stuff to be happy. And I’m not trying to say trans people shouldn’t express themselves on this platform bc it makes me uncomfortable. That’s just wrong and disgusting. Everyone should be able to express themselves freely and be able to share their experience here :)

But I feel like sometimes this platform makes me feel like because I like to play as boy characters in games or because I’m attracted to women that I’m trans. Like I almost feel pressured into the LGBTQ. It’s not like people are doing it on purpose. No one is saying “you have to be gay to be normal” but I feel overwhelmed by it sometimes and scared that I might do something drastic that I’ll regret or that I’ll do something that I’ll later realize this isn’t the way I really wanted to present myself.

And after thinking about it a lot, I realized my gender dysphoria is deep rooted and a side effect of my upbringing and society as a whole. I grew up in a household that was pretty old fashioned. My father was 47 when I was born and my mom grew up in the Philippines, which can be conservative about stuff like that. I grew up thinking that only girls can like hello kitty and princesses and that boys can only like superheroes and cars. As a result of having an older parent, I grew up watching some pretty sexist shows without realizing it. I saw women in sitcoms doing girly things and figured since I don’t wanna do that “girly” stuff like doing my makeup that I wanna do boy stuff instead, later coming to believe, because of tumblr, that I might be trans.

I just now realized that this all came from the fact that society, especially in the eyes of people controlling a lot of the world’s economy like toy companies and fashion companies, see women as a certain thing and men in a certain way. Stereotypes of women and girls and stereotypes of men and boys are so normalized in the world we live in that some people don’t even realize they’re present and harmful.

I believe that no one should have to worry about whether they look too “girly” if they’re AMAB or worry about not being “girly” enough if they’re AFAB. I feel like there is a deep flaw in society if a young individual feels pressured by what they see in media about what it means to be a boy and be a girl. And coming onto such a diverse place like Tumblr at a young age such as 14-17, they might connect what they see about gender roles in society and what they see about people transitioning on tumblr (or any platform really, it’s not Tumblr exclusive of course!) and feel like they must be trans because they don’t fit the gender stereotypes of their assigned gender at birth.

People should be able to like whatever they want and not have to worry about feeling like they don’t fit in for liking ponies when they’re “supposed to” like spider man.

People should be able to love wearing clothes that makes them happy. Dresses, suits, hairclips, or ties, no matter their assigned gender at birth!

And if you feel like transitioning is for you, then yes! Go for it! I am so proud that you have fully chosen the path you think is right for you. But I feel like this world is fundamentally flawed if someone has to worry about how they dress or what they like just so they’re “normal” or otherwise they’re trans!

The other day my dad was telling me a story of an individual who was wearing a dress and saying things like “he’s embarrassing himself.” Let the bro wear a dress if they want! Let’s break down the stereotypes of men and women and just let people be people! People shouldn’t have to worry about people going “oh that person is so weird for liking the wrong stuff” “oh that man is so cringe for wearing that necklace” “that girl really should stop pretending to be a boy” I wish all hes, shes, theys and everyone else and in between would be able to express themselves without having to feel scared that they’re doing something wrong by being themselves!

LET PEOPLE LIVE THEIR LIVES WITHOUT HAVING TO FEEL PRESSURE BY GENDER ROLES

Tl;dr- Society’s gender stereotypes are harmful to young people who might be having body image problems, and no one should have to feel pressured into thinking they have to transition just because the world thinks they “don’t do the right things” for their gender.

You should love your body the way it is and you should feel comfortable in your own skin! Your body is beautiful just the way it is!

And if you feel changing it is what is best for you, then go for it! Because at the end of the day you are still beautiful no matter what the world thinks you’re doing wrong!

Gender roles do not equal gender identity!

This is just my take of course! I don’t want to offend anyone at all, I am just sharing how I feel about this and what my experience with this topic are. I’m scared to post this… but I feel like it’s important to put out there!

Is anyone still reading this?

[veinpursuer]

WHERE’S MY FUKING CAPO

[mochi-marmalade]

Easy Lovers

a/n: i am having a field day with this man. writing him is a bit difficult but reading him is SO GOOD. might post a short continued blurb of this story if people like it :3

Sunday x reader

1k words

warnings: none

You walked into the parlor, seeing Dan Heng, Sunday, March, and Himeko seated at different spots throughout the car. March and Himeko seemed to be playing some sort of game, while Sunday read a book and Dan Heng examined something. You sat by Dan Heng asking him what he was doing, and gave a brief chuckle when he explained. Sunday couldn’t help but peek at you over the cover of his novel, feeling somewhat upset that you had chosen to sit with the Vidyadhara instead of him. He’d been experiencing some inner turmoil lately, not that the feeling was new to him, though the source was. Sunday had found himself anticipating your arrival more lately, paying more attention to you, and craving your presence. It hadn’t taken him long to realize, but he was thoroughly unhappy with the outcome. Sunday was an organized man- everything he did was planned and orderly, meticulous even. This, though? He had not planned for this, not even a little, and it irked him greatly. In some ways, you were the exact opposite. You were messy, spontaneous, and clumsy, but kind and thoughtful. You were perfectly imperfect. Something about the way you gave yourself so freely to others endeared you to him. You were honest, you baked for the express members regularly, you were so, so patient, even when Sunday was not. You had nothing but love in your heart. You loved giving, loved your friends, you loved the world. Sunday saw in you what he was not, and in that, he found something worth protecting. Maybe, he thought, he saw something worth loving.

Everyone remained in the parlor until it grew late, and they gradually retired to their rooms. You and Dan Heng remained along with Sunday, who felt ill as he saw the two of you laugh together. Eventually, you yawned and stretched your arms above your head. “You should sleep soon.” Dan Heng commented. 

“Yeah, I probably should. Goodnight, then, Dan Heng.” 

“Goodnight.”

The two of you left, and Sunday sighed, closing his book and making his way to his room shortly after. He changed into his pajamas and turned on a small lamp, filling the room with soft, warm light. He sat for a moment and ran a hand through his silver hair, mulling over his inability to engage with you. It seemed so easy for you to talk to him, like it felt natural. For Sunday, though, everything before the express had been a game. His conversations were calculated and had hidden meaning behind each of them. Now that he had the opportunity to speak freely, he felt like he didn’t know how. After a while, a timid knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. He got up and slid the door open, revealing you, dressed in pajamas and clutching a small pillow. Sunday felt his mouth run dry, managing to choke out, “What are you doing here so late?” You shifted your weight absentmindedly while you murmured, “Couldn’t sleep.” He stepped to the side so you could enter and closed the door behind you. Sunday sat on the edge of his bed and gestured for you to do the same. The two of you sat in silence for a moment before he wondered aloud, “Anything bothering you?” You shook your head. “Just not feeling well.” He turned his head to examine you as you sat gazing downwards with the pillow held close. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He said, silently berating himself for not being able to answer more considerately. You shook your head, saying, “It’s fine. I just didn’t know where else to go.” He raised an eyebrow, heart speeding up at the thought that you might trust him enough to come to him before anyone else. Silence fell for a minute again as you fidgeted with the hem of your pajama shorts. Sunday spoke up again, “Bad dream?” You nodded and your grip on the pillow in your arms grew tighter. “You can always come here.” He said reassuringly. You peered up at him hesitantly, and he prayed that his lightly blushed cheeks wouldn’t betray him.

“Sunday,” You said quietly. “Thank you.” He furrowed his brow.

“What for?”

“For entertaining me. Even if it’s just for a bit.”

He offered you a relaxed smile. “It’s no problem at all. I enjoy your company.” You smiled widely, stating, “I enjoy your company too.” Sunday’s wings fluttered a bit at that, making you huff in amusement. Seemingly out of nowhere, you asked, “What do you do?”

He gave you a bemused look. “A lot of things, I suppose. I enjoy playing instruments and reading, among other things.”

“Will you play for me sometime?”

His expression changed to one of pleasant surprise. “Sure.” You decided to pry further, wondering, “What do you play?”

“Piano, violin… That’s pretty much it.”

“Still, that’s amazing. I couldn’t play an instrument to save my life.”

Sunday smiles, pondering what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. Like usual, your thoughts are all over the place. At this point, he thinks he’s pretty much figured out that you say anything that comes to mind and is appropriate for the situation. You looked out of the window into the dark space beyond, flecked with gleaming stars. Sunday took a moment to appreciate your dreamy gaze as you admired them. How he longed to tell you that you were his most radiant star��

“How long are you going to keep staring at me?”

Sunday’s eyes widened. How long did you know he was looking at you? 

“There’s a reflection in the glass, silly.” Right, he should have taken that into account. “Ah, well, I-I’m very sorry.” He choked out, his face flushed and wings threatening to cover his face. You turned to face him and, with a grin, said, “It’s no matter. I’m just glad you feel the same.” Sunday’s embarrassment turned to bewilderment. “...Feel the same?” He questioned. He had to be absolutely sure of what you meant before he said anything else. 

Your smile dropped. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sunday. I thought you- we-”

He took your hand in both of his and, with a breath, he managed to confirm, “I have feelings for you.” The beaming smile returned to your face, and Sunday exhaled a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. You lifted your free hand up to gingerly push away one of the wings that hovered near his face. “Me too.”

Sunday took you in his arms- warm and comforting. You leaned into him, and for a moment, the world was Sunday. In that instant, you felt as if it was all you needed.

[ribbonskiss]

ANOTHER ROUND -> CS55

Part 1 of 3. Read Part 2 here.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader

Summary: A spontaneous night out alone lands you in a new bar in town, owned by a man whose story seems to intersect with yours—not that you know it, yet.

Tags: strangers to lovers, meet cute, pretty fluffy, slow burn, multi-part fic

A/N: okay so I got REAAAALLY carried away with this one so it’ll probably have to be a two or three-parter 😭 in other news, happy new year everyone! I’m excited to be writing more things and sharing them with you all in 2025 ☺️ IF YOU SAW ME PUBLISH THE WRONG DRAFT NO YOU DID NOT

It is eight o'clock in the evening and you’re not ready to go home yet. It’s a beautiful Thursday night, the air is crisp, the city is bustling with people, and the streets are lit up by ornamented lampposts that line the sides of the roads. You stumble out of the restaurant with a satisfied stomach, your leather bag slung over your shoulder, but your legs don't want to take you to the metro. The idea of returning home now when the night is still so young fills you with dread instead of relief.

So you don't. It’s been a while since you’ve had time for a night out—or rather, a while since you’ve allowed yourself to have a night out—and since then, new things have popped up in the city. In the financial district, only a ten-minute walk from your work’s building is a newly renovated record bar that smells like tobacco and leather, now popular with the vest-wearing yuppies; almost directly across it, a respectable upscale quasi-pub where lower-level white collars sing karaoke together after a long week. Away from the business district and just to the side of the city’s centre is an area of distinct character: cosmopolitan but residential, filled with terraced houses and stylish small bars. It’s an area where young parents have to put their little ones to bed, so the little cocktail joints are designed for jovial chatting and conversation, not riotous boozing and bad decision-making. To you, this is the place to be. Naturally, you set off.

The walk is breezy and gentle on your heeled feet; you’re not quite wearing stilettos, but the heels are still dangerously fiddly. A blink of an eye later and you’re turning around the corner into the main street, one side littered with dazzling storefronts that have turned their lights out for the day and bars that have only just started their work hours. You furrow your eyebrows, halting to a stop as you lean up to squint at a sign you don’t recognise. El Matador. You look inside—dark green interiors, tasteful brown leather booth seating, sleek black stools at the bar if you dare approach the broad man in a dress shirt currently turned to the shelves of alcohol on the wall behind him. The place is tiny, cosy, bebop played at a low volume softly transitioning into Sade. The lights aren’t so dim, lamps hanging over the patrons’ heads so the light hits them like a halo. Everyone looks beautiful in here tonight—

—Least of all, the bartender. The moment you settle onto a stool, you regret being so unprepared for such a situation. It’s not that he’s audacious or brash; he’s nothing like a charging bull eager to sweep you off your feet. When he smiles modestly at you, it’s less on his lips than in his eyes, those soft doe eyes that twinkle in the dim lighting, even as his thick arms and messy hair suggest he’s no Bambi. He quickly folds a towel and throws it into a bucket before turning back to you.

“What can I get you?” he says. Thick accent; explains the tan.

Your eyes dart from side to side, looking for any spare menus on the bar counter. He shakes his head, chuckles softly to himself, and the sound of it makes you feel a heat start to pool in your stomach. “Sorry,” he says, seemingly genuinely apologetic. “No menu. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you if I can’t do it.”

You let out an awkward sound that’s somewhere between a nervous chuckle and a sigh of relief. “I’ll just take a gin and tonic,” you say, and he nods briefly before wordlessly turning his back around again. “Good choice,” he says. “Testing the new guy with a classic, ah?”

“So you are new?” you ask timidly, embarrassed at how uncultured you sound. “Sorry—I just haven’t been out for so long, so many of these places seem new to me.”

He glances at you over his shoulder briefly before pouring the tonic over a spoon into the glass. You can’t tell what expression he has on his face, and it makes you chew on the inside of your cheek. “We just opened a week ago.”

“Change of location?”

“Change of occupation,” he smiles, garnishing your drink with an inspired choice of kumquat citrus before serving it to you. He’s rather mild-mannered, and strangely precise for someone new to the business, you think. He points around with his finger. “This is my baby now.”

Your eyes widen. “So you own the place. What were you doing before?”

He winces a bit, and it makes your stomach feel bad and weird when you notice it, hoping to have not offended him. “Finance,” is his succinct answer. “It’s high-pressure. Antagonistic. Then eventually, your conscience catches up to you.”

Ah. You smile bitterly. “I know that all too well.”

He seems to light up at your words, cocking his head a little to the side as he places his rough hands on the counter. “What do you do?”

“Definitely nothing on your level of ranking, if my assumptions are correct,” you say, and it earns you a chuckle from him. “But something similar. Nothing fun, nothing fulfilling, but the situation is stable.”

He nods. “But at some point, life has to be more than just stable, no?” he says, pushing your glass towards you again. “Drink. There’s no poison, I promise.”

You smile, pinching the straw towards your lips with your fingers. He watches you in anticipation. “It’s good,” you say with a satisfied nod.

His shoulders seem to loosen in relief, and it makes you chuckle to yourself. “You’re quite modest for a matador,” you comment.

“Ay, no,” he shakes his head with a smile. “I am not the matador. My father is El Matador.” His eyes drift above your head towards the photo framed on the wall behind you. “He wasn’t thrilled when I went into finance. He was right, it took a lot out of me, but I’m here now and it just made sense to name it after him.”

He lets out a sigh, takes a moment to think to himself before shaking his head. “But I won’t bore you with the details,” he says, hands still firmly on the counter.

It seems more like he doesn’t want to unload on you. And you won’t push him. “But you can make me another drink, yes?” you smile.

With a soft chuckle, he nods. “That I can do,” he says. “What’s your next choice?”

You return the week after on a Friday, after deciding it would be too miserable staying in after a whole day working from home. It’s less the dinner that you’re looking forward to and more so the painting of a bullfighter in red that adorns the wall at El Matador, and you finish up your pasta quickly to take a brisk walk towards the bar. To your surprise, it’s someone else manning the bar tonight, a man considerably more boyish and fresh-faced even with his scruffy facial hair.

You take a seat at the bar again. “Bonsoir,” he smiles, drying his hands off on a towel tucked into his back pocket. “What can I get you?”

You blink, looking around on the off chance the owner will somehow magically appear. The new bartender furrows his eyebrows. “Hello, good evening?” he quips, tilting his head as he looks at you with a puzzled expression. “Ah, I’ve lost her. I must be terrible with the ladies.”

Awkwardly, you laugh and start to explain yourself, but then he does magically appear—from behind the shelves. “We both know that’s not true, Charles,” the tanned man snickers, patting the new boy fondly on the shoulder. “But I’ll take this one, anyway.”

Then he settles in front of you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile.

“You came back,” he says, and you nod affirmatively. “Next time, just ask for Carlos, the better barman—”

“—I heard that,” sneers the man you presume to be ‘Charles’ as he reaches for a liquor bottle on the shelf. It makes you giggle, watching them banter smoothly like this, seeing a side of Carlos that isn’t just quiet introspection.

“How’d you find another bartender on such short notice?” you ask, once the laughter dies down in your chest, leaving behind only a gentle smile.

“I didn’t,” Carlos shrugs, leaning over the counter now. “He just didn’t show up last Thursday—”

“Again, I hear everything you say, and again, that was a mishap in communication,” Charles snaps again from behind Carlos, his peculiar accent growing thicker as his tone turns playfully irritated. The older man simply waves away his words. Soon enough, they take turns narrating the story of how this place came to be (though each insists that his version is the more accurate one, you manage to piece together a more likely timeline from both of their contributions in your head). Charles was Carlos’ co-worker; they were always friends, but work was turning them into fierce rivals; and when Carlos dropped out of the rat race, Charles realised he no longer had his heart in it either. “Why not?” he says, telling the story like a true showman. “I’ve got more than enough in the bank, I’m set for life, and Carlitos bears the majority of the brunt if this falls through.”

“To be clear, he stands to lose a lot as well as an investor,” Carlos clarifies with a roll of his eyes.

“Eh, still,” his impish friend shrugs, with a mischievous smile that suggests an incredible case of the gift of the gab. “Carlos, do you plan on making the poor girl a drink or should I swoop on your customer?”

You end up staying until closing time. Thursdays are the new Fridays, and a spot in this part of town was never going to be bursting with people anyway, especially when it’s new, so Carlos and Charles manage to keep conversation with you just fine even as they’re working. As it turns out, you’re not the only one who’s a returning customer—especially when Charles, with his frisky demeanour and polished looks, has grown adept at attracting a certain kind of clientele. You can see why that is, absolutely, but Carlos catches you off-guard often; you find out that he’s bitingly funny, often going quiet for a few minutes just to slide in with a quip that makes you heave with laughter. He’s lowkey about it, eager to fade into the background as his colleague plays the role of the raconteur, but you notice every little joke he makes, his blink-and-you’ll-miss-it digs at Charles and all of his little expressions when something unexpected happens. Carlos knows that you notice them, too. He’s glad that you do.

Soon enough Charles bids you both goodbye, rambling on about how his girlfriend Alex is waiting for him at home and how she rags on him for having forgotten to bring home a jug of milk three nights in a row. Carlos shoos him away with a smile, wishes him a goodnight’s sleep and sends him off with a pat on the shoulder. And then it’s just you and him, together, alone. He’s turning the lights out one by one, running a hand through his hair as he lets out a long, deep breath, almost as if he’s sad to go home.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” you ask.

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “Absolutely not. You’re a customer. But I suggest you pick up your things now, before it gets too dark.”

You nod, flinging your bag back over your shoulder and picking up your coat. You walk out the door, watching as he flicks the last of the light switches and locks the front door. His keychain jangles; you notice he’s got a charm on it in the shape of a chilli pepper and bite back a smile.

“I hope this isn’t weird.”

He smiles at you, his hand turning the key to finish off the final lock. “It’s not. I’m glad you stayed,” Carlos says. “I’m glad you came back.”

Your stomach is doing that weird thing it always does whenever you make eye contact with him now, but you choose not to read into it. He puts his keys back on the carabiner on his belt loop, shoves his hands into his pockets. “Do you live near?”

“Kinda, yeah,” you answer. “I’m a 20-minute walk away.”

He looks down at your feet. “…Not in those heels, no,” he shakes his head, motioning at you to come with him. “Come. I’m driving you.”

Hesitantly, you walk with him towards a carpark nearby, where a sleek silver Mercedes SUV sits idly. “Jesus,” you chuckle in surprise. “You really were a rank above me.”

“A rank or two,” Carlos shyly admits, reluctant to make a show out of it. He’s walking towards the passenger’s side now to open the door. “Get in, come on. You must be tired.”

He’s right, but you say nothing, thanking him as you slip into the seat. You wonder if you said it too quietly. You wonder if he thinks you’re ungrateful. When he makes it over to the driver’s seat, he tells you to punch your address into the GPS and promises not to break into your home. You laugh and it makes it hard to type the words in fast.

The car sets off and you lean against the leather, eyes shutting for just a moment. Carlos allows himself a split second to glance over at you. “You’re very observant,” he says.

Your eyes shoot open at the sound of his voice. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re a good listener, at least,” he continues, eyes on the road now as his GPS’s voice chirps, telling him which way to turn. “I’ve never made anyone laugh as much as you.”

You turn your head. Even in the darkness of the car, the street lights passing by illuminate his tan skin, sparkling brightest in his eyes. “But you’re very funny, no?”

The words seem to resonate with him, the corners of his mouth twitching for just a second, as if he’s trying his best to not smile. He has very seldom thought of himself that way; in the presence of friends like Charles, or god forbid, Daniel, it is easy for him to fall under the perception that he is a charmless man. He’s never complained or allowed himself an inch of self-pity anyway, but this is nice. This feeling is nice. “I could be,” Carlos says, perhaps pausing a little too long. “I don’t get that one very often.”

You arrive at your apartment block too soon. The car halts gently to a stop; he’s a very smooth and skilful driver, just as smooth and skilful as he is with bartending. You wonder how one man could be so careful with everything as he is—especially a man who had only just left such an aggressive occupation. “Well, this is me,” you say, and he leans over you to look out the window, sizing up your building.

Picking up your things, you try to open the door yourself, but he beats you to it, hand stretching out to tug at the handle. You bow your head down a little in gratitude (what, oh God, who does that, this is so embarrassing) and bid him goodbye, walking towards the front entrance. He watches as you struggle to open the glass door, always underestimating how heavy it is. Carlos chuckles to himself. You don’t hear his engine rev again until you’ve disappeared into the elevator shaft.

Questions? Thoughts? Feedback? Ideas for the next part? Feel free to leave anything you want (except hate mail) in my askbox. All my love <3

[emmyrosee]

Only write this if u want to and with whoever u want.

But y/n has been depresso expresso these past few weeks she can’t get out of bed, she’s not been answering calls or texts and whenever she does she’s declining requests to hang out or come over….and her boyfriend had been missing her. So he just shows up spontaneously and rings the doorbell and she opens the door and she stares at him and then BURSTS into tears. BC GUESS WHAT ur grieving ur broke ur periods here u have assignments due next week that u haven’t even started and ur just so overwhelmed…. But Ofc u didn’t want ur boyfriend to see u like this u look messy right now. BUTTT Ofc ur boyfriend couldn’t care less and takes care of u anyway and brings u outside for fresh air and takes u for some ice cream at the 24 hr convince store nearby even though he doesn’t even like Ice cream that much but u have been craving something sweet and cold so why wouldn’t he 🥹

SO ANYWAY THANKS DOR READING LOVE U SO MUCH HAVE A GREAT NIGHT, EVENING OR DAY ❤️

-Anon🥢

The gentle knocking against your door has your brow raising and your show pausing. You’re not used to having guests at this hour, much less guests at all, and you wrap yourself in a blanket to get up and greet the person at the door.

You check the peephole. Osamu stands outside, playing on his phone.

Your heart sinks at the idea of him seeing you like this, seeing you so drained and so tired, but you can’t ignore him or send him away, either. You shrug the blanket higher on your shoulders and you open the door, trying to ignore the way his face lights up as you open it. “Hey,” you murmur.

“Hey,” he whispers, hands digging around the plastic bag in his hand, pulling out a bag of gummy bears. “I brought gummy bears.”

You don’t know why- Honest!- but your eyes water and your lip wobbles and you absolutely throw yourself into his chest, his arms expertly catching you and cradling you while you absolutely wail. You fist his shirt as your sobs wrack your soul. He doesn’t say anything, merely pressing kisses to your head and rocking you both gently. “I’m sorry,” you heave.

He shushes you softly, “don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

“I missed you so much,” you sob, and he hums in agreement. “Osamu, I’m so tired, I can’t bring myself to do anything, what’s wrong?”

“You’re in your head,” he says quietly, pulling back to wipe a tear that falls from your eye. “And that’s okay. You’ve been working so hard, it’s totally normal to be a bit burnt out, baby. You’ve got a lot going on.” He smiles softly at you, “but this is your sign to be pampered for a little bit, okay? You trust me?”

You sniffle a few more times before nodding, curling back into his chest to feel the tightness of his embrace circle you once again. He says nothing, he does nothing, merely letting you cry it out in his arms, with the occasional kiss to the crown of your head. Once you’ve tuckered yourself out, you pull back to look at him once again, only to laugh at the imprint of your crying face on his shirt. “Sorry,” you manage between sniffly laughter.

“It’s fine,” he snorts. “It’ll dry. Now-“ he nudges his head towards the door, “go lock up, and we can run to 7/11 for some ice cream.”

The mere idea makes your heart sing, but you pout up at him, “you don’t like ice cream though?”

“I’ll get chips. I know you’re going to steal some anyways, so I don’t mind,” he chuckles. For the first time in weeks, you feel yourself perk up, the idea of something sweet and cold tingling your tastebuds in ways you haven’t felt since losing your appetite. You move quicker than you have in days, turning off the tv and locking your door, only for osamu to catch you and wrap you in his big arms. You giggle as he catches under your knees and spins you into a bridal carry, and you wrap your arms around him instinctively.

He places you gingerly in the passenger seat, careful of your head and legs before closing the door and making his way to the drivers side. You smirk and lean over to honk the horn to scare him, cackling as he leaps a foot in the air, his face curling into one of mischief as he shakes his head. He gets in the car, “I’m getting you back for that.”

“Try me,” you tease.

The ride to 7/11 is just as fun, with his hand on your thigh and the windows down while music plays through the speakers. The sun is setting, casting a hue of pink over the horizon and objects on it, and it’s almost amusing how the 7/11 looks ethereal carved in pink.

Four bags of chips, a bag of m’n’m’s and three ice creams later, you check out of the store and make your way back to the car, each of you indulging in your ice creams before they melt into goo.

You sigh and look up at him, “are we going home?”

“Do you want to?”

He looks over at you warmly, laying his tongue flat to slurp up a lap of ice cream. You snicker and shrug, “not… not really. I mean… I haven’t been outside in weeks, and it feels so good.”

“Then we don’t go home,” he says simply, taking a bite of his cone. “I think the moon is full tonight, so we can go watch the sunset finish, look for the moon?”

You beam up at him, “I’d love that.”

He nods, “I thought you might.”

It takes only 5 minutes to find a park suitable to situate at, your fingers now dug into a bag of Doritos as he parks the car and nudges his head, “come on. We can set up in the trunk.”

“Trunk?”

“Yeah,” he encourages, and you merely shrug and follow his example of getting out of the car. He pops the trunk and plops himself down, patting the seat next to him. “I don’t have a blanket we can lay down on, so this will have to do.”

“Why don’t you lay on the dirt and I’ll lay on you?” You ask, and he rolls his eyes while you laugh. “I thought you were chivalrous, Osamu.”

“I’m not getting a tick because you’re too fancy to sit in a trunk,” he teases, and you shake your head playfully before sitting in the trunk next to him. You rest your head on his shoulders, and he reaches in the bag for a dorito, his head laying down to rest on yours.

And it’s quiet. Comfortably quiet, with a warm hand resting on your knee with his thumb rolling over the bone lovingly, a bag of crumpled Doritos tossed somewhere behind you. The sun has set half an hour ago, but you’re both too entranced by the bright moon hanging low in the sky to move. Bugs come to life as they chirp, and streetlights pop on around the park.

It’s bliss.

It’s amazing how much the fresh air has brought you back, how much Osamu brought you back, and you don’t know what you’d do without him.

“‘Samu?”

“Yeah baby?”

“I love you.”

He kisses your head, “I love you too, baby.” Then he sighs, and you feel the arm wrapped lowly around you trail up your side, and your lip twitches. “Now, about the whole honking at me thing-“

“No!” You squeal as five fingers dig into your side, holding you close as you squirm at the tickling, your laughter ringing in the air of night that envelops you both like a hug.

[fear-less]

Ok so I have a request///Sirius black x reader but reader is just really weird not like Luna lovegood type of weird cuz Luna love good it's like whimsical still weird but whimsical vibes but like reader it's kind of like mad Hatter vibes like for example show randomly start carrying a frog around on her head or she'll be in a conversation and randomly space out and then start talking about something completely off topic and really random Wonderland vibes so pretty much she's just really weird lol

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 puff

paring: sirius black x f!reader

➥ In which,Sirius Black finds himself captivated by the wonderfully eccentric (and slightly chaotic) reader, whose spontaneous, Wonderland-inspired ramblings and unexpected frog companion lead them on a whimsical adventure that’s as unpredictable as it is charming.

warnings: reader is a gryffindor (not mentioned but yeah), fluff ofc, whole lotta nonsense, reader is a #yapper, idk anything else..

a/n: this was way too fun to write, I love weird!reader sm bc lowkey... im the same way. cooked this up in like 2 hours.. ijbol🙏

1.7K words 

Sirius Black leaned against the wall, in front of the potions class as class had ended merely ten minutes ago,  his arms crossed and a smirk playing on his lips. He had been watching you for the last 5 minutes, not even paying attention to whatever James was telling him, trying to figure out exactly what you were doing.

You had just wandered in, miss matched shoes, with a small frog sitting happily atop your messy hair. The creature seemed to be perfectly content, its little legs dangling over your ear like a charming, offbeat accessory. You hummed a random tune to yourself, oblivious to the stares you were attracting.

"Is... is that a frog?" James Potter asked, looking over to Sirius.

"Yes, yes it is," Sirius replied, amused, his eyebrow raised. "And I’m starting to think it’s not the weirdest thing about her."

Although you two had talked no more than a few words to each other since first year, he had somewhat cared for you, maybe it was because he was the odd one out in his family and you're just the odd one out in the whole school..

You skipped over to the door where Sirius and James were currently standing, still humming your odd tune, and made your way into the class. The frog gave a tiny croak in response. Sirius shook his head, trying not to smile at your quirky nature.

He'd never quite figured you out. Not that he minded. In fact, he loved that about you.

The last time he’d tried to have a serious conversation with you, you’d abruptly gone off on a tangent about whether or not trees would prefer if humans walked on all fours, and if so, what kind of shoes they would wear. He had no idea how to respond. But that was you—weird. Completely unpredictable, like a puzzle with no instructions.

James and Sirius soon left when more and more people started entering the class. They made their way to the common room since they had a free period, which surprisingly was also their last class of the day. 

An hour and a half later, you made your way to the common room and danced your way to the couch,a couch near where he and James were sitting,  catching Sirius' gaze. Something about the way you stared at the fire, entranced, made him curious. He sauntered over to where you sat, leaning down to catch your eye.

"Hey, Y/N," Sirius said, his voice soft, "you good?"

You blinked up at him, your wide eyes almost glassy, as though you had just been pulled out of some distant, far-off dream.

"Oh, yes, of course!" you said, suddenly animated. "Did you know that turtles are like the original time travelers? I read somewhere that they can live for centuries, so... maybe they’ve seen things, you know? Like, really ancient things. What if they hold the secrets of the universe in their shells? Maybe we just need to ask them. Or—" You paused, looking at the frog, "—maybe this one has seen something, too. He looks wise. I trust him."

Sirius blinked a few times, unsure whether to laugh or just stare in disbelief. You were completely off the rails, but there was something endearing about it.

"You’ve got a lot of theories, don’t you?" he remarked, sitting down next to you.

You beamed, excited to have caught his attention. "Oh, Sirius! Theories are what make the world go round, don’t you think? Like, imagine if gravity was actually just a really strong magnet and the Earth was stuck to it like a fridge magnet!" You suddenly flung your arms out, almost hitting him in the process, but he ducked just in time.

"Careful, I don’t want to become the fridge magnet," Sirius teased, his lips curling into a grin.

"Of course not!" you giggled, your voice bright and airy. "You’re much too handsome to be a fridge magnet. I’d probably put you on the outside, though—just so I could look at you all the time, y’know?"

Sirius chuckled, but there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at you, the girl who could suddenly start rambling about frogs, turtles, or magnets at any given moment, and yet still manage to draw him in.

"You’re impossible," he said, but there was no real malice in his voice. It was affection, the way someone would say, “You’re so frustrating, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You tilted your head and grinned, that spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. "And you’re very charming for someone who doesn't seem to understand the power of a well-placed frog."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "A frog, huh? Well, tell me, what’s its power?"

You glanced up at the frog on your head and nodded solemnly. "It’s the Guardian of Puddles. In every puddle it rests upon, it can create a tiny world, where everything is upside down. But only if the moon is full."

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Sirius Black leaned against the wall of the Gryffindor common room, his arms crossed and a smirk playing on his lips. He had been watching you for the last ten minutes, trying to figure out exactly what you were doing.

You had just wandered in, barefoot, with a small frog sitting happily atop your messy hair. The creature seemed to be perfectly content, its little legs dangling over your ear like a charming, offbeat accessory. You hummed a random tune to yourself, oblivious to the stares you were attracting.

"Is... is that a frog?" James Potter asked, looking over to Sirius.

"Yes, yes it is," Sirius replied, amused, his eyebrow raised. "And I’m starting to think it’s not the weirdest thing about her."

You danced over to the couch, still humming your odd tune, and plopped down with a soft plop. The frog gave a tiny croak in response. Sirius shook his head, trying not to smile at your quirky nature.

He'd never quite figured you out. Not that he minded. In fact, he loved that about you.

The last time he’d tried to have a serious conversation with you, you’d abruptly gone off on a tangent about whether or not trees would prefer if humans walked on all fours, and if so, what kind of shoes they would wear. He had no idea how to respond. But that was you—weird. Completely unpredictable, like a puzzle with no instructions.

Today, though, something about the way you stared at the fire, entranced, made him curious. He sauntered over to where you sat, leaning down to catch your eye.

"Hey, [Y/N]," Sirius said, his voice soft, "you good?"

You blinked up at him, your wide eyes almost glassy, as though you had just been pulled out of some distant, far-off dream.

"Oh, yes, of course!" you said, suddenly animated. "Did you know that turtles are like the original time travelers? I read somewhere that they can live for centuries, so... maybe they’ve seen things, you know? Like, really ancient things. What if they hold the secrets of the universe in their shells? Maybe we just need to ask them. Or—" You paused, looking at the frog, "—maybe this one has seen something, too. He looks wise. I trust him."

Sirius blinked a few times, unsure whether to laugh or just stare in disbelief. You were completely off the rails, but there was something endearing about it.

"You’ve got a lot of theories, don’t you?" he remarked, sitting down next to you.

You beamed, excited to have caught his attention. "Oh, Sirius! Theories are what make the world go round, don’t you think? Like, imagine if gravity was actually just a really strong magnet and the Earth was stuck to it like a fridge magnet!" You suddenly flung your arms out, almost hitting him in the process, but he ducked just in time.

"Careful, I don’t want to become the fridge magnet," Sirius teased, his lips curling into a grin.

"Of course not!" you giggled, your voice bright and airy. "You’re much too handsome to be a fridge magnet. I’d probably put you on the outside, though—just so I could look at you all the time, y’know?"

Sirius chuckled, but there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at you, the girl who could suddenly start rambling about frogs, turtles, or magnets at any given moment, and yet still manage to draw him in.

"You’re impossible," he said, but there was no real malice in his voice. It was affection, the way someone would say, “You’re so frustrating, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You tilted your head and grinned, that spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. "And you’re very charming for someone who doesn't seem to understand the power of a well-placed frog."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "A frog, huh? Well, tell me, what’s its power?"

You glanced up at the frog on your head and nodded solemnly. "It’s the Guardian of Puddles. In every puddle it rests upon, it can create a tiny world, where everything is upside down. But only if the moon is full."

"Right," Sirius said with a dramatic nod. "So what are we waiting for, then? We should find the next puddle, moon or not."

"Exactly!" you exclaimed, suddenly standing up and nearly tripping over your own feet. The frog wobbled a bit but managed to hang on. "We must go! The universe needs us."

Sirius laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You’re completely mad. But I wouldn’t have you any other way."

You looked back at him, wide-eyed and playful. "Mad? Oh, I’m not mad at all, Sirius. I’m simply tuned to the rhythm of a different drum. It’s much more fun this way, don’t you think?"

He watched you for a moment, and then, without missing a beat, said, "Maybe I’ll start carrying around a frog too. You know, for balance."

You gave him a look of approval. "Good idea. We'll form a secret society of frog-bearers. We’ll rule the world, one puddle at a time."

Sirius just smiled, content. "Sounds perfect, puff."

[mydearesthrry]

hey love, im absolutely in love w your writing and wanted to ask if you could write something about harry asking reader/(y/n) out? maybe he’s super nervous cause he’s been crushing on her for awhile <3

obvious - h.s.

a/n: thank you for the request, lovie! this got a little messy but i hope i lived up to your wishes a little. enjoyyyy <3

🎀 warnings/cw: nothing, fluff ofc, harry being a little nervy boy

🐇 pairing: actress!reader x harry styles

💐 wc: 1.1k

summary: y/n thought she was being so obvious- looks like she was wrong.

“You look incredible,” Harry mutters, eyes trying to stray off of his script in an attempt to memorize it for the scene the next day. “I’ve been thinking we should try something crazy…” He pauses, trying to let the scene play out as accurately as possible. “Let’s have a baby.” 

A few beats pass. “What?” YN follows, a bewildered look in her eyes. Harry just smiles, eyes flicking down at his script, nodding when he remembered his line. 

“I mean, not right this second, obviously, we don’t have time. But…” Throwing the words around in his head, trying to ignore his chest squeezing at how accurate his next words were in reference to her, “I love you, and I want more of you, and now I think I want a little you. I don’t know. It’d be an adventure.”

Their eyes catch each other, and they share a look that they both couldn’t explain even meant. YN dropped her gaze first before clearing her throat and shifting on the sofa. “Yeah, that was great, H. I think we’ll do well tomorrow.” 

Harry sniffed and looked down at his script, flipping back to the title page. “Um– yeah, we will.” 

Fuck. Harry thought. His hands kept fidgeting, left leg bouncing up and down. He wasn’t even anxious, per se, but he felt so incredibly nervous because of the pretty angel sitting next to him. He’d been pining over her since he was a teenager, watching all of her movies the day they came out, and listening to all of the tracks that she’d sung on every soundtrack. He even went on a spontaneous trip with the boys when they were in New York just to see her perform on Broadway. 

So safe to say, when he got the call back that he’d gotten the role of Jack Chambers in Don’t Worry Darling, he was doing somersaults when he found out who his on screen wife would be. It felt crazy to him that his dreams from when he was in tenth year had finally come to fruition— kind of. The two had a weird relationship at first, YN being extremely closed off and standoffish at the beginning, but she slowly let Harry break down her cemented walls that she’s had up for so long. She didn’t know why, but for some reason, Harry was one of the only people that she allowed to get to know her– fully, at least. 

“Okay, pretty boy, it’s getting pretty late, and I have an earlier call time tomorrow than you do, so I think I’m gonna head out now.” Standing up, she brushed off the front of her gray sweatpants, showing up to Harry’s flat in the most comfortable clothes possible since she knew she would be there for a while. She picked up their now empty wine glasses, them having shared a glass or two throughout the course of the night. 

Harry didn’t give any response and an awkward silence filled the air, almost suffocating as YN stared at Harry in confusion. “H?” 

Nothing. 

Harry was lost in his thoughts, seemingly. I need to do it now, but what if she says no! What if I’ve been misreading her this entire time and she’s just being nice? But that wouldn’t even make sense, would it? She’s been picking up what I’ve been putting down… I think? Has she? Fuck… Wait, wait what? Is she leaving? Why’s she slipping her shoes on?

“Wait,” Harry managed to choke out, YN halting her movements immediately. “Don’t– um, don’t leave, please? Come sit down, I wanna… I wanna ask y’something.” 

Fuck, he was really doing this. 

“Been trying to tell you that I’m leaving for like, ten minutes now, Babe.” She laughed, toeing her shoe off, dropping the other one she had in her hand onto the floor. 

“What’s up? What’s the matter?” She traced his face with her eyes, clocking his distant look that was written all over his face. 

“Bug, have t’tell y’something, but if I’m wrong, y’have to tell me, promise?” Harry mumbled, eyes flicking down to his hands where he was fidgeting with his ringless fingers. His rings were in a velvety cinched bag that YN, of course, had gotten him at a little thrift shop they found. 

“Promise, babe. Now, what is it, is everything okay?” She gripped the bottom of his chin in an attempt to get him to look at her. It began reminding her of the scene they filmed earlier of their characters in the living room in a very vulnerable state. 

He was too nervous to say his next words to even realize she'd called him babe. “I… I- um- I don’t want this t’ruin our relationship, but I have t’tell y’cause it’s been basically eating at me, but I… I really like y’and I want nothing more than t’take y’out on a date. But, if y’don’t feel the same don’t worry! I jus’ didn’t want to not tell y’and ruin our friendship or anything, even though now I fear I’ve made it wors-” 

“Oh my God,” She cut him off, giggles that soon turned into full on cackles filling the air. He watched her in fear, a worried look now on his face at the thought that she was laughing at him. “Harry, sweet boy, I would love to go out with you.” 

“I- you- wha- what? I… I don’t think I understand?” He stumbled, her actions and words not adding up in his YN clouded brain. 

“I thought I was being so obvious about how I felt about you, H. Sorry for not being more clear, that’s on me. Is this why you’ve been so distant and weird with me lately? You’ve been acting like this just ‘cause you have a crush on me?” She tried to understand, but by the look on his face she could see that he was really not getting what was even happening right now. “Babe, I’ve liked you since I watched you in the crowd of the first AMA’s you went to. I didn’t even get to meet you, but I’ve liked you since I’ve seen you, and it honestly’s gotten worse since I have to pretend to be your wife on screen.” 

Harry was bewildered. “So, y’telling me, that all this time I’ve just had to ask? Instead of torturing myself every night?” 

“Yeah, bug, that’s what ‘M telling you,” She giggled, moving closer to him on the couch. “We’re doing this backward, I think. How’s it that I’ve had your literal tongue in my mouth before you’ve even taken me out on a date?” 

“Well, when you put it that way!” He laughs, pulling her onto his lap like he’s always wanted and waited to do. They sat in silence for a few beats, letting their eyes roam around their faces without worrying about the director yelling 'Cut!'.

“What’re you waiting for? Gonna ask me out officially?” She whispered, moving her face closer to Harry, them being able to now feel their breaths waft between them. 

“Nah, gonna kiss y’first, officially as us, and not as Jack and Alice.” Harry mumbled.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

And when their lips finally touched as Y/N and Harry, the teenage boy in Harry was practically doing backflips and somersaults, knowing that his dreams had finally come true.

[bellasprettywords]

Hey, I love your writing! I was wondering if you’d do a little something based off of the lyrics “Well, every once in awhile, she'll find my number in her phone and we'll talk for hours She'll tell me things I would have never known about when we were together She's saying, "Sorry, it's just such a long walk home" So she's coming over cause it's better than being alone” Spencer Reid x female reader. I was thinking more like a Midwest emo alt type of character, totally not someone you’d expect Spencer to go for?

I think your nose is bleeding (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Thank you very very much for the request!! I hope you like this little one shot, because I didn't know the song, but I hope I could meet your expectations🩷✨

My masterlist

Requests are always open🥰

Warnings: Mmm apart of it being a little messy, I think there's nothing, but it fluff

Word count: 1,232

y/n – your name

Spencer and you were kind of an odd couple, excuse me, a couple of friends for the untrained eye. While he’s a trained scholar with a collection of PhDs on Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering; with an impressive job as a profiler at the FBI, which most of the time had him travelling all around the country, and a shy personality with socially awkward tints, and a genius brain. You are a tattoo artist with a free spirit, a soft spot for poetry, love for sassy comebacks, and a special love for midwest emo music. Once upon a time, almost a year ago, Spencer and you were a couple, but the two of you decided to leave things as friends, because your lifestyles were quite different, which made a relationship considerably difficult for you. However, the two of you decided to stay friends, which seemed kind of easier as you established a set of rules to make sure everything between the two of you could flow naturally.

Even if it was as friends, you knew that the two of you seemed like polar opposites, but the love you shared always made you be better for each other, growing up, learning about the other’s point of view, and becoming empathetic, even if you didn’t see eye to eye under certain circumstances. After your break-up, Spencer and you learned to compromise and commit to make sure the friendship could work, sure, sometimes it was hard considering his packed schedule, and your love for spontaneous adventures.

It was a little later than you would usually close the tattoo studio, so you decided to call Spencer to see what he was up to; you hadn’t talked in a while, so you weren’t even sure if he was in the city, but it was worth it to take the shot.

“Hey, y/n, it’s nice to hear from you” you heard Spencer’s voice through the phone

“How are you, mighty Doctor Reid?” you asked excited because, deep down, you were really longing to hear Spencer’s voice

“I’m… I’m alright, you know, just doing my thing; how are you? It’s been ages” he said trying to hide his own excitement to hear from you. Sure, you were friends, but deep down Spencer hoped that with time and more organization, maybe someday the two of you could rekindle your previous relationship

“It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I know what you mean! I’ve missed you Spence, I hope I’m not interrupting you at work or anything” you said, walking to your car

“No, I’m just home solving a puzzle, and deciding what to order for dinner” he said

“Uh, that’s nice, I was actually thinking about going to Little India to get take out. I’m really craving chicken curry, want anything?” you said jokingly, pretty sure Spencer wouldn’t catch the subtext

“Uh… sure, some chicken tikka masala and flatbread would be pretty amazing, thank you for asking” Spencer said, ensuring you he didn’t catch the joke

“An order or chicken tikka masala, white rice, and flatbread, coming right up” you said getting ready to hang up the call, when Spencer interrupted

“Wait, don’t hang up” he said as you turned on your car engine “I want to go with you, if that’s okay, I mean, if it’s not an imposition” he stuttered this time

“It would be delightful, sure, I love talking to you” you said with a shy smile forming on your lips, “What have you been up to? Any cool cases I can know about?” you asked Spencer

“I flew in today from Atlanta, we went to solve a case there” Spencer stared telling you all about the case, the unsub and how the team managed to save the victims that were abducted, when a car cut you off and honcked at you

“Jerk” you said under your breath

“y/n! are you okay? what was that?” Spencer asked frantically

“I’m okay, I’m okay, it was just some jerk” you said hoping to soothe Spencer’s concern “Did you know I hate driving?” you asked the young doctor

“I didn’t know that” he said sounding quite surprised at your revelation

“I really do! That’s why I’d always ask you if we could carpool when we were together” you confessed

“Hu… That would’ve been useful information back then” he said, making sure of making a mental note about that, to ensure to drive you whenever he could do it

The two of you kept talking, and the 40-minute drive that you needed to get to your favorite Indian restaurant, suddenly felt like a 5-minute stroll with the one you loved. Talking to Spencer like this felt amazing, it was peaceful, it almost felt natural like breathing, he always had the right words for you and even when you paused the conversation for a little while, the silence between the two of you was incredibly comfortable. You arrived at your destination and while you were ordering the food, Spencer stayed on the line with you, speaking about an impressive number of folkloric Indian stories, and facts about the country. You picked up the food and drove to Spencer’s apartment, this time, the drive was quite short, but that didn’t mean it was least pleasant with Spence’s rambling

When you arrived to the apartment building, Spencer was already downstairs waiting for you

“Hey boy-genious, I was at least hoping I could separate the orders before giving them to you” you said, a little butt hurt that apparently, Spencer didn’t even want you on his apartment

“What are you talking about? I’m here to help you carry the bags upstairs” he said a little confused by your comment

“Oh, I thought… Never mind” you said brushing off the butterflies that starter fluttering inside your stomach

“I’m really glad you called, you had no idea how much I missed you” Spencer said as you were entering the apartment building

“I missed you too Spence” you said

The night went amazingly, and the damn butterflies wouldn’t go anywhere. The two of you eat dinner together, and it almost felt as you have never broken up, the conversation flowed, and you could feel how this was one of those moments you’d always treasure in your heart

“I should get going, it’s a really long drive home” you said as soon as the clock struck 12:00 am

“Don’t go, please, just… stay the night” Spencer pleaded with his puppy eyes

“I really shouldn’t” you replied, avoiding eye contact with Spencer. Sure, one would argue that a friend can stay over at another friend’s apartment, but you knew that with Spencer it would be complicated, especially as you weren’t over him yet

“I’m begging you, I may seem alright, but as soon as I go to bed without you I feel so… empty and alone. This apartment is not the same without you, as a matter of fact, my life is not the same without you” Spencer said taking your chin so you could look at him in the eye

“If I stay the night, I may never leave” you said, gifting Spencer a side smile

“Maybe I just don’t want you to leave” Spencer said, leaning forward and starring intensively into your eyes, so you did what any normal person who has the object of his or her desire would’ve done: you leaned forward, and kissed Spencer

[lelengerine]

call you mine

✿ pairing |  haechan x reader

✿ synopsis | sometimes, love letters might just be the way to get someone to like you (or maybe it’s because they’ve liked you for the entire time).

✿ genre | kinda tooth-rotting fluff at some points, a little bit of childhood friends to lovers, also pretty cliché so bear w me here

✿ wc | 1.4k

✿ notes | hello! this is a sequel to sincerely, yours and i highly suggest reading that first but this can also be read as a stand alone fic too hehe <3 ngl i kinda got carried away writing this ;0; as always,, lmk ur thoughts on this one :D

m.list

if you’d ask him, haechan wouldn’t know how long he’s been staring at the mirror, picking out clothes from his closet before tossing them into the far corners of his room. 

each second passes by and the more his irritation grows from the fact nothing seems to be just right. he knows he’s just going for a casual trip with you, and that’s all it’ll ever be, but the back of his mind itches at the thought of being with you for a couple of days straight.

sure, you’ve seen him wear all sorts of things back from when the two of you were little. the first time you met, he was sporting a shinchan shirt in the brightest green you’d ever seen. he even used to wear this one jacket that’s seen it’s fair share of days (correction, he still does), and you’ve always complimented how much it suits him. 

you’d honestly be the last person to care about what he’d show up in, and yet, he wants to look the best for you. he doesn’t know why this is exactly the case, but he’s never questioned it too much to care either.

haechan then pulls up a purple hoodie littered with embroidered patches from his closet by the hanger, recognizing it almost immediately. not because it’s an item he’s worn so often, but because you borrowed it more than once before. he still remembers how the fabric would completely engulf your figure, obviously being too big on you. though, you always tell him that’s exactly what you prefer.

he always thought you looked cute in it anyways.

carefully folding it up, haechan packs it into his small suitcase — the hoodie now being the first piece of clothing that rests inside. 

checking the clock, he doesn’t have much time left before needing to pick you up and painstakingly tries to gather all the things he needs to bring for the trip, rushing with you in mind. this trip would be marked as the first time you would travel together. well, more like the first trip without your parents coming along since they deem you’re both old enough to not get into stupid situations. at least, that’s what they wanted to assume from the both of you.

okay, so maybe he should be a little more nervous than he is. whatever, the jitters will come hit him straight in the face soon enough when he least expects it.

he finishes stuffing his suitcase full of items, albeit a bit sloppily and not at all like he originally planned for, but it’ll have to do. he’d rather have a messy bag filled to the brim with wrinkly clothes that might not even be fit for the weather than be late to the time you both agreed he’d pick you up on.

-x-

haechan soon arrives at the front of your doorstep pretty much on the dot, hand instinctively reaching into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a replica key with a mini teddy bear charm dangling from it. you gave it to him for when he ever wanted to spontaneously visit you and it’s something he treasures dearly, knowing it symbolizes the trust you place in him.

eagerly, he rushes up to your room, assuming you’re still inside. “y/n- are you ready to go?” he questions, sounding a little flustered to see the area empty. it isn't like you to leave your room unattended. did something happen-

“i’m in the bathroom! i’ll be out soon.” he hears you yell out soon after, placing his heart at ease. 

“oh thank god,” he mumbles softly, not knowing what he’d do if you were gone.

he takes the time to look around your room, noting how practically nothing has changed since he last visited when he was much younger. there are still glow in the dark stars that vaguely shine on your ceiling, ones he helped you stick because you couldn’t reach the ceiling even with the height offered by your bed. hell, even the wooden cabinet you use hasn’t changed for the past years and is kept in good condition thanks to your care.

it’s like he’s reminiscing everything he’s known about you all at once. every little detail only he knows as your best friend.

there is, however, one small thing that sticks out of place in his eyes. a small, well-kept box rests below your desk, one he’s never seen before nor heard you talk about. 

he believed you always told him about everything that went on in your life, so why hasn’t he known about this? perhaps he had been mistaken all along.

the thought can’t help but form the start of a crack on the notion of him being your best friend. maybe someone else had already taken that spot away from him right under his nose and he had realized just a bit too late. 

he didn’t want to be the person who would limit you to who you make friends with, quite the opposite actually, but jealousy serves to be a weakness in him – slowly seeping into his mind and clogging his train of thought. he could only wish he wasn’t feeling this way right now.

it's that same jealousy that urges him to pick up the box, crouch down and quickly take the lid off. there, he finds the dainty envelopes stored away with utmost care and attention to detail.

each one is signed with ‘sincerely, yours’ written at the bottom left in a perfectly executed cursive font, and that’s when he realizes they’re letters written with someone in mind.

he sighs, returning back to the times you’d nag him to learn lettering with you. he would never take the lessons seriously, but you always did. so this was why you wanted to learn how to write so prettily, he quickly assumes. 

his heart grows heavier the more he rummages through the box, the realization of the envelopes being love letters sinking in slowly but surely into his soul.

you like someone, he thought to himself.

so it wasn’t even someone stealing his title of best friend. it was someone who had stolen your heart. that someone was the person he yearned to be for so long, and now, it was never going to be him seeing as you’ve even committed to writing down letters. 

since when did you even write letters? haechan scoffs to himself bitterly at the thought.

“hyuck, i’m done. we should get-“ you come out of the bathroom unannounced, not even giving him a chance to gather his thoughts. “…going.”

he probably caught you just as off guard, judging by the way your shoulders stiffened up and your line of sight instantly focused on the letters that now rest in the palms of his hands. he already pieced together the fact he was never supposed to know about this, much less rummage through your things without consent. 

what was he even going to tell you? surely he could not get himself out of this situation with an excuse after being caught like a raccoon searching for scraps in the neighbor’s trash can at night. instead, haechan does the next best thing he could think of.

“…y/n? what are these?” well, to be fair, he never said his idea wasn’t outright stupid.

truthfully, he doesn’t know whether asking you directly was the right thing to do. yes, he knows he’s the one at fault in this situation, yet this was the only way he could hear a proper answer from you. 

he just wanted to pull the bandaid off his heart and accept the fact you have feelings for someone else. any form of hatred you throw his way after all this, he will gladly accept.

with a deep breath, you finally answer him with “they’re… sincerely yours.”

and for the second time today, haechan’s brain goes blank. did you just say all those letters were for him? no, he probably interpreted your words incorrectly. 

“mine?” he utters out moments later, voice still laced with confusion.

you sheepishly nod your head along to his words, further confirming what he had originally perceived about those letters were oh so wrong. his heart that was once sinking was slowly coming back above the tide, meeting the bright, blue sky. 

his lips curl upwards into a smile unbeknownst to him, however, you’re quick to notice – taking that as a sign your feelings may have not been so one-sided after all.

“can i… read them?” haechan looks at you with stars in his eyes and you wonder if that’s a reflection of the glow in the dark stars that decorate your room’s ceiling or if it's just him glistening under the sunlight that barely manages to shine into your room.

just how could you decline when he’s acts like this in front of you?

“after our trip?” you propose, “at least you’ll have something to look forward to when we get back.”

“okay, but does that mean i get to call you mine?”

now you’re the one flustered, heat creeping up to the apples of your cheeks. just how much did his confidence surge knowing the letters were for him? “i don’t know- i mean, you haven't asked me out yet.”

“oh baby, you genuinely don't know how long i’ve waited for this moment.”

[angstylittleguy]

Brewing Thoughts

Part 3 of the first meeting between Rory and Bennett.

part 2 // part 1

character context: Rory is a mind reader that is unable to control her ability. The voices in her head are constant and the emotions of the people around her are often inflicted onto her. Bennett frequently gets stuck in time loops and the only way to get the loop to end is for him to survive the day.

word count: 1.2k

-> In Which Everything Goes Wonderfully Wrong masterpost link: Here

-> character introductions and moodboards: Here

The coffee shop was crowded, as was expected on a Tuesday morning. Rory didn’t think she’d ever experienced a moment where it wasn’t filled with caffeine-deprived college students. It was quite easily the only thing keeping them all alive and functioning. There was something about a large black coffee mixed with a five-hour energy that really made your heart pump.

Rory found a table for herself and Bennett while he stood in line and ordered their drinks. The crowded coffee shop was a reminder that they lived in a dog-eat-dog world, as Rory had to skirt around the bodies of her peers to find a table, and then she had to claim it by draping her belongings over the chairs. 

Bennett found her after a couple long minutes (the baristas were sleep-deprived students themselves), and he held out her coffee with the name misspelled. “Thanks,” she muttered to him, already taking a sip. It was scorching hot, and though it burnt the inside of her mouth and brought tears to her eyes, it felt good on her throat and in her chest. 

“I thought it was going to be weird to be here in my pajamas,” Bennett said, cradling his coffee in his hands still. “But it looks like other people had the same idea.”

Rory glanced around, seeing two or three other students wearing what they slept in. “You’re not the only one self-conscious,” she told him, nodding to a girl in the corner. “Coming in here was not part of her plan. But her roommate is spontaneous and she’s getting dragged along.”

“I’m not self-conscious,” Bennett told her. “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what people think of me.” 

Rory sipped her coffee again, knowing it wouldn’t be any cooler but couldn’t find it in her to be patient. “I try to be the same way,” she said. “It’s hard though, especially when you can actually hear what they’re thinking.”

Bennett grimaced, that fact just now clicking for him and knowing that he had probably thought a few things he wouldn’t want her to hear. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Rory cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve been a lot nicer than most people.” 

Bennett finally sat his coffee down on the table. The messy writing on the cup read “Benn.” 

“I guess that’s a relief.” He gave her a half-smile. “I wasn’t exactly the nicest guy the first few times we met. It wasn’t personal, I swear. Just… it’s been difficult lately.” 

Rory could feel the weight in his words, heavy and awkward. The confession was there, though veiled in hesitation. 

“So, what do you usually do when you’re not, you know, hearing people’s thoughts?” Bennett asked, shifting the conversation, hoping to lighten the mood.”

“I’m always listening to people’s thoughts.” She took another sip of coffee. “When I’m not, I’m trying to tune them out.”

“And how do you do that?”

Rory pulled out her phone, tapping on her screen to pull up her music app. She tugged on the headphones that were draped around her neck and handed them to Bennett. He hesitantly put them on. “Ready?” she asked him, though she didn’t wait for an answer before she pressed play. 

She watched Bennett as the music blasted through the headphones, his face going completely blank for a second before he jolted like he’d just been hit with a lightning bolt. The drums hit first, so fast and loud it had to have felt like they were punching him in the chest. His hands twitched, gripping the edges of his coffee cup a little tighter, but his expression remained frozen. The volume was almost deafening, with Rory able to hear it coming through the headphone speakers from across the table. Bennett looked totally thrown off, like he didn’t know if he should laugh or run.

She turned down the music, a small smile playing on her lips as he removed the headphones and handed them back to her. “I see,” was all he said, a laugh caught in his throat. 

Rory draped the headphones back around her neck.

“That’s definitely… one way to drown out everything,” he said, shifting in his seat. 

“It works for me sometimes. Gives me something else to listen to. I’m always hearing things. Every day I wish I couldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Bennett muttered, leaning back in his chair, staring into the distance. “I get it. I’ve kind of been stuck in my own head lately.” His eyes met hers, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them.

“You’re the first person I told, you know,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper. “First person that believed me, at least. Everyone just thinks I’m losing it.” His fingers absent-mindedly traced the rim of his coffee cup. “It’s hard to explain, you know? And I don’t know if it’s ever going to stop. Maybe today’s the day it ends. Or maybe it won’t. I just—” He trailed off, glancing out the window, unsure of how to finish his sentence.  

Rory didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, she took another sip of her coffee, letting the warmth spread through her. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say either. “Yeah, I get it. I really do. It’s like being stuck in your own head, but it’s your world that’s not real.” She shrugged, her eyes drifting to the table. “It’s like I can hear everyone’s thoughts, but none of them feel real either. Like, they’re all just noise.”

Bennett met her gaze then, and for a moment, they were both just two people, sitting in a crowded coffee shop, connected by something neither of them fully understood. “I don’t want to be stuck forever,” Bennett said, his voice rough with a mix of fear and resignation.

“You won’t be. This loop may not end today, or even tomorrow, but it will end. I’ll make sure of it.”

Bennett studied her for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether or not he believed her. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. 

Rory pushed her phone towards him across the table. “If it ends—or if it doesn’t—text me. I’ll be there, either way.”

Bennett hesitated, then pulled his phone out, unlocked it and holding it out to her. “Here,” he said quietly.

She took his phone, added her number quickly, and handed it back. 

For a moment, they just looked at each other—both of them, in their own way, waiting for something to change, or at least to feel like it might.

And then Bennett looked at his phone again, half-laughing under his breath. “If it ends,” he said, his voice almost teasing, “I’ll text you first. Even if it’s just to say, ‘I’m free.’”

Rory smiled, the first real smile that had crossed her face in a while. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said softly.

[shalomniscient]

haha thank u for ur thoughts on kjsr ask! there's like no fics or in game content for her so i have been starving sm. i love her so much, wish more people got into her character. being a picky reader AND a kjsr fan is torture, since it's hard (for me personally) to find fics that fit the way i have analyzed her. they always write her off as cold when i feel like she justs awkward cause of her lack in experience in socializing.

for college au, your analysis was on spot. thats like how i exactly imagined a college student kjsr to act. i wonder how she'd handle having a complete opposite of her as an s/o? like she's always organized, she probably has the habit of keeping her stuff in their usual positions as she sits by her chair for lectures. being raised by a military family and even attending a military school, would def make her unable to do things out of order. so having an s/o whose actions are always spontaneous and last minute would def place her in an uncomfortable spot. since imo i think of her as someone who hates unusual things, she wants everything in order. so if she met R whose constantly changing things and is the complete opposite of order, i wonder how would she even warm up to that person.

she def be irritated at first meeting with them, and maybe even R would also be annoyed with how she has a stick up her ass 😭

their slowburn would be so slow, ough i love ksr, she makes me ill ❤️

having an extremely disorganized partner would be roughhhhh for her i won’t lie. sara is about efficiency and quality—she’d absolutely loathe pushing things to deadlines and last minute work. and having a messy workspace… it’d give her a headache. also she’s definitely a clutter hater. everything in her room and on her desk has a practical purpose. if it doesn’t, it goes in the trash. as for spontaneity, i think sara would be able to adapt, but i think she would be really uncomfortable as you said. if it’s for the sake of like a project she would bite back her discomfort and press on, but if it’s like a casual thing i think she may just straight up decline. she acts this way because i believe she likes feeling prepared for things and knowing what she’s getting into. this doesn’t mean she’s against learning something completely new, but she just wants to know what she’s getting into yk? she’s very analytical. she likes plans and stuff because it gives her structure and purpose, which is very important to her because outside of that she doesn’t know what to do. she is so far behind in self-development that she clings to outside sources of structure (in canon, this is religion and the military).

so all that being said, having an s/o who abhors structure is going to be incredibly difficult for her. again, she’d be fine with trying new things, as long as her s/o tells her maybe a day in advance saying something like “hey, tomorrow we’ll do a surprise activity. bring x/wear x”. she still doesn’t know exactly what’s going to happen, but she knows there’s going to be a surprise, and she can physically and mentally prepare for it and that’s fine for her. if it’s true, pure, spontaneity she’d very much be thrown off her rhythm. it’s possible she’d even be a little irritated, since she could also have other things planned. all this being said, if there’s an emergency, she won’t crack under that pressure either. if anything, she works better, immediately forming a response plan in her head. am i making sense? i’m just rambling atp lmao i’m so sorry anon. tldr; my personal opinion is that sara would be very poorly compatible with a spontaneous person. she may not be able to even start being their friend to eventually become a romantic partner. ofc, this is my own take, so if u see that this can work, then indulge in it !!

[rivenantiqnerd]

OC Most likely to tag!

I was tagged by @paeliae-occasionally @tildeathiwillwrite and @willtheweaver (thanks) and it looked fun, so I’m doing it. I’ll shall answer with the cast of the Grove of Kings and Killers.

Rules: answer with which of your OCs would be the most likely to do the statement, then give new statements for the next person.

Most likely to arrive ridiculously early

Francis? He cares about stuff like that. Other than that, Courlin, only if it’s for a Guild thing, because she absolutely does not care about anything outside of the Guild.

2. Most likely to be in a relationship for less than a week

Rosanna.

3. Most likely to secretly be really good at music, but just not tell anyone

I’m not sure, but Francis or Victor might. Some of Courlin’s siblings play musical instruments, but that’s not a secret. For how much I enjoy music, especially playing it, I don’t really have any characters that play music.

4. Most likely to embarrass their friends in public

Isla (Francis’ little sister). She loves to tell embarrassing stories about her friends to other friends and/or strangers.

5. Most likely to get drunk/hungover

Rosanna, especially after the thing with Edgar, even though getting drunk is what got her into that problem in the first place. She canonically does this quite often.

6. Most likely to get kicked out of summer camp

Either Courlin, for being generally unpleasant to the other kids/bringing a weapon(s), or Francis (shocking, I know), whose parents would be politically asked to take him home and have him tested, because he kept trying to organize the counselors’ stuff and didn’t want to do the potentially messy activities.

7. Most likely to Spontaneously adopt a child

Francis does this. Technically him and courlin since they end up living together, but he would be the one to bring the child home. Conversation would go like this:

Francis: Courlin, I’m home! And I have a surprise for you!

Courlin: Francis that is a literal child what is it doing in our house.

Francis: “She,” not “it”, actually. And she said she was an orphan and didn’t have parents or a home! And I thought, well, we have a home, and we could be her parents.

Courlin, in absolute disbelief: Francis, you can’t just bring a random child into our house! She could be lying and you’d be arrested for kidnapping. And we are not - not - becoming parents. I’m kicking her out. Take her back.

*kid ends up staying*

8. Most likely to have the loudest sneeze

Vincent. He’s like if you took a jock, made him nice to be around, and put him in fantasy, so it only makes sense he would sneeze loudly.

9. Most likely to be taken the least seriously

Probably Collete (Vincent’s sister), because she’s the youngest.

10. Most likely to faint

I think Rosanna because Courlin would never do something so weak and the boys just wouldn’t. Actually Francis probably would.

11. Most likely to enjoy art

Rosanna because of her upper class raising, but I could see some of the younger trio (Victor, Isla, and Collette), really getting into art.

12. Most likely to hate sports

Well, Courlin likes physical activity but dislikes sports, Rosanna likes sports but dislikes physical activity, and Francis dislikes them both.

Tagging: @theverumproject @litany-writes @lordfenric-writes @the-golden-comet and @elsie-writes have fun

Which of your characters is most likely to:

Get arrested on false charges

Get caught robbing a candy store

Sing in the shower

[masterwords]

Yo! I love reading these, you’re putting in the MOST.

1. Who would end a heated argument by defending their actions with ‘because I love you!’ ?

2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare? (You know I’m eagerly still awaiting that nightmare fic, so I’ll have this as an appetizer)

26. What are their vices? (Specifically in their relationship)

Can’t wait to hear your thoughts !!

Heyyy, I'm happy to put the hotchgan vibes out there! A lot of my regulars have moved on to other fandoms or are taking much needed breaks from these spaces so it's feeling very lonely out here. I need the hotchgan like I need air. lol Thank you for indulging me! And always being there to shove me into a fun story!

1. Who would end a heated argument by defending their actions with ‘because I love you!’?

Man, I could really see it going both ways but god...just imagine it's Hotch. They haven't said I love you yet. There are plenty of things he does that just piss Derek off (and rightly so)...things that they're ready to go to blows over, even. And Hotch makes a decision that Derek doesn't like and finally, in a moment of pure desperation, Derek just says "WHY?!" and Hotch without even thinking says "Because I love you" and that's it. There's no more argument. Because what can Derek say to that? Mr. Repressed just verbal vomited in the sweetest most pathetic way.

2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare?

Okay. That fic needs to happen ASAP. I'll work on it tonight with a glass of wine and see if I can make it happen. I really love it, but my writing has been trash lately. BUT LET'S TALK ABOUT IT. Derek is hands on, he's going to try and soothe Hotch. He's going to hold him or run his hands through his hair, he's going to be physical as long as Hotch wants it. (And he does. I think we've established that this man is touch-starved.) Hotch on the other hand, he's more of an acts of service kind of guy. He's going to ask Derek if he wants to talk about it, he's going to get him a glass of water or a snack or ask if he wants to talk. I don't want to get too much more into detail because I'll dip into the story I'm writing for you. I will say, the direction I took is unexpected I think...which is why I'm struggling. I can't just fall into my usual comfort zone. And that's a good thing but harder to write when words are a challenge.

26. What are their vices? (Specifically in their relationship)

Ohhhh...I love vices. LOVE THEM. First of all, they're both so similar so one thing I think they both do is try to be in control at first. I can see Derek thinking he's helping, Hotch has to be in control at work so much that he feels like he's helping if he plans the date night or takes charge of weekend plans. And it isn't that Hotch minds that, he's totally fine with it, but if they both think the same thing? If they both try to plan the weekend without talking to the other? Things can get a little hairy. Lots of mixed up plans, rescheduling, apologies after hotly debated pros and cons for each plan and a big calendar posted on the freezer to help keep them on the same page.

Now, as far as different vices - I think Hotch is an over planner and Derek is very spontaneous, which can cause some friction. Vacations especially could be problematic. At home, I think that Hotch is a little messy and Derek is a bit of a neat freak (though their cars may tell a different story). Hotch is reserved and doesn't speak up when he's sick or hurt or might need to talk, which drives Derek insane. Hotch will suffer in silence until his insomnia kicks in, until he's awake all night, until Derek notices that he hasn't come to bed. "Do you need to talk?" he'll ask when he smells the coffee at 4am. Meanwhile, Derek takes his frustrations out on household projects instead of talking, so Hotch has to find out that Derek is struggling by coming home to the kitchen sink being ripped apart because of an irritating little drip. "Did you have a bad day?" Hotch asks as Derek rips the p-trap out from under the sink...the p-trap that has nothing to do with the little washer that needed replacing in the faucet to stop the drip...because he's moved on to a clog or something else now.

Communication is not a strong suit for either of them, which is a hilarious thing to say about a couple of FBI Agents with law degrees. LOL At work they're masterful, but with one another? Well...it's a learning curve. But the kissing is good and everything else can take its time, they have their whole lives to figure it out.

want me to talk about hotchgan? i will...at length...and hey, if you don't vibe with those questions, ask some of your own. i'll talk about them all day.

[raspberry-and-friends]

“Danger is my middle name. Once I’m old enough, nopony can stop me from changing it—hahah!”

“He’s beauty, he’s grace, he’s anxious in practically every space...”

“Sometimes, the best thing you can do is stop and smell the roses. After all, you never know when they’ll wilt... which is a more ‘poetic’ way of saying: ‘Be Gay, Do Crimes.’”

Names: Juniper Ashe Sparkle-Dash, Swan Song Belle-Lane-Stripes, and Ginger Blossom Apple

Nickname(s): June, Ashe, and Junebug (Juniper Ashe), Swan and Dove (Swan Song), Ginger and Blossom (Ginger Blossom)

Species: Dragon/pegasus hybrid, unicorn, and earth pony

Sexualities: Aroace, heterosexual, and lesbian

Ages: 12 (Juniper Ashe and Ginger Blossom) and 11 (Swan Song)

Parents: Scootaloo Dash (FtM) and Friendship Ambassador Spike Sparkle (Juniper Ashe), Sweetie Belle, Rumble Lane, and Tender Taps Stripes (Swan Song), Apple Bloom Apple, Mayor Diamond Dazzle Tiara Apple, and Professor Tiddlywink Apple (MtF Pipsqueak) (Ginger Blossom)

Sibling(s): N/A

Headcanons and disclaimers below the cut 👇👇

Personality:

Juniper Ashe: Athletic, quick-witted, brave, determined (they won’t take “no” for an answer, that’s for damn sure), and a total daredevil.

Swan Song: Shy, gentle, methodical, intelligent (he aces almost every test he takes), and organized (which doesn’t often go over well when it comes to his... clumsy friends).

Ginger Blossom: Energetic, spontaneous, extroverted, adventurous (like Juniper, she’s unafraid of most anything that gets in her way), and quick to learning unfamiliar athletic hobbies.

Flaws:

Juniper Ashe: Headstrong, loud, destructive (a very tony bull in a china shop), has little-to-no common sense whatsoever, and will often go behind their parents’ backs for nothing more than a cheap thrill or two.

Swan Song: Antisocial, emotional, a push-over, has a minor speech impediment that makes interacting with others increasingly difficult, and, because of his inability to say no to most things, prone to tagging along in dangerous situations with his so-called “besties”.

Ginger Blossom: Impulsive, dangerously competitive, messy, crass (how does she even know so many swear words???), and either the best or worst teammate you’ll ever have. Blossom is prone to both stabbing her peers in the back or becoming the most loyal companion a foal could ask for.

Special Talents: Competitive speed-skating, piano playing, and buckball (specifically the “attacker” position)

Cutie Mark Stories: WIP, though I’ll probably never get around to finishing them tbh.

Bases by SelenaEde

***DISCLAIMER: In this AU, The princesses DIDN’T hand off their powers to Twilight, and still remain the primary rulers of Equestria during the course of this story. The illustrations and writing (the latter of which has since been revised to fix previously missed grammatical errors and to more closely align with my current headcanons) were done back in 2020-2021 and posted to my now-inactive DeviantArt account. The signature ‘Hun’ reflects the name I went by at the time, Hunter.***

[the-teddy-bear-butch]

Stupid fanfic asks part 3/3 @candle-lion “all divisible by 3”

69: how do you write emotional scenes? do you ever feel what the characters feel?

First of all, nice. Second of all, music music music. I have to have some emotional music to write to. I would say I occasionally feel what the characters feel, especially when I relate to whatever thing is going through their head

72: what do you do if a scene gets too serious?

Not sure what this means necessarily. I think I’m pretty good at keeping my serious scenes the right amount of serious and my not serious scenes not serious. I guess if it happened, try to add some witty line to lighten the mood? But usually if I want it serious, I want it serious, ya know?

75: do you know how your story ends before you start writing?

About half of the time. Run away was started spontaneously with no end in mind. Same with so are you with me? But a lot of the others were planned. Sometimes I change my mind halfway through too. I call it the ADHD way of writing

78: how do you choose where to end a chapter?

If the word count is long enough to feel satisfying and I feel I have closed the scene at a satisfying point, I’ll end it. Sometimes I’ll end on a cliffhanger for the fun of it or dramatic effect

81: if you could go back in time and give your younger self a piece of writing advice specific to you, what would it be?

Don’t burn yourself out. It’s okay to take your time. Your work will end up better anyway! I used to be so bad about publishing whatever I had written IMMEDIATELY for that dopamine rush of validation (both in my Wattpad middle schooler days and beginning run away). Editing and sitting on my writing a bit before posting has helped its quality and my confidence. Plus writing burnout sucks ass. I love to write, and burning myself out is a quick way to change that

84: said: overused or underused?

Depends on the writer. I think I underuse it in an effort not to overuse it lmfao

87: does your writing style change depending on the genre you write?

I think it does, but not necessarily consciously. I tend to lean into different imagery and metaphors depending on the thing I’m writing. I think it’s most noticeable in like,,, the difference between there in the garden with some of the darker, gothic imagery, vs so are you with me? with lighter stuff, sunlight, etc etc. I emphasize different things too

90: do you notice your own voice in your writing style?

Oh one of my biggest fears is not having a unique writing voice. I don’t think mine is strong by any means, but I think it’s there

93: do you hear other people’s writing styles when they talk?

Only with my irl best friend. I think the more you know someone, the easier it is to pick up on those consistencies between writing voice and speaking voice, but I don’t talk to most writers I know enough to hear it, and I don’t think our Discord/Tumblr convos are super reflective of our writing

96: romantic/social sideplots: interesting or irritating?

Depends. Fuck off with your love triangles (unless they’re true triangles). I love a good messy romantic or other social side plot

99: was being a writer a dream of yours when you were little? or did it spring up when your older? or is it just a hobby? 

It was!! I’ve always loved reading and it translated to loving writing too. I don’t think I could make a career of it, I don’t think I’m famous author material between my skill level and the fact that having to have books out would become a chore. But! I would love to have published books still. I think it’d be fun to be a PhD’d microbiology researcher who also happens to have a few silly queer novels published on the side

[thefreewind]

To the one who deserves a confession but I will never do so ~

As I listen to Chinese music melodies on Youtube at 12 damn midnight, I am writing this piece of messy train of thoughts as a way to celebrate the person that you are and to finally start moving on.

You barely existed in my life until a little less than two months ago. I still barely know you, and I know I will never get the opportunity to do so further anymore now that we’re apart and are individually about to thrive on new ventures. Nevertheless, despite the short time spent together, you made quite a big impact on my life… unexpectedly and something I will never forget. At least not anytime soon.

All I want to say is thank you. Thank you for so many things. For closing the classroom window when I complained it was cold. For still agreeing to having lunch together despite being tired and sleepy. For helping me with the food during our meal moments, which only happened twice but made me genuinely smile from ear to ear. For saying yes to taking pictures despite it being something you absolutely hate. For all the compliments that gave me confidence. For the times I said I was hungry and you had nothing to offer but still jokingly offered water. And for considering me as your type and ideal woman to marry. You were one of the last people I ever expected to share these moments with, but oh well, life can be great at giving plot twists like this… and that was you for me.

ニハウオ、I honestly genuinely came to like you. I just have to get this out of my chest because the overflowing feeling is driving me crazy. I came to like you but it’s a little too late. I came to like you at the wrong time. I came to like you but I shouldn’t. I came to like you but I can’t do anything about it. It’s for the best, but a part of me feels something wrong doing the right thing.

I wanted to get this feeling out of me once and for all by telling you personally then start moving on, but I realized I didn’t have the guts to admit it to you; never was the brave one and never will. So I gave it my all through my parting handwritten letter. Though I gave everyone the same stuff I gave to you, I hope you know that yours was the longest letter and it took time to write. I hope you caught a glimpse of how I truly felt about you, no matter how subtle I tried to make it seem. I also hope that at some point you are aware that your bracelet was the only one with red heart beads in it with a silver accessory and how I was smiling when I was making it. I wanted to make it a bit different for a special person that is you.

This confession is getting longer now… but I’m letting my thoughts and emotions flow spontaneously as this will be the last time. I just want you to know that ever since you opened up your feelings to me, you have always been in my mind. And that if only you confessed a lot sooner, there might have been a chance of us becoming more than friends. I honestly shortly considered the idea of us and now it gives me a little heartache that it won’t ever happen in this lifetime.

I miss your presence already, though we didn’t really talk a lot in class when we had the chance. I miss your voice and the times you laughed. I miss your smiles that lit up the room, especially if they were for me. I miss the times I would feel you looking at me from my peripheral vision. I even miss seeing you sleep and asking if you were okay and the reassuring nods you would give as a response. I miss that happy look on your face when you were watching me eat once during lunch. I miss watching you dash out of the room once class ended because you didn’t want to get stuck on the stairs with everyone. I miss watching you from far behind as you headed home, with only that Burton backpack in sight. I miss feeling a little sad and letting out a sigh once you turned left on the road and was out of sight…every…damn…school…day. I miss the cute winks that you gave me and how I tried to act nonchalant. I miss that pinky finger promise for an after-graduation travel that we made, even though it was not fulfilled. I miss a lot of things about you.

If by any miracle you come across this post, I know you will immediately realize that it’s about you through the photos attached. If it happens, I hope you feel how much I valued the times we spent together and how you were such a good friend to me and made me feel all sorts of things.

As I finish this letter, I want you to know that you mean a lot to me. However, I will already start moving on upon my awakening. I will archive any group photos with you and I in them to Drive. I will still hope I receive a message from you until I no longer yearn for it. I will still think about you until I genuinely don’t want to anymore. I want to look back on this someday when I have fully recovered and laugh and smile about this crazy little thing called love.

If we ever meet again, I hope to be able to speak Chinese to you confidently. Though my goal for learning your native language is for career opportunities, you are the main reason why I decided to study it in the first place. 谢谢 for the inspiration.

If life gives me the opportunity to cross paths with you again, I hope to see you happy and not lonely. I hope you find someone who you can trust and doesn’t break their promises to you and vice versa. I hope you are well in health and in your career. I hope I see the same smile and twinkling eyes that I love about you. I hope to hear your laugh again. I just really hope for your genuine happiness in whatever form it may be.

As you wrote in the yearbook, the most important thing is to look forward. With that, I look forward to what life has in store for us and meeting you again, with nothing but gratitude in my heart that you once became a fleeting (yet lasting at the same time) part of my life.

Take care always, my dear friend.

From the girl you called GU

2024.03.26