#I so desperately want to find the poem again

[saintedvictory]

For something that's supposed to miss the heavens I sure miss the ocean a great amount.

There is no correlation between this nostalgia and my kin, but I so badly want to "return" to it. Not in a conventional sense.

When I was younger I remember reading a poem about death, and how it said when we pass our bodies return to the ocean to become the seafoam. That this cycle was god's intention. I've never seen it again since, but it echoes in my mind.

[latenighthoneyhouse]

I could've spun gold with all of it

I want to scream

Who says it? Who gets to say that we're just sad forever?

The world is collapsing but there are still people smiling and laughing and holding to their friends and all they've built

But not me

[leighsartworks216]

I'll See You In The Morning

Zayne x gn!Reader

Soooo I listened to the "Silent Poem" Secret Times and immediately wrote this cuz OUGHHHHHGHH you understand

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: fluff, smut, established relationship, kissing, biting, creampie, gentle sex, light teasing, banter, gender neutral smut (no parts described)

Word Count: 719

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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Quiet breaths mingle with each other. Small sounds, stolen from your throat, find their way into his, swallowed up with deep, languid kisses. Even then, he's so needy. Desperate to consume you, to feel and taste and hear you, as he takes you on your shared bed.

Zayne pulls away with a gasp, refusing to stray too far as his nose brushes yours. You cup his flushed cheeks in both hands and draw him back in. He doesn't fight against it. His tongue licks into your mouth, hot and slick with saliva.

His hands cradle you sweetly. One underneath you, supporting your lower back. The other wrapped under your knee to keep you open for him and reduce the strain on your leg, the other hooked over his hip. Your own hands slide from his face to wrap around him, tangling into his hair and dragging your nails teasingly over his back, not near hard enough to break the skin, but enough to draw a shiver from him.

He whines under his breath as he parts for only a second, "You tease..."

He uses his arm underneath you to angle your hips, thrusting in to perfectly fill you, perfectly knocking against that sweet spot inside of you. He grins against your mouth as you moan, but that sound, too, is quickly swallowed up by your dear doctor. You squeeze your legs around him, wordlessly begging him for more, but he continues to roll his hips at this slow pace. You're already dripping onto the bed sheets; does he intend to make you soak through the mattress, too?

You tug on his hair. He groans, following the pull, drawn up to lean further over you, thrust just that much deeper into you. His breath hitches, hips faltering when you squeeze around him.

"Are you close?" he breathes against your lips. "I can feel it..."

You pull away, panting, to trail mindless kisses along his jaw and throat. His Adam's apple bobs with a low groan. "Will you fill me, doc-tor?" You bite softly at his pulse, thrumming wildly under his skin.

He nudges you out of his neck to kiss your own, sucking desperately at your skin, licking at the salty sweat glistening in the dim light. "Will you take me, my love?"

You're so close now. With each thrust, the tension in your gut ramps higher and higher, coiling tightly, ready to break. His cock twitching against your walls only fuels the fire.

You tug him back to your mouth, kissing him as though not doing so would end the world. "All of you..." you promise in a broken whimper. "P-Please, Zayne... Need you..."

His thrusts falter, stuttering as the tension snaps and you clutch around him, determined to milk him dry. He gasps and kisses you deeper, needier, as he stills, buried as deep within you as possible. Hot ropes of cum fill you to the brim, soon dripping onto the sheets.

When you can think again, he pulls away slowly, his weight a grounding presence on top of you, tying you to the world once more. He presses soft kisses, chaste and loving, to your cheek and the corner of your mouth.

"Are you alright?" he whispers. His eyes are hazy with post-orgasmic bliss as they seek yours out. His arm gently lowers your leg from his hold so that he may cup your cheek and get you to look at him. "Did I hurt you?"

You shake your head sleepily, all energy sapped from your body. "You were perfect," you reassure him with a light kiss to his lips. They're bruised and kiss-swollen, shimmering with saliva, and so gorgeous. You can't help stealing one more. "Mmm, we made a mess..."

He chuckles breathlessly. "You'll be asleep before we can clean up."

"Before you can clean up... You're the one that woke me up..."

"I wanted to see my spouse again after so long. Is that a crime?"

"Mhm. Gonna arrest you for it... as soon as I'm awake..."

If only you were conscious enough to see the lovestruck grin on his face, the adoration in his eyes. He presses one last, lingering kiss to your lips as your eyes flutter shut. "Don't worry, my love. I'll take care of it... I'll see you in the morning..."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

Scars On My Mind (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Ever heard of the Daughters of Liberty? When Agatha appears at your doorstep covered in blood with a knitting needle peeking out of her elbow, you certainly wish you hadn’t. Here’s how it went.

Content/Warnings: WitchKiller!Agatha, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Injury, So Much Blood, Open Wound, Angst, Mild Mentions of NSFW Content, no beta we die like the Daughters of Liberty

This fic is a gift for @marril96 who made a gifset for me in return! Ily, let's swap again! It was so so so much fun to dive a little deeper into Agatha’s Witch Killer days with this, and make her a little vulnerable for once!

The rain started on Thursday night and hadn’t stopped since. A continuous drumming against your window, the world outside tainted a muddy grey. It was the earliest hours of Saturday now, Friday had passed silently without you noticing, the continuous waterfalls of raindrops on the windows not letting up to let the days pass either. The vinyl player kept playing as Friday had slipped into Saturday too, the kettle kept simmering as you prepared a boiling cup of Agatha‘s favourite tea blend. Even as the days drifted away, the world kept going. Boiling hot water turned into lukewarm turned into cold, the vinyl finished playing, spinning to a halt. The rain kept thrumming.

You sighed, leaning back on the couch, eyes fluttering shut. Agatha was late, like, even later than usually. And you were tired, sleep tugging at your bones with gradually more and more urgency.

But it was useless to go to bed, no matter how often she insisted you shan’t wait for her. You wouldn’t find much sleep anyway. Not on nights like this. When Agatha was out with other witches, when she set out to … feed? Kill? Siphon?

Well, it was hard to find any rest while she was out there like that.

She may have laughed when you’d admitted to that, throwing her leather jacket over her shoulders before pulling you into a quick kiss by your neck.

„There’s nothing to worry about, darling. I do this all the time.“

But still, as the front door to your little nyc apartment swung open and she sauntered out, chirping a „See you tonight, honey!“, over her shoulder at you, the pit in your stomach remained. The ghost of her palm on the back of your neck remained.

You sighed, taking a sip of the cold tea you’d prepared. If she wasn’t coming home in time, you certainly wouldn’t let the water go to waste.

They’d just raised the prizes for utilities on you. And while Agatha had just laughed and mentioned some inactive bank account she had in Germany that she‘d simply pull from, you couldn’t help but stress about it.

It wasn’t that you didn‘t trust her, so far every time she’d mentioned some savings from one of her many, many lives it had always been true. But just because she was an undying, centuries old witch who didn’t have to concern herself with mundane things like paying bills didn’t mean you could just shake those things off the same.

You had no magick, but you did have your name on a lease. But so far, she’d always made it work somehow, whether that be with her old account of when she lived right beside the Berlin Wall ten years ago or by selling a quick spell or curse to some unassuming person desperate enough to pay for one. You weren’t even sure if she actually performed real spells all of the time. Your Agatha was a scam artist through and through, but you wouldn’t have her any other way.

You took another sip of tea, watching the rain pour down the window. Sometimes, you wondered how many more of you there had been. Agatha was good at dodging those questions, but one night, when you wouldn’t let off even after she’d made you come undone multiple times on the couch, she’d handed you a little cardboard box.

„I try not to be traceable and I can’t exactly show you baby pictures, but some stuff just sticks.“

The contents of the box were fragile, some paper so frail you barely wanted to touch it. Little notes, handwritten poems, a few pages torn out of books. A pencil sketch of the bunny that lived in a cage beside your bed, that she always made sure to drape a blanket over before going down on you. An ink sketch of her, without the worry lines on her forehead or the little wrinkles around her eyes. But, as always, with the amulet she never took off her body.

A few photographs. Black and white on flimsy film paper, Agatha in a flapper dress, feather in her hair and a cigarillo between her lips, legs spread as she leaned back on a barstool. Agatha in the same dress, smiling over her shoulder at the camera, a dark skinned woman in a matching dress sitting beside her, raising her champagne flute at the camera.

Jenny Kale, you knew from her stories, the most brilliant potions maker Agatha had ever met. And the most annoying one. They‘d fallen off, you assumed it had something to do with Agatha‘s habit of power grabbing.

But, there was also a Polaroid.

A Polaroid that lay on the coffee table in front of you now.

A Polaroid that had not left your mind since you’d found it.

Agatha with a wild, unkempt perm and uneven bangs, black liner smudged around her eyes, in a black tank top, arm stretched out to take the picture. But, what actually caught your eye was the arm wrapped around her waist, tight enough to bunch up the fabric of her shirt, revealing a thin line of pale skin of her lower stomach. The person hugging her was out of frame, all you could see was an arm, and a shoulder pressed into Agatha‘s, and the way the witch seemed to hold back a laugh. The handwriting under the picture was messy, and the black marker had faded over the years.

For my love A.H. 1982 - We can be heroes forever and ever

And then what you‘d assumed was once a heart, but got smudged by someone touching the ink before it had dried.

It was exactly what you‘d been looking for. Proof that there had been people before you. That you weren’t her first lover in the 350 long years of her life. Of course you weren’t, that’d be foolish to assume!

But still, the find had punched a hole into your stomach that had only hollowed out the more you thought about it.

How many other people had she taken a liking to, how many non magickal people had she moved in with, let them sign leases and contracts for her as she ran off to suck the magic out of the local witch community of wherever she found herself? How long had this been going on? How long until she’d move on?

Sure, you were young now, but other than her, the clock was ticking for you. Would you just wake up one day and find her gone? And would she bother to keep your picture? And, even if all of this was nothing, why would she hide it from you? She‘d told you about Jennifer Kale, but she‘d never ever mentioned living with someone during her time in Berlin, or any era before that.

You bit your bottom lip, hissing when you tasted the metallic tinge of your own blood.

Did you want to be just another picture in her little box of memories? Did she even deem you worth remembering?

It was stupid to think like that, and you knew that, but it was harder not to let the uncertainty consume you.

But, you were smart enough never to ask her about it directly. Your wild, fierce, unapologetic witch. You loved her, you had realised that the moment her eyes met yours for the first time, and you loved everything about the chaos and the magick and the passion that she brought into your life. Maybe that was why the potential answer scared you so much. Better to keep holding onto your belief than to risk knowing you didn’t mean as much to her as she did to you. Better to live in the harmony of what you had built with her.

You wish you‘d never asked her about her prior life, had never opened the paper box. Now that you had the Polaroid in hand, it was impossible to put down.

A sound ripped you from your self deprecating thoughts. A faint scratch, just loud enough that you were sure you hadn’t imagined it. Another one. Like a dog scratching at a locked front door … or a key that kept missing the hole it belonged into, and instead kept hitting the rough wood of your door.

You sat up. „Agatha?“

No answer. Fuck.

You knew Agatha had her enemies, it was impossible to live that long without them. Hell, there was a whole coven formed of the daughters of her prior victims, a piece of information you preferred to not think about too much. After all, you saw what she was capable of, saw her cast runes around the entire apartment to keep out evil spirits, the way she glowed after siphoning, the daily use of telekinesis and the occasional prodding your mind - which she swore was to remind you to keep up the mental wards she‘d taught you, and totally not because she enjoyed the image of her that danced around your thoughts since the day you met.

Wards you made sure you had up and intakt now as you grabbed a candelabra on your way towards the front door - the first weapon you‘d spontaneously found.

Another scratch at the door, then a grunt, and a little thud, like something was falling into the wooden frame.

„Agatha?“, you asked again, louder.

Panting, whoever was on the other side of the door was breathing heavily.

Here goes nothing. You bit down on your lower lip, fingers tightening around the candelabra. Twisting the doorknob, you held your weapon high, ready to strike. The wooden door flew open, you held your breath … only to immediately let it go in a loud shriek.

In front of you was in fact Agatha, however, this was not how you had expected her to return. Her shirt was torn and ripped apart, shreds of fabric barely clinging onto her. if you hadn’t known, you would have never guessed it used to be white fabric, for it was covered in mud and dirt and … a worrying amount of blood. There was so much blood. On her clothes, her face, her head. Like someone had dumped a bucket of red over her head. Agatha herself was shaking, her body leaning against the wooden doorframe, the key she was holding in her right hand quivering with every rattling breath she took. Her left arm … your stomach twisted. Her left arm was completely bare, the sleeve ripped away at the seam, and her skin was covered in dark red crusts of dried and fresh blood. It hung useless at her side, and as she shifted from one foot to her other, you saw a single, long piece of hard plastic sticking right out of her elbow.

Your stomach twisted at the sight, and you instinctively had to reach for the wall, not trusting your knees to support your weight right now.

Agatha’s eyes were open wide, blue piercing at you as she panted, a now dried drop of blood had run right between her eyes and down her nose. She looked insane. You felt insane.

And yet, she had the nerve to cock her brows at you. „The candlestick? Seriously? Do you have any idea how much that thing is worth these days?“

Slowly, you dropped your arm, the makeshift weapon sliding out of your grip and tumbling to the floor.

Agatha winced, like that was what really caused her pain right now.

„Agatha!“, you gasped, swallowing hard.

The witch bit her bottom lip, hard, before heaving her own body closer towards the entryway, pushing for you to let her in.

„I got ambushed“, she exclaimed, even though that didn’t explain anything at all, „This little bunch was smarter than they seemed. In theory at least“, she laughed, but it only made her grit her teeth, „All the spells and curses in the world, and they stab me with a fucking knitting needle!“

You gulped. So that was the thing peeking out of her elbow.

Glassy blue eyes found you, her glare bewildered, almost panicked. „Are you done now? I would love it if we could at least move this out of the hallway, before we wake the neighbors!“

Finally, you snapped back into reality. Agatha was injured, badly, and she was also leaving stains of red on your doorframe and the „Welcome Home“ doormat in the hallway. But those were problems for later.

Right now, you needed to get her to safety. You surged forwards, grabbing her by her uninjured shoulder, pulling her right arm around your neck.

„Lean onto me“, you instructed, kicking the candelabra out of your way as you slowly guided her into the apartment.

She was cold to the touch, too cold for your liking, but she still managed to tut at you anyway. „What would you say if i kicked your hairdryer around like that?“

You let the front door fall shut behind you, other arm wrapping around her waist to support her further.

“I would say Thank You Honey for not letting me bleed out on the doormat! but you can practice that later.“

That made her snort, and you felt her entire body wince in pain.

„Stop being funny“, she hissed, her right hand digging into your shoulder as you slowly guided her towards the couch, step by step, „It hurts.“

You finally reached the plush sofa and carefully sat her down. Agatha‘s body collapsed against the cushions with a groan, her head rolling back.

„Hey!“, you snapped your fingers right in front of her face, „Sit up! Don’t you dare faint on me!“

Her eyes fluttered, and you felt panic rise in your chest. Your palms found her cheeks, cupping her face gently as you pulled her head back up, forcing her to look at you. Blue eyes blinked up at you, pupils dilating when they closed in on your face.

„Agatha“, you said, taking a deep breath more to calm yourself than her, „I‘m gonna go grab the first aid kit, but I need you to stay with me, okay? No fainting. Can you curl your fingers for me?“

Her right hand curled into a weak fist with no issues, while her left hand laid beside her uselessly. You swallowed. „Okay, keep doing that. Clench, and unclench, exactly. I‘ll be back in a second.“

She blinked twice, and a small smile found her blood covered, cracked lips. „You’re worried about me“, she drawled deliriously, healthy hand coming up to poke your side. The touch was a lot weaker than you‘d like. „That’s hot.“

You bit down on your tongue. „You’re unbelievable“, you shook your head, making sure her own head was supported by the cushions behind her before letting go, „Keep clenching your fists!“

To your relief, the first aid kit was right under the sink in the bathroom, fully stocked and ready for you. On your way back out, you grabbed a towel as well.

Agatha was still sitting up when you came back, already digging through the first aid kit as you walked, pulling out bandages, alcohol wipes, and the little bottle of superglue you kept in the kit. You sucked your cheeks in, thumb running over the little tag on it. The next fifteen minutes were going to suck.

Glassy blue eyes watched you as you spread out your new findings on the coffee table. Her breath came in heaves, but at least they were even and her chest didn’t quiver with every gush of air that surged through her lungs anymore.

„How are you feeling?“, you asked, needing her to stay awake, stay with you at any costs.

Luckily, she had it back in her to let out a humourless chuckle. „Like shit. Those bitches betrayed me like I didn‘t teach them everything they knew.“

Even as you cut open the plastic baggy holding a bandaid, you had to give her a long look over your shoulder.

„Betraying the witch that was gonna betray them? How dare they.“

Agatha opened her mouth in protest, but then you sat back up on the couch next to her, the cushions she was resting her injured arm on shifting, and instead a high, pained whimper left her throat. The sound rang through your head and you pressed your lips together, carefully positioning her arm so the needle stuck in it was facing you.

„I‘m sorry“, you took a deep breath, „You‘re not gonna like me for the next few minutes, but I need you to stay still for me, okay?“ Your eyes found hers, and you gave her a firm little nod.

„What?“, Agatha's voice was weak, brows creased in confusion, her eyes barely focusing on you. You gave her a soft smile, hand closing around the knitting needle slow and firm. „Look out the window babe“, you softly hummed and Agatha‘s head rolled to the other side, lashes fluttering.

„Don’t turn around“, you said. But of course, she immediately turned back.

“The window Agatha!“, you sighed exasperated, not waiting for her to listen this time.

„Okay, one, two…“ Before you could say the next number, you gritted your teeth. With one firm tug, the knitting needle slid right out of her open wound.

Agatha screamed, flinching under your firm grip, head thrown back against the couch.

The needle made a wet sound as you pulled it out that made your stomach turn. Thick, red liquid was stuck to the plastic as well as fresh blood immediately pooling out of the wound at her elbow.

You quickly pressed the towel onto it, gripping Agatha’s arm tight so she couldn’t pull away, even as she screamed. The whimpers leaving her throat echoed through your bones, and you had to bite down on your cheek harder.

„I‘m sorry baby“, you pressed out, glancing over at her face. Fresh, salty tears ran down her face, parting the dried crusts of blood on her cheeks. She was biting down on her tongue, hard enough to draw blood, holding back her sobs as best as she could.

„Fuck you“, she sobbed weakly, eyes closed shut and you had to chuckle.

„That’s okay. Let it out.“, you hummed, pressing the towel down onto the wound with one hand. The pale blue fabric was quickly soaking up red, and you had to act fast, worried she was going to lose too much blood.

With your free hand you reached for the superglue, the lid already off, clear, stale liquid at the tip.

„I have to do one more thing that you‘re not gonna like“, you said, keeping your grip on her arm tight as she tried to pull away.

„No! Stop! That’s enough!“, she yelped and it took everything in you to stay firm. The wound needed closing, no matter how much it would hurt.

„Agatha!“, you held her tight, giving her a firm stare that held no room for discussion. When you saw the way her bottom lip was quivering despite her pushed forward chin, your voice softened.

“I‘m trying to help you. Just one more thing and you‘re done, I promise.“

Agatha swallowed hard, leaning towards you.

You let her, gently pressing your forehead to hers.

„That was scary“, she murmured, „They were so smart about it. Didn’t blast me once. Instead…“, her shoulders twitched in an attempt to shrug, the sharp pain causing her to wince.

„Instead you came home with a knitting needle in your arm“, you nodded, craning your neck. Your lips brushed over her forehead, the bittersweet mix of mud and blood on your tongue as you pressed a gentle kiss right over the crease she always pulled when she was in pain, but trying to be brave about it.

„This was terrifying, but you’re being so strong“, you leaned back again, enough to look her in the eyes one more time, „Let me close the wound and then it‘ll be over, I promise.“

And she let you.

As you pulled the towel away to inspect the wound closer, Agatha looked the other way, her right hand coming up to her mouth as you pulled the skin together. As you dropped the clear glue down onto the gash, pulling it closed with one hand and handling the bottle of superglue with the other, she let out another blood curdling scream, muffled only by her teeth digging into her own hand. But, it worked. The moment the liquid began to thicken, the bleeding stopped.

It took all the alcohol wipes of the kit to get her arm cleaned up, working quickly and in silence, knowing well not to talk to Agatha as hot tears ran down her cheeks. You made sure to save a wipe for the bite mark on her right hand too, and then once you were positive all of her injuries were cleaned, you finally reached for the bandaids.

By the time she was all patched up and in clean clothes (you‘d thrown her bloody shirt and all towels it had taken to get the muck off her face into the bathtub, a problem for later), the two of your curled up underneath a blanket, her healthy shoulder squeezed up against yours, the sun was coming up.

Finally, it had stopped raining too.

The two of you had shared a can of microwaved ravioli, and slowly but surely, the color was returning to Agatha‘s cheeks. You wrapped your arm tighter around her, nose nuzzling into the crown of her head. Her hair still smelled of metal and cinder, but that didn’t bother you right now. What mattered was that she was still with you, that her body was warm against yours and her breathing even.

The blanket rustled as she shifted in your hold, right hand coming up to rest over yours.

„Now.“, Agatha took a long breath, thumb running over your knuckles as she held your hands in hers. Finally, she seemed fully back to consciousness.

„Tell me why you‘ve been pondering all night instead of sleeping like I told you to.“

„What?“, your brows furrowed, tilting your head to the side in confusion as you glanced down at her.

Agatha nodded towards the coffee table, blue eyes fixed on a specific object scattered between the leftovers of your once organised and stacked first aid kit. „I doubt you‘re using that as a bookmark.“

Between scissors and a piece of bandage you‘d cut off, there was still the Polaroid you‘d taken from the box of her private possessions. Now, there was a single drop of blood on it, right above the black marker writing.

„Oh my god!“, you quickly reached for it, „I‘m so sorry, I‘ll clean that off!“

Before your hand could reach the photo, Agatha‘s unharmed arm lunged forward, hand closing around your wrist. Despite how pale she still looked, she pulled you back to her with no trouble, wrapping the blanket around you two tighter. Injury or not, there was still magick power running through her veins.

„Darling“, her pale eyes found yours, „Look at me.“

You didn’t dare break the eye contact she established, even though it was the last thing you wanted to do right now, ears hot with embarrassment.

„Have you been thinking about that?“ she asked, and you knew exactly what she meant. Her long, long life before you, the nature of your relationship. The only thing on your mind for days now.

„I mean, it‘s stupid!“, you shook your head „It’s naive to think I‘m something special, you’ve had such a long life already,“ you poked her side, „Even though that‘s hard to believe right now.“

Agatha‘s hoarse chuckle made you smile despite everything weighing on your mind.

„I‘m going to stop you right there.“

With her healthy hand, she tried to push herself up, eyes fluttering shut as she groaned in pain. You instinctively reached for her shoulders, helping her sit up and lean against the sofa cushions.

Her hand found your cheek, palm gently cupping your cheek.

„You are something special“, her voice was low and you swallowed hard.

„Do you think I could do this with just anyone? I was just bleeding out on your couch.“ Her eyes found yours, giving you a firm little nod. „Have there been others? Of course. A witches lifespan depends on her powers, and I‘m not exactly the type other witches want around for long. It can get lonely.“ Her lips pursed into a little smirk, brows rising. „But thanks to you, it‘s not. And thanks to you, it won’t end just yet either.“ She chuckled, raising her bandaged elbow with a sharp inhale.

Your hold on her shoulders tightened just the smallest bit, holding her upwards. Her thumb ran over your cheek, and you couldn’t suppress your smile at the touch.

„What I am saying is yes, there have been lovers before you. But that does not diminish your presence in my life, and it does not make you any less special. To be quite honest, you‘re the first person to have pulled a knitting needle out of my elbow.“

She let out a little laugh and soon, you joined in. Agatha‘s hand tugged at the back of your neck, and you willingly let her pull you into a sweet, gentle kiss. Her lips brushed against yours with the familiarity of someone who had practiced plenty, pushing her chin forward into the kiss like she knew you loved her to do, and you let out a little laugh in return, teeth grazing over her bottom lip just the slightest bit. Exactly the way that made her groan, pull you in tighter, kiss you with more and more fervour, until you’d bite down on her plump lip for real.

But not right now. You pulled away before she could coax you into something more, giving the shoulder of her injured arm a gentle tap as you raised your brows at her.

„Not now Agatha! You literally almost died today.“

She let out an exasperated sigh, but then opted to wrap her healthy arm around your waist instead, pulling you closer. „But I didn’t, thanks to you.“

You gave her a warning glare but obliged as she pulled you into her lap, arm wrapped around you and your hands resting on her shoulders. She leaned forward, lips grazing over your neck just enough to make you gasp before nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck and shoulder, a spot she had found she fit perfectly into one time while napping and loved ever since. Your hands found her hair, fingers slowly running through the thick, dark waves falling down her back. She hummed against your neck at the feeling, and you felt your heart swell at the sound. Even if all of this was fleeting, at least right now, you could provide a safe space for her.

You pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, inhaling the faint scent of the lavender oil she liked to brush through her hair.

Even if you were but a fleeting moment in her life, maybe in 10, 20 years she‘d think back to you and miss the way her nose perfectly nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“I love you, Agatha“, you whispered, so quiet, you could barely hear it yourself, „Try not to get killed while I‘m still around.“

If she heard you, she didn’t answer.

You pulled her even tighter.

[hoe4sports]

Donkeys can’t cook

Alexia Putellas x reader

A/N: This is dedicated to my fav little hater on here, you can find her here. This is a short short piece, I hope you have a good laugh <3

Also a moment for Alexia with brown hair😮‍💨

Warning: Humiliation? Idk, I’d be pretty embarrassed if I was the anon over here .

Summary: In a world full of haters, it simply dosent phase you.

-

The weather outside is shit, like proper shit. For Barcelona, it’s out of character by a long shot. It’s raining, windy and absolutely freezing.

“Hola! Donse estas, amor?” Alexia sings from the entrance, today’s victory against Madrid fresh in her mind.

“Hola, living room!” you chirp back, eyes glued to you phone.

Alexia trots into the livingroom, her clothes and hair drenched in water.

“Did you swim home from the stadium?” You tease, looking up from you phone.

“What swim? Are we gonna swim? It’s cold,no?” Alexia responds, clearly confused.

Her English tends to get sloppy once she’s tired or excited, it always makes you laugh.

“Did you see any fishes on the way home?” You try, hoping the rewording will help her out. As soon as the words leaves your lips, you can’t help but break out in laughter.

“Huh? My love, did you want fishes? I can shower, and get the pink fishes?” Alexia suggestes, shrugging in confusion.

“Baby, I’m messing with you! You look like you have been swimming because you are soaking wet from the rain” you explain, giggling at Alexia’s confused expression.

After taking a second to think through your sentence, she breaks out a smile at you.

“Ai, amor! You know my English isn’t good, you and your poems!”

You look at her and raise your brow

“No, no poems! I mean dichos!” Alexia says shaking her head while her hands work to take her jacket off.

“Come here, baby. I’ll warm you up”

Alexia practically throws her jacket off before she practically lunges into your arms.

“Mmm, hueles bien” she says breathing in the scent of your hair.

“Si, I had a shower when I got home. It was freezing, but you played so well” you comforts her, rubbing circles on her back.

Her heads lays down on your chest, ear as close to your heart as she can manage. She takes a deep breath before her body completely relaxes, practically melting onto you.

After a good 45 mins of her softly snoring in your arms, you are reading comments under a picture posted by the UEFA from an earlier match.

“Y/N looks like a donkey!”

“Gosh, y/n is so annoying”

“I saw Alexia’s girlfriend sitting on her phone during the match, so disrespectful!”

“Alexia could do so much better, she could get supermodels”

The first comment makes you giggle, then as you read; your giggles turns into laughs. You are desperately trying not to laugh loudly as Alexia is sleeping on top of you which her head on your chest. The laughing is forcing tears to run down your cheeks. Then, you see another comment.

“I bet the donkey can’t even cook! Alexia looks like she’s starving! It’s disturbing to watch”

The comment pushes you over edge, and you lay there laughing loudly holding a hand infront of your mouth. Its not the cute kind of laugh, but the hysterical laugh which makes you blush. You can’t hold it in as much as you want.

“…amor, you good, si?”

“Yes, alexia, s-sorry” and then you break out in laughter again.

Alexia cocks her head up from you chest giving you a puzzled gaze.

“What so funny?” She says followed up with a yawn.

You can’t explain as you are in a full blown laughter attack, shaking as you giggle. You turn your screen towards alexia, and she instinctively grabs it to look further.

“Que? Am I donkey? What’s a donkey? And why you laughing of the donkey? ” Alexia questions, rubbing her neck in confusion.

Your laugh is filling the room, and you try to hold your breath to explain it to Alexia.

“Okay, so, a donke-“

The laughter sets in again, and you can’t help it; you are suddenly screaming laughing like there is no tomorrow.

Alexia looks at you with a raised brow, but she feels very entertained.

“Amor, as much as I love your laugh, you make me worry! Breath!” Alexia says, still not getting it.

You take deep breaths, this time way more successful than your previous breaths.

“Okay, it’s hate comments. They say that you are becoming skinny because i can’t cook. Well, if im a donkey, then how am I supposed to cook!” you explain, Alexia holding in a giggle as you speak.

“I am not skinny? I had to get a new size in shorts last week because my bootie is growing! And what’s a donkey?” Alexia huffs, looking at you.

“Ok, so, you know the movie shrek? The grey tiny horse? uhhh, Barra!” You scream out as you remember the Spanish name for donkey.

“Que? Shrek? Horse? Barra isn’t a horse? Mi Vida, I’m confused. Are you sad about the comments, no?”

Alexia’s confusion makes you giggle, but you try your best to choke it.

“I find it amusing, it’s actually very funny” you respond, finally calm enough to talk.

“Okay, you are my donkey, si? My donkey wife?” Alexia suggests, smiling at you still not knowing what a donkey is.

It makes you giggle again, but you hold your hand in-front of you mouth trying to choke another laughing fit. Then, you get the hiccups.

You nod your head at Alexia, who is looking at you with admiration in her eyes.

“I’m so proud of you for not letting it get to you, you a strong woman, a strong donkey” Alexia says, reaching for her phone. Her face breaks out into a smirk as she sits back on her knees, clearly planning something.

After a few seconds, Alexia grins at you.

“Go see instagram!” Alexia chirps, throwing her phone in the other end of the couch.

You reach for your phone, popping into alexia’s account. As you see the picture, a picture of you trying Ingrid’s mom cinnamon roll recently. Then you see the caption, you break out in another laughing fit. Alexia smiles and shakes your head at her reaction.

She leans in to kiss you, closing the distance between you before stopping.

“Mi esposa perfecta”

Liked by Ingrid_Engen, Fridolinarolfo and 374,737 others.

Alexiaputellas Mi esposa burra es la mejor panadera

Ingrid_Engen I call tax for giving her the recipe, payment expected Monday 😇

Mapi_leon.04 Make that two, girlfriend tax

[g1rld1ary]

lifeguard!James Potter but its just him shamelessly flirting with reader whilst she stands there stunned.

lifeguard!james potter x reader 4

prev

wc: 1874

cw: horny again

anon i love you ur a genius. this kinda ran away from me lol but i will def be using this again so look out for future parts of flustered r if this isn't quite what u meant!!

the next time you saw james wasn't for a few days. there'd been a few days of colder wind coming from the north -- not enough to be cold necessarily, but unpleasant enough you didn't particularly fancy sitting by the pool.

after two days of mediocre, sunless weather, a real storm came in. rain beating down from the time you woke up, you spent breakfast pondering how to spend the day. you didn't particularly want to spend the whole day rotting away in bed doing nothing and so called up marlene, begging her to pick you up in her parent's car to drive everyone to the shopping village. she was easy to convince, and soon enough you were all packed into the much too small car, singing loudly to the songs on the radio.

the village wasn't anything special, most of the stores were uninteresting, but it was all undercover which was ideal for a rainy day.

the group of you had already wasted an hour in the oxfam, trying on the most ridiculous outfits you could put together. sirius had even managed to turn a truly hideous cheetah print belt into something that looked honestly cool on him, much to the annoyance of everyone else. he tended to do that, though, it meant you had to work even harder to give him awful clothing items. the only one he truly couldn't pull off was a horrendous orange hand-knitted cardigan.

that easily became boring though, and you could tell the cashier was getting annoyed that clearly none of you intended to buy anything. so you left, wandering aimlessly until lily pulled you all into the bookstore. it was warm inside so no one put up much of a fight, splitting up to find their preferred genre. peter went to the historical fiction, lily to literary fiction, remus dragged sirius with him to the classics, marlene to science fiction and mary to fantasy. that left you to wander over to the romances. you weren't much of a reader, preferring the lighter subjects to lily's more serious.

finding the brightly coloured covers you began browsing before catching a glimpse of a mop of dark curls over the next shelf and narrowed your eyes suspiciously. there was no way...

"are you following me?" you asked, no edge in your tone. james looked up with a start, breaking into one of his golden retriever smiles.

"you're the one approaching me," he said, closing the book he'd been checking out.

"touché." you grinned, looking around for the first time to observe what section you were in -- plays. "i didn't know you were a shakespeare nerd under all that muscle. doesn't seem fair you get brains and brawn."

"graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie." james looked much too pleased with himself and his shakespeare quotes, and you couldn't deny it was having some effect on your own 'pleasant fountain'. you stammered for a moment, lost for a response. no boy had ever quoted shakespeare to you before, and certainly not of such explicit content. truthfully, you didn't realise the world's most revered playwright wrote like that.

"what's that from?" you asked, desperate to get away from his innuendos before you did something you'd regret. plus, you really were curious, the only shakespeare you knew was from when you studied romeo and juliet in year nine and clearly that was becoming insufficient.

"venus and adonis, one of his poems. doesn't continue as happily, but i thought the line was nice enough."

"yeah," you managed through gritted teeth, "really nice." james only laughed at you, evidently enjoying having the upper hand in your banter. it was a testament to his goodness, though, that he didn't continue to hold it against you. instead, he settled down, going back to browsing and letting you hover next to him, answering whatever questions you had about the plays patiently. it was nice, you realised, looking over at him fondly before you caught yourself. you barely knew james, and just because he was a pretty face and a decent brain didn't mean you had to go boy crazy.

you stayed there for what felt like ages, quietly looking at the books until sirius came strutting around the corner.

"since when have you ever read a play in your life -- oh," he said, catching sight of james next to you. "who's this?" you could have sworn sirius gave him a flirty once over, but maybe you were just projecting.

"this is--"

"james," he finished, sticking out an enthusiastic hand. sirius raised an eyebrow, a flicker of recognition in his eye that made your stomach drop.

"james the lifeguard? the one you thought was, and i quote, 'hotter than robert plant i swear to god' and who you would 'pay to suck his dick'? nice to meet you mate!" you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole as the boys shook hands, james looking significantly more confused than sirius (though not displeased).

"i hope you sleep with one eye open, black," you muttered, trying desperately not to make eye contact with either or let your blush show. you had an inkling you were failing.

"so james, you doing anything today?" sirius asked, and you could only feel the dread spreading throughout your body. james shook his head, quickly slotting the book he was holding back onto the shelf. when sirius invited him to spend the rest of the day with your friends your body had a physical reaction, an embarrassing half-flinch-half-jump that had both boys laughing at you.

you all reconvened outside the bookshop, only a few new books bought between you all. james had been introduced to remus and peter and the girls were all pleased to see him. it seemed like it was only you who was flustered, which seemed to be more common each time you saw him. you missed the first time you spoke when you had all the power.

sirius was the one who dragged you all to the record store, begging to check out their new stock.

"you know," james said as the two of you fell behind, "if you wanted to suck my dick you could've just asked, no payment required." this had to be the worst day of your life. you couldn't bear to look at james, already knowing the shit-eating grin you'd be met with.

"shut up," you mumbled weakly, "sirius is a dreadful dramatic."

he thankfully gave you a bit of a rest in the record store, taking the opportunity to talk to the boys as they perused the albums on offer. you definitely heard james and remus bonding over a love of bowie (not that it was a particularly niche interest) which made you smile.

while you were sure peter was being kind to james to his face, every time he turned away to look at something peter was quick to tease you, fanning his face like james was a supermodel or imitating a crude makeout. you responded with a firm middle finger, but it held no effect.

"i love that album," you said, pointing at the one james had picked up. it was bruce springsteen's born to run, a record you played in your room on repeat.

"i'm stupidly uneducated, i think i've only heard the singles. maybe we can listen to it together sometime, you can teach me his ways." you grinned, honest james was much easier to handle than flirty james.

"only if you're ready to listen to me fantasise about bruce," you said, "his eyes really do something for me."

"i have eyes," james said, pulling a giggle from both you and mary.

"guess so." it wasn't one of his better attempts at flirting, but it still drew a smile from you, so james didn't look too upset.

you didn't really talk to him again until you'd retired to the food court, all desperate for lunch. sirius had made sure you two were seated together, and you were suspicious of how much of a matchmaker he was being. you only wanted to jump his bones, you weren't looking to get married.

you'd just told an impeccable pun -- you knew it was good as the whole table began berating you -- and had caught james' eye by accident. he'd smiled at you in his lopsided way and rolled his eyes light-heartedly.

"i didn't picture you to have such terrible taste in jokes," he said, and you exaggerated a frown.

"and yet you're still talking to me," you countered, "so what does that say about you?"

"that i'm lucky." your mouth dropped open without your brain consenting. james had well and truly caught you off guard, an irritatingly perfect combination of earnestness and shameless flirting all rolled into one. you could feel yourself floundering, mouth opening and closing as you searched for anything to say. james was clearly enjoying his victory, cocky grin on display for anyone to witness. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, flushed with embarrassment (and lust) and not a single inkling of thought in your head.

you'd ended up on james' lap. it started with marlene offering james a lift home, not wanting to leave him walking in the rain. that led to the realisation you had far too many friends for seats; five available in the car and eight people. sirius had dibs-d remus' lap before the rest of you had even caught up to his train of thought, and lily and mary teamed up together shortly after. you were consequently assigned to james by the others, marlene obviously driving and peter refusing to even take part. you had sympathy for james, only an hour or two into meeting half the group and already pushed into doing their bidding because of remus' easy "you don't mind, do you, mate?"

and so you were sitting on his lap, not uncomfortable but definitely nervous. you'd imagined your first time being in his lap being slightly more sexy and autonomous.

"i'm not too heavy, am i?" you asked, hating how insecure you sounded. james just laughed softly.

"weren't you the one pining after my muscles? have a little faith in me!" james was unbelievably confident today, even more so than you remember him being in your previous meetings. you were the opposite, never having felt so meek around him.

you figured you couldn't be the only one experiencing the torture and so rolled the window down, pushing your upper half out and into the wind, laughing as you felt the rain on your skin. whilst enjoyable for yourself, it also required you to shift your position on james' lap and stretch out your torso, giving james a good view of your bra from under your sloppily done, homemade crop top. the combination was clearly effective if the development in his crotch was anything to go off. plus the way he held your hips to keep you concealing his little problem was telling you all you needed to know. another little wiggle from you and his grip tightened to almost bruising, but far from unpleasant. maybe james could flirt, but you had tricks you weren't above using.

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 10.2 K Warnings: MAJOR ANGST MOMENT Prompt: Alone, desperate, lonely. How did you end up like this? How will you recover? Is recovering even possible? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by Lovely @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 56: Who Wants to Live Forever

There's no place for us

What is this thing that builds our dreams, 

yet slips away from us

You sighed, it was a game. Your father had designed a game, and if you wanted to get to the other side you’d have to follow his instructions or solve his riddle. The weird thing was, how much it seemed to be targeted to you. As if he knew one day, you’d have to enter the chamber without him, or without the key. It was fishy, but you still wanted to know what was on the other side. 

The riddle was way too elaborate for him to have created it since Christmas, so you ruled out the chance of it being a trap. You would have gone as far as to say that he hadn’t even thought about you visiting theVault he’d given you yet, as if he expected that to be way later on. It was true that you’d gotten an obscene amount of pocket money on Christmas, and he did suggest you could save it in your vault. But still, there was something odd about the entire thing. 

You read the riddle again “In shadows deep and whispers soft, a secret lies, though hidden oft,” you muttered. “It must be somewhere in here.” You looked around, raptor-like, analytical, and cold. Solving a riddle was a brilliant way to take your mind off everything it was insistent on thinking, and you weren’t going to reject the opportunity. “Whispers soft,” you repeated. In one of the corners stood a long and tall harp. You could barely see it, it was as if it was sucking the light out of the room. You grabbed the star ring you’d seen earlier with a handkerchief and walked closer to it. Nothing seemed to move, but as you walked closer, you could hear it: the faintest sound of the harp, a soft and haunting melody. 

You instantly knew what it was, “The Song of Seikilos”. You swallowed, there was no question about it anymore, this riddle had been designed for you. The Song of Seikilos wasn’t the most common song out there, but you knew about it, and Silas knew that you knew. The summer before the trip with the Blacks, your father had taken you and your mother to Denmark for some political business. You’d begged him to let you visit the muggle museum. He said he too was interested in visiting it and told you to wait. 

A week later you were all in the museum. They had a special music-related event, and inside one of the showrooms you got to see the marble columns that held the poem. But there was also a man next to it, playing the same song on the violin while a lady dressed in Greek robes sang the song. 

You placed the ring closer to the harp, and surely, there were Greek inscriptions on its side. You breathed and took a closer look. You couldn’t read or speak Greek –let alone ancient Greek– but you were familiar enough with the alphabet, and it wasn’t hard to find the “Σεικίλος”. 

You were right, it really was The Song of Seikilos. 

You tried to remember what the poem was about, the small caption next to the piece said something about it being a dedication for Seikilos’ wife. But this had happened years ago, how the fuck would your father expect you to remember? You went back to the inscriptions on the harp. You looked through the text again, paying attention to each of the letters. Was there anything you could read? 

φαίνου? No idea what that might be. λυποῦ? You weren’t even sure how to pronounce that. χρόνος? hronos… Chronos… The titan of time! 

“Of course!” You said excitedly. “The song of Seikilos was an epitaph! A poem for his dеad wife.”

 It said something about Chronos demanding it’s due. About time demanding his due. Time… time… time… you pondered. “Through twists and turns of mind and fate. Seek the truth, but never late.” 

But what could the truth be? Dеath? That was too simple, too obvious. 

Silas would never go for something like that. You leaned closer to the harp, the ring held high illuminating as much as possible, the harp still sucked the light out of it. Either way, right in the corner of the room, under a couple of books you saw something that looked interesting. An old journal. But not just any journal, it was a dream journal. 

“In echoes of dreams untold, the key awaits, in tales of old,” you whispered and leaned in to take it in between your hands. It was heavy and old. Blue leather cover and silver engravings. You pulled it out and held it to the light of the vault. You checked the clock again. 10 minutes. it had been ten minutes since you took your bag. If only you could slow time or make yourself faster. There were plenty of spells that allowed you to do that, none of which you could perform with her wand. 

You took a deep breath before opening the dream journal. Empty. It made sense, after all it said dreams untold. But if they’re not told then… could they be shown? 

You looked at the page and placed your hand on it, closed your eyes and waited. The tick-tack of the grandfather clock and the faintest whispers of the harp the only sounds in the room. You waited a little more… tick, tack, tick, tack… nothing… No dream, no visions, nothing. 

You turned to the harp again, perhaps you missed something. Maybe on the echos old, instead of in the dreams untold, you thought. But there was nothing on the books either. You grabbed the journal, closed it and started inspecting the cover… there was something odd in some of the patterns. You slid your hand over the spine. and suddenly, something clicked. You frowned and opened the journal again, right there in the middle of the book there were a few hollow pages and inside one of them a small locket. 

You grabbed the locket and left the book on the side, on the back, in cursive so small it was almost unreadable, it said:

While you live, shine have no grief at all life exists only for a short while and Time demands his due.

“It’s the poem’s translation,” you whispered. “But why would I need the poem’s translation?” You looked at the book with the poem again. “Through trials dire and trials fair, only the wise shall find it there.” 

Echoes old, and dreams untold, you recited. Echos old, could be old books, you’d already seen a few old books, there were very many in that corner behind the harp. You pulled them out towards the centre of the room. The Tales of Beedle the Bard, The Arcanum Codex: Legends of the Ancient Wizards, The Chronicles of Avalon (that one was fae), The Divine Comedy, The Chronicles of Mistwood Manor, The Iliad, Paradise Lost and the Odyssey. So many ancient books: wizard, muggle and fae;  but how would you know which one to take? 

The poem… the poem was Greek. You took the three books. in your hands. The Iliad, The Divine Comedy and the Odyssey. But which one to take? 

The Divine Comedy was about hell, but it was also about dеath, which could have a connection to the Seikilos’ poem. On the other hand, The Odyssey perfectly reflected the “trials dire and trials fair, only the wise shall find it there” line of the riddle. 

You were hesitant as you picked the book up, you’d read it before. Your mother had given it to you a few years ago as proof of one of the best muggle-wizard collaborations. With the fact that Homer had been a wizard and because of Circe and Odysseus’ collaboration, proved that while wizards were powerful, and could be evil, they could also be benevolent and help humans. But that was before wizards had decided to seclude themselves from the world, and when they were actually trying to integrate themselves into it.

The book was the version you remembered your mother had given you; green cover, and written in verse. You flipped through some of the pages, and right in the middle of one of them, you found a recipe. 

“Shut up,” you whispered as you looked at it. It was sleep draught. “Fine then, that’s it,” you said annoyed. You were stuck. Except, what if you weren’t? You took the locket from the table in which you’d place it, and stared. The key awaits, in tales of old. 

What if the locket really is a key? But a key to what? 

You spun around in your place, paying a closer look at all the things scattered in the room. The harp and the clock jumped at you at once. 

You walked towards the clock: χρόνος. Chronos was such an important character in the poem, it made sense for it to be an equally important character in the riddle. In seconds you were right in front of it. It had been 15 minutes since you started. You placed your hand over the clock, there were many intricacies detailed all over. From a wonderfully sculpted story on the cover to details of the moon, stars, and planets on the face. It had not two, but eleven hands, 2 for hours and minutes, and then one for each planet. They were right around the clock, and moved ever so slightly each day, mirroring the real movements of each of them. 

And then, right behind the small cristal, there were the winding ports. You took the locket in your hands and cranked it open. Right inside of it, there was a small winding key. You placed it on a spot, and there was a soft chime you took in a breath. Good, now you had to find the rest of the keys. 

You grabbed the book and went over some other lines of the riddle: In silence vast and darkness deep, the answer lies, in dreams asleep. but wake ye now, and heed the call, for time is short, and darkness falls. You glanced at the clock, there was something there now that wasn’t there before. The moon phase section was changing every couple of minutes. It went from crescent to quarter in less than 5. “For time is short and darkness falls,” you whispered as you took a deep breath. “Fuck,” you said when you realised that you didn’t have much time. 

It felt like you were spinning around and around and yet you didn’t get the result you’d hoped for. You turned to the rest of the books. You frowned and turned to the riddle again. There was something about the wise: only the wise shall find it there.

“The wise,” you repeated as you pondered. Greek, the Illiad, Wise. “Athena! But where?” You thought of looking in the book, but something told you that might not be the solution, you had already found enough things in books, there was no way the rest were in them too. 

You looked around the room again, there were so many things it was like looking for Waldo, or worse yet since when you looked for Waldo you knew exactly what you had to find, a small man with glasses and a red striped shirt. Now thought? You had no idea what you were looking for. Still, you looked around and focused. 

That’s when you spotted it, right at the top of one of the huge shelves that held piles and piles of things, there was a statue of an owl. You scoffed when you realised what kind of owl it was, a fucking Athene. You used one of the hundreds of piles of books to lift yourself enough to pull the owl from its place. 

That had never been an issue before, a small spell would be more than enough to have it float gently towards you, but you had to improvise now. You almost tripped and fell, but you managed to hold your balance and took a deep breath once you were back on solid ground with the owl in your hand. You started to twist it around, looking at all his sides. But there was nothing, not a single thing. 

That’s when an idea popped into your head, you took a deep breath and dropped the entire statue into the ground. It burst into hundreds of smaller pieces, and yet they all looked like they had been designed to crack a certain way. You looked at the floor, they had somehow arranged themselves, one line towards the clock, and the other one towards a small cabinet in the far end of the room. You walked there and started opening all the small drawers. 

They had ingredients for potions, and jewellery and– bingo! A vial. Clear liquid, a simple, omnibus label: φάρμακο. You suspected what it might be, the horrifying thought sinking in like a doxy’s fangs. You sighed as you unclogged the cork and brought the potion up to your nose. 

You took a deep breath. Nothing. You concentrated a little bit more, you used the same technique you had developed lately, and while you didn’t physically turn into Vixen, you called upon her sense of smell. There it was, cleverly cloaked, clearly done by an expert, it must have been worth a small fortune. But it was clear as day: Valerian Root and Sopophorous Bean. 

Draught of Living Dеath.

Rather proper, since φάρμακο is old Greek for both poison and cure, you remembered Slughorn had mentioned that once.

If you thought it through, there was no way you were drinking to a different potion. While a simple sleeping draught would have done the trick, like the one in the small note still in your pocket, there was no way time allowed you to brew such a thing, not with the moon already being full, and with half of your time gone.

Now, you knew how dangerous draught of living dеath could be, and this is when the dire trials came back, you could either drink it, do the brave and reckless thing, or you could try and brew the other potion. With no wand, and barely enough time to find all the ingredients.

You took a deep breath, if you took only a drop, really a drop, nothing more than that, and if the potion wasn’t concentrated enough, then perhaps it would be enough for you to fall asleep and wake up before the moon was dark again. 

It was now or never, you took a small hairpin from one of the corners and dipped it in the small bottle. Your breath was short, breathing had become harder as you moved the small, poison-filled pin towards your face. It’s what was expected of you, your father knew how reckless you were, if he had left that there it was for a reason. Not many would be brave –or stupid– enough to drink Draught of Living Dеath, except perhaps someone as stubborn as you or him.

You stuck your tongue out and gently brushed the hairpin right on top of it. You placed the bottle on the side and looked around. Nothing, perhaps I should take more, you thought, and then the walls started to change, coating themselves in a black gooey substance before disappearing entirely. 

“So I’m dreaming,” you said, there was an echo of your voice, going all the way to the end of the seamingly endless room you were in before coming back to you, in a voice eerie similar to yours but also vastly different. 

Deeper, richer, sinister, “So, you are dreaming.” 

You swallowed, it was pointless to ask where this was, or anything regarding the nature of the place, you knew you had a limited amount of time and no matter how different time was in dreams, you couldn’t afford to lose any of it, not unless you wanted Chronos to demand his due.

“I’m looking for a key,” you said, your voice echoed again, louder this time, and then, out of nowhere, something, or rather someone appeared right in front of you.

“We know,” the thing said. It was a figure, almost a mirror to you but with no face, all dark and smooth like a mannequin. Only a sunken mouth, awfully reminiscent of a Dementor’s. It didn’t move as it spoke. “Why do you want it?” 

“I need to get to the other Vault.” 

“The mirror,” a whisper said.

“She wants the mirror,” another whisper returned. 

“I just want the key,” you replied. “I need to see what’s on the other side. It may be dangerous.” 

“It is dangerous, child,” the voice said. 

“It’s a terrible idea to go,” a different one added.

“Perhaps… I still have to do it,” you retorted.

The creature in front of you smiled, a sharp, shark-like grin, “that’s what we wanted to hear,” it said. 

“Two paths lay ahead of thee,” one of the voices started.

“One of us always tells the truth.” 

“The other one always lies.” 

“You may ask one question.” 

“To either one of us but not both.” 

“Ask away, little sprite.” 

“Or stay in the darkness and relent.” 

“It is your choice.” 

You sighed. You knew this riddle, your dad had given it to you when you were 10, you couldn’t find an answer and you begged him to give it to you. He’d said one day you’d guess it yourself. 

“But what if I don’t?” you’d asked, concerned.

“Then you’ll go through the wrong path and something bad would happen.”

“But you could tell me now. Then nothing bad would happen to me.” 

“And you wouldn’t learn a thing,” he had answered indifferently. 

You held back a resentful groan, as you bit your lip. This stupid game was getting beyond annoying.  If this was his way to have you solve his stupid riddle, if he thought you ought to learn something from putting your life at risk, then he might be even worse than you thought. This wasn’t even tough love, this was a reckless gamble of your safety, whatever lesson you were supposed to learn from it was in no way worth it.

And yet, you’d go through with it either way, and he knew you’d go through with it, you were obdurate and determined, and you had to know what was on the other vault. The dream beings had confirmed how dangerous it was, you could not leave it on his hands. Not on the same hands that had cast crucio on your mother. The action that made you react harshly and cause that fire, the action that had caused her demise. 

You turned around, you could hear a faint echo of the clock and the sound of the moon phase section changing again, you were running out of time. 

“I–” you staggered. How could you trick them? One question, what could you ask? 

You turned to one of the paths and pointed at it, “Would the other Omnius voice tell me that this is the way to the key?” 

There was silence, and then the voice said, “No.” 

If it was lying, then the truth would have said “yes”, and it would have changed it to “no”, which meant it was the right path. If it were telling the truth, then the lying voice would have said “no”, and it still would be the right path. 

“Then this is my way,” you said and walked towards the path. 

“Are you sure?” one of the voices said.

“You might be wrong,” the other one added.

“Or you might be right.” 

“Logic in the dream world can be different than back on earth.” 

“What if we switch?” 

“What if we both lied?” 

“Then the riddle would have always been unsolvable by logic,” you said with a shrug. You were confident in your answer.  

“And magic?” 

“Potions?” 

“Veritaserum?” you asked. “That would be cheating.” 

“Isn’t it worth it? To fulfil your task?” 

“Would you drink it voluntarily?” 

“Of course not!” the voice said, irritated. 

“Then it wouldn’t,” you replied. “Unlike Silas, I do not think things can be achieved by any means necessary.” 

The voice laughed, a loud, horrifying cackle that resonated and echoed through the entire room. “She really thinks she’s so much better for following her moral compass.”

“Where has that led you, child?” 

“Alone.” 

“Abandoned.” 

“Motherless.” 

“Loverless.” 

“Straight towards despair.” 

You looked at them, their heinous words echoing in your head, each one stronger than the last. All of them ringing truth to your ears.  But you weren’t going to put your happiness above the one of those you loved. You were not going to let them suffer at your expense. Not when you tried to help Nina and not when you broke up with Sirius. 

“Well then, I’ll walk there gladly, as long as I can still protect the ones I love,” you replied, tears prickled in your eyes as you ventured into the path. 

It was dark and it seemed to grow smaller the deeper you were. But you pushed on, after a long walk, you entered a chamber. You looked around, it was empty, except for a deep plunging drop, and a floating slab of concrete in the middle. And right there in the centre of the island, there was a small jewellery box, with the same engravings as the Grandfather clock in the real world. You knew how dangerous of a jump it was, but you had to take it. 

You took a few steps back to build momentum and you ran. You crashed chest-first into the side, it knocked your breath out and you barely managed to hold onto one of the raised tiles in the floor. Tears prickled in your eyes as you struggled up. How did it always look so much easier in movies and comics? This was almost impossibly tough to achieve. And you had relatively decent arm strength. There was a wand lying on the side, just within reach.

 You hadn’t seen it before but you took it and pointed downwards. “Confringo!” you shouted, the impulse the spell gave you was enough to flip you upside down and have you crash, back first, onto the concrete, your head slamming with an unsettling loud thud. You groaned as you looked up at the nothingness above. 

And then you heard it again, like a faraway whisper: Tick, tack, tick, tack… The ever-so-constant reminder that you had no time to rest. You exhaled wearily and groaned your way into a sitting position. You took the small jewellery box in your hands and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge You were about to smash it into a wall out of exasperation, a riddle within a riddle within a fucking riddle, it was getting out of hand. 

But there was a small glistening thing in the side of the box with some kind of engraving: ᾄδειν Σεικίλος. 

Of course, you thought and recalled the poem you had memorised just in case, “While you live, shine,”  there was a click inside the box. “Have no grief at all,” another click and then a twist, “life exists only for a short while,” a louder sound came from the box, like a small bell, “and Time demands his due.” 

The box opened in a second, surely, there was a key, mirroring the one that had been inside the locket there. You grabbed it, expecting to wake up, but nothing happened. You looked around, there were other trinkets scattered all around, but none of them had anything that could help you wake up on the outside.

There were unlabeled potion bottles, there were other wands like the one you’d used earlier, there were some bones in the corner and there were even a few books– the same ones that had been next to the harp. But there had to be a way to wake up, there had to be a way to get out. 

And there was an infallible one, one that you had heard of before and that your father had made sure to drill into your head in the past. 

“Darling, our little girl is having nightmares.” 

“She is?” he asked as he leaned down to look at you, you must have been four or five.

“There’s dragons, and trolls and big scary dogs that want to eat me.” 

“And where are you in the dream?” 

“Running through the forest, and then I reach a cliff, I can’t run anymore, they,” you sniffed. Those small child eyes, normally filled with wonder, were filled with tears, “they eat me. It hurts.” 

“A cliff you said?” 

“Yes!” 

“Then jump.” 

“Ju-jump?” you staggered. “But it’s dangerous and there are pointy rocks at the bottom, I would diе.” 

“Is the best way to wake up from a dream.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” 

“Wouldn’t being stabbed by rocks be less painful than being eaten alive?” 

“Silas!” your mother chided. 

Your father threw her a look and then one at you, a small smile playing on his lips, “Then… You learn how to fly!” he said as he took you in his hands and twirled with you in the sky. Your laughs filled the room, your mom was clapping and he looked at you with the purest of smiles when suddenly, out of nowhere, he let go of you and you plunged into the floor. Of course, you fell into a mattress he had apparated there, but the fall hadn’t been any less jarring. 

On the floor, you looked at him with a terrorized expression. 

“Silas!” Avis said angrily. 

“It’s so she learns it’s not that terrible to fall,” Silas responded as he pointed at you, a dismissive sort of look. “Children like it.” 

“She’s horrified!” 

“She is not! Look at her!” 

Both of them turned to you expectantly. You were small, but you knew if you said the wrong thing, the two of them would fight, and you could never tolerate their fights. With your heart hammering in your chest, you smiled faintly and then started to laugh. The tears that left your eyes, were considered laughter-induced rather than the terrified ones they actually were. “Again,” you managed to say, to sell the idea further. 

That’s when you decided you had to become an expert at flying, you couldn’t allow Silas to throw you again.   

And yet, here you were, back in a dream and you would not only allow Silas to push you down a cliff, but you were about to plunge into the dark abyss, willingly. “He always gets what he wants, doesn’t he?” 

You leaned over the edge, looking down, there was no breeze, nothing that could indicate how far of a fall it might be, if there was an end to it at all. You had learned how to fly so you wouldn’t fear the fall. You hadn’t been afraid when you fell from your broom and you wouldn’t start being fearful now. 

You extended one of your legs, your feet dangled over nothingness, you took a deep breath and then you plunged. If you screamed, the hollowness of the place made the sound disappear. The rush of the fall was there, the same plunging sensation you felt sometimes on a broom, it was beautiful and harrowing at the same time. 

And then, you woke up. Your breath was short, there was a thin coat of cold sweat over your limbs and the place seemed way brighter than you remembered. The key, was in your hands, it was lighter here than in the dream, but it was there nonetheless. 

You opened your palm, it was almost the same as the other one, except for a slightly darker colour. You stared at it as you tried to catch your breath, you wanted to laugh and you wanted to cry, but you glanced at the clock instead. Third quarter, you sprung up from where you lay and ran towards the clock, placing the key straight on its spot. The moon phase went from Third Quarter to Waning Gibbous. It wasn’t much, around 4 more minutes than before, but four minutes were enough to make the difference. 

You took the book with the riddle and went through the last lines, the ones that you hadn’t used before Paths diverge, yet all converge to where the truth and secrets surge. Choose wisely, seeker, lest you fail, and in the end, your efforts pale.

“Choose wisely, seeker,” you thought. Could he mean?

You turned around, looking for something, and right there in the middle of one of the bigger shelves, there was a golden snitch. When you stepped closer to her she released her small wings and started to fly around the room. 

You had no broom, but you had experience, if she thought you weren’t looking at her she would lean closer to taunt you, that was what they always did. You walked towards the pile of books you had left in the centre of the vault and grabbed one of them, flipping through the pages while keeping an attentive eye on the clock. The moon was back in Third quarter. You were running out of time. You were just looking at the pictures in the book, the Peverell bothers talking to Dеath, Dеath giving them the hallows, you’d heard the story many times before. You waited: one look at the pictures and a short glance at the clock, the tick-tack almost maddening as the small snitch kept buzzing around the room.

And then it happened, the small golden ball flew close to you, right in front of your face. You were as quick as humanly possible and took it with one of your hands. You could feel it melt at your touch, suddenly you no longer had a snitch but a small shiny key. Its colour lighter than the other two. 

You turned to the clock: Waning Crescent. The tick, tick of the handles seemed to get thicker as you approached it, louder, so loud it was almost deafening, but you never stopped walking and lodged the key straight into the one remaining hole. 

Three paths, three keys, they all converged into one single clock, into a master of time. The bottom door of the clock opened itself, and on the other side you could see nothing but darkness. 

You had solved it, and yet the next step was as daunting as some of the trials you’d already accomplished. You took a deep breath and walked inside. Darkness, darkness, darkness, and then… light. Not blinding but enough to make you squint. A vault, twin to the one you had been on, and yet vastly different. All the things had been piled to the side, and in the centre back there was a large something covered by a thin fabric, it draped down the sides of it, allowing you to see a shape, it looked like some kind of door. 

You walked outside of a clock, exactly the same as the one in the other room, and towards the large thing at the end. You didn’t hesitate to pull the thin white sheet from it, there was a small cloud of dust that wafted through the air due to the harsh movement and then, once the dust settled, the sheet fell on the floor with a gentle thud. Not a door, but… a mirror.

Except it wasn’t quite that either, you could see your reflection, but there was something odd about it, it was you, but, there was something about it that looked different. 

You looked at the mirror, there seemed to be an inscription at the top “riapsed dnaht urt d niflla hsuo yt ini htiwt nemrot ren niruoy tubega sivruo y ton tcel feri ” 

It was English text, which surprised you since you assumed it would also be Greek, everything seemed Greek that day. You read it aloud, it didn’t sound like Greek either –you thought it could have been the pronunciation rather than the spelling. You pulled back a little, trying to get the big picture. The mirror was tall, far taller than you, even Remus would have fit inside of it perfectly, and it would have surpassed him. It had a silver frame and it had pointy ends, it reminded you a lot of Hogwarts Architecture. 

You wondered if you’d ever seen a mirror like that, and you didn’t quite remember such a thing. Yet, it was oddly familiar as if you had seen it before, perhaps in a dream. You reread the words again, and that’s when you realised what it said. It wasn’t Greek, it wasn’t even a different language, rather, and quite proper of a mirror, it was in English, but spelt backwards.

"I reflect not your visage but your inner torment, within it you shall find truth and despair,” you read aloud. There was a slow chime as if it had come from the clock behind you and not the mirror itself. The reflection in the mirror wobbled as if the screen had turned into a silvery pool instead of glass. 

You walked closer again, you knew reading the inscription had activated whatever was inside of it, but the idea of seeing your inner torment was not something you were eager to do, it wasn’t something that you wanted to face. You’d been running from it incessantly since Christmas, and you did not want to stop now. 

But you had to.

Whatever was inside the mirror was reason enough for your father to make that dreadful riddle, and if it had been that hard to accomplish, then there was definitely something worthy inside of it. You looked at the mercury-like screen ahead of you and took another step towards it. You placed your hand on it and saw how the entire thing wobbled alongside your small push. It seemed to almost stick to your finger before releasing it and going back to its place.

You remembered what one of the voices in the dream had said, the echo so present in your head, it was as if they were speaking to you again, “Straight towards despair.” 

Right in front of you stood a mirror of despair, and you would walk right inside of it. Head high, and breath calm, even as your heart hammered inside your chest. You took a deep breath and took another step, and then another. The metal liquid surrounded you completely, and suddenly you were somewhere else. 

You were falling, and then you crashed onto a mattress. Avis and Silas were there. 

“Mum,” you said, tears prickling your eyes. “Mom, you’re here!” 

“Look what you’ve done!” She said angrily at Silas, “She’s crying.” 

“No! No, I’m–” She looked younger, far younger than you remembered, far younger than she’d been when your chimaera swallowed her. 

“She can barely speak.” 

“She must learn! She must become stronger! If she wants to survive she–” 

“Silas!” 

You knew what this was, you didn’t want to see it. You stood up in an instant, “It’s fine, I’ll go to my room,” you said before exiting the living room as far as you could. You locked yourself in one of the closets, and things were calm only for a second. The doors opened, your room was different, and you, or another version of you was there, writing something furiously on some parchment, bunching it up and throwing it on the side. 

Regulus’ letter was on your bed, you walked towards it and picked it up, you now knew what it said, how much heartache would have been spared if only you had given Reggie a chance. “Read it,” you told her. 

She turned to you, tears in her eyes and a scornful smile, “you have no business here,” she replied, snatched the letter from your hands and threw it towards the fire. 

She watched it burn with a tear sliding down her cheek and then went back to writing the letter she was working on, you looked over her shoulder “Sirius, This is the last letter I write. I’m sorry for…” you knew exactly what she was writing, what you had written. 

You sighed, and walked toward the door, next thing you knew, you were in the shack. Remus had a cloak, and he was panicking, looking at the bIood in his hands, breath sharp and desperately looking at James and Peter. 

“Where is she?” He asked, you could hear the desperate crack in his voice. 

“She’s okay, she’s with Sirius,” James said with ease. Peter was looking at the broken metal door with a confused face, and trying to place it back into place with a spell. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he pressed, there were tears prickling in his eyes, he looked livid and terribly upset. “This is her bIood,” Remus said, his voice breaking near the end. “It smells like her!” 

James licked his lips and took a deep breath. “Yes, you accidentally scratched, nothing else. You know,” he said. “You remember.” 

“No, I–” Remus breathed, he was entirely forlorn.  He frowned, “I lost track of them! She was there and then she wasn’t and then–” Remus shook his head and sat back on the bed “–There was a fox.” 

James nodded, “She’s the fox.” 

“Moony was trying to bite her!” 

“That didn’t happen,” James reassured. “There were no bites.” 

“So, she’s okay?” 

“She needs to get patched up,” James said, “but she’ll be fine, she’s tough.” 

You wanted to walk towards Remus and give him a hug, to tell him that you were all right, that you would be all right. That it wouldn’t even be the hardest thing you’d go through in the past few months, but the scene dissolved into another one. Remus, James and Peter turned into dust, so did the room, and it slowly rearranged into a larger room. 

You heard the door close behind you and then turned to the only person remaining in the room. Evan. He stared at the door dumbfounded, a mix of hatred and relief evident on his face. You weren’t sure why you were there, and you were about to follow yourself when you heard a sob. You turned around to look at Evan hesitantly, a small confused frown knitting your eyebrows together. He was crouching down on the floor, face hidden in his hands and a stream of tears leaving his eyes. 

You stared at him confused. A part of you wanted to place an arm on his shoulder and tell him things would be all right –not that you could actually interact with him– the other part, the one still sad and angry about what happened in November was almost thrilled he was crying. But the first one won over the second and you approached him cautiously. 

He was muttering incoherent things as he spoke, something about Arkalis, about you saving him, about hate and compassion and Merlin knows what else. You swallowed, when you implied to his father that he was straight, when you manipulated Arkalis into thinking you had kissed his son to get him off Evan’s back you were just doing what you considered was right, you never expected for that to mean so much to Evan. Let alone break him down into tears. 

It made sense now, that he and Barty had helped, what you’d done there was a lot more than you initially thought, your simple, almost dutiful act of kindness had meant a lot more to them than it had meant to you. You had earned the help they’d given you, simply by being kind. 

You stood up, it was not your place to be here, in fact, you assumed Barty would be here soon anyway, for some reason you seemed to be surrounded by tragic love stories. You looked at the clock in the corner, and then you heard a scream. 

You were paralysed by it, your breathing caught in your throat, a small sob leaving your lips. You knew what that was, you knew who that scream belonged to. 

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, no, no,” you repeated, breath sharp and chest heaving. “Not this again, I don’t want to go through this again.” 

Suddenly Evan wasn’t on the floor anymore, he –or a distorted shadow of him– was right in front of you. Tall and imposing and as terrifying as he seemed that night in the forest. “Go,” he said, although it wasn’t quite his voice. 

“I don’t want to,” you replied, voice small, filled with anguish.  

The world around dissolved and you were back in the hall. Nina was being held by two wizards while her mom was being tortured on the floor. 

“I don’t want to see this!” you insisted. The door from the terrace where you were with Reggie was still closed. You were both still there, this was before you arrived. Nina was crying, and screaming and her mom’s jarring shrieks were even louder. You closed your eyes, but the sounds became even more vivid, louder and overwhelming, you felt like your ears would bleed if you didn’t open your eyes again. 

Bellatrix shouted, there was a blinding green light and then Nina’s mother fell on the floor with a hollow thud, eyes shiny and completely defocused. 

Nina let out a shrilling cry, something so loud and harrowing that you knew instantly what it was. The one you had heard from the terrace. Bella started saying several things, and you saw yourself leaving Reggie on the chair and speeding to the area, determined to do something, determined to save her. If only you knew that determination would lead you nowhere. 

The second you spoke, and Nina turned to you, the entire scene dissolved. Now it was your father looking at your mother after she’d been stepped on by the Chimaera, you gulped, his screams had been swallowed by the commotion that day, but today you were closer to them. In your father’s gaze, there was anger and desperation and he looked both irked and terrified as he held your mother’s charred body. 

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, tears welling up in your eyes as you saw your father filled with despair. “I’m so sorry, I just wanted to do what was right, all I wanted was to–” 

The scene dissolved again, now it was Nina taking your face in her hands and telling you that you had to keep moving. You looked completely appalled, desperate, borderline hysterical; but Nina looked at you with a loving gaze, a calm, lake-like balminess emanated from her celadon eyes as she spoke, loud and clear. It hadn’t felt like that in the moment, but Nina had spoken to you for several sentences before you caught what she was saying before she told you to look at her, to really look at her and then told you how it wasn’t your fault. 

The scene dissolved as you and Nina walked towards the window. The scorching heat of the Chimera dwindled and was replaced with an eerie coldness. Your heartbeat paced rapidly, you knew what was coming, and you didn’t want to face it again. You shut your eyes as the scene around you started to darken, “Please,” you begged. “I don’t want to live through this again, please.” 

But if there was an architect to this ordeal, he either didn’t hear your pleas or chose to ignore them. You felt something cold graze your cheek, and when you touched it you realised it was snow. You sighed, you were surrounded by hedges, the moon high above you, bright but nonetheless harrowing. You knew that moon, you knew what she’d witnessed, what you were about to witness again. 

Suddenly you and Nina passed by, running fast as Lucius appeared, throwing a spell and taunting you over the dеath of Cygnus Black. You fought, fierce and determined and strong. Lucius wasn’t all that great of a duelist, but you were weak, marred and using a stolen wand. Had he been any better you would have lost to him after the first couple of spells. Then he made the hole in the ground you threw a spell on him and started to repair it. Nina saw Lucius get out, she saw him pointing his wand at you, and then she saw something else. Something behind Lucius. Whatever she saw, you hadn’t seen it then and you still weren’t able to see it now. 

She nodded and pushed you, the spell hit her and she fell on the floor. You –the other you– instantly crawled towards her with a raw scream, the bright shining light was there again and then from behind Lucius appeared Evan and Barty. 

You were crying and pleading and telling her it would be all right even if the two of you knew that wasn’t true. You turned your gaze to the side, trying to avoid looking at it again, but then you turned back, tears streaming down your face as you stared. You wanted to see Nina alive again, you wanted to hear her voice, even if it was her last breath that you’d hear.

Seconds later you were crying and trying to use the wand to revive her, but nothing worked. You knew nothing would and yet you harboured an inch of hope that maybe in this dream, Nina wouldn’t diе, that she would wake up and run the hell away from that hedge with you. 

Barty approached you and tried to pry you off Nina’s body for a few minutes before he actually managed to do it. Nina became butterflies and you saw one of them lean closer to you, to the real you, not the dream you crying on the floor; but the spectator of it all. 

“Nina,” you whispered, the butterfly batted her wings and flew along the rest of them. 

The scene dissolved and you saw Sirius, he was in what you quickly recognised as James’ bathroom. He was on the floor and panicking. He was saying something about it not being a dream and about you being in danger. 

“It was real, and she’s alone, in the snow, pretty much passed out, we have to do something. Maybe I can apparate there or–”  

“You’ll splinch.” 

“Damn it, James!” Sirius snapped. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” 

He looked absolutely desperate, terrified, you wanted to hug him and tell him things would be all right but then James spoke. “Remus!” he said. The scene dissolved again. Now it was Remus running through the shack, looking at the fence and then at the window you had used to save the butterfly. He ran through the snow, desperate, out of breath until he found you. 

You had been too numb to see his reactions, but when he touched you, with that tenderness that he managed to always pull off, you saw how scared he was, as terrified as Sirius as he pressed his hand onto your face and realised how cold you were. He had stuttered several times until he managed to get proper words out, he carried you. And then, just as he apparated away, the scene dissolved. 

This time it took longer for the next scene to appear, all of the mist around you changing colour and slowly solidifying into something else. It was you and Sirius, in the Potter’s kitchen. You sucked in a breath. The entire scene passed over, how you asked Sirius if he liked Remus, how you told him you would leave, and how he begged you not to do it. 

Sirius’ tears were gut-wrenching, you wanted to run and hug him and hit the person who had made him cry like that. The problem was, it had been you, you had been the one to make his eyes well up in tears, the one to make his voice crumble, and the one to cause him all of that distress. 

You held back the tears, “I get it!” you said loud and clear, your voice heavy with emotion you tried to conceal. 

“I get it!” you repeated as you turned around. “I cause despair, I’m the source of it on everyone around me, people cry because of me, people diе because of me! Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

Nothing, absolute silence. The scene in front of you, of Sirius plopping down on the floor with tears in his eyes, of Sirius crying and in distress, was there, and then it wasn’t. It dissolved, leaving you in an eerie nothingness. It was so vast you weren’t sure where it started and where it ended, there was silence, and it was cold. Not as cold as the snow but cold enough to send a chill down your spine. 

It felt like you were not only alone but forsaken. 

“You get it,” an echoing voice rang in your head.

“She thinks she does,” another said.

“She’s wrong and she’s right and she’s confused, and so, so alone,” a third voice said, mocking pity on every word. 

You looked around, but there was no one, the voices seemed to slam directly onto your head.

“But you don’t have to be,” the first voice said.

You did not like where this was going. You had read plenty of ghost stories, any offer too good to be true was probably laden with some secret evil. This place, the entire trial felt exactly like a horror story. And yet you felt so lonely, that you listened. 

“There’s rock,” the second voice said.

“It will help you bring me back, my love,” you froze, it was your mother’s voice. You turned around, tears welled up in your eyes as you saw her. It was not your mum, but the charred remnants of her that the Chimera had left, but it had her voice, and it had her eyes, your eyes.  

Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart hammered in your chest as you looked at her. Trying to think of a way to help her. You were walking towards her when there was another voice from behind you. 

“You can bring us back.” 

You sobbed and turned around, you had recognized her voice, you had missed that voice, a tear rolled down your cheek as you looked at her. She was as you remembered, cheeks pink with the cold and blonde waves stained with crimson. She was looking at you like you were the last hope she had, the one thing that would stop her from despair. 

“Nina,” you said, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, you sniffed as you tried to breathe. 

She smiled, the smile you knew so well to be hers. “With this,” she said softly and extended her hand towards you. “Spin the stone three times, and we’ll be back.” 

She extended her hand, she was holding a ring in between her fingers. You looked at the ring, you were hesitant, but you took it. Her hands felt like Nina’s, but cold. You looked at the ring, a dubious frown accompanied your sniffing. 

“Spin it three times and bring them back,” one of the voices said. 

“Bring us back,” both Nina and your mother said at the same time. 

“You will bring me back, won’t you?” Nina asked, her voice soft, hopeful. 

A stone that can bring someone back from the dеad if you spin it three times. “It’s a Dеathly Hallow,” you said in a soft, surprised exhale. 

“It is, dear,” your mother said. Her charred hand was upon your shoulder. You turned your head to look at her, out of the corner of your eye you could see how burned her entire body was, “you can use it to bring us back,” she added, with a smile that looked so much like her and so much unlike her with all the charred skin that you shivered. 

“Mum?” you said, your head cocked to the side, your voice nothing but a whisper.

“Go ahead, pretty girl.” 

“Save us,” Nina said. 

You tried to hold back the tears, but it was useless, you took a breath that got stuck in your throat. You had read the Tales of Beedle the Bard, you had read other muggle fables, doing it was a bad idea, and bringing someone back from the dеad was about the worst thing you could do to both them, and to yourself. But with your mum being charred and with Nina’s hair turning crimson rather than blonde, both because of you, you wanted nothing more than to fix your mistake. 

You desperately yearned to have them back, to hug them again, for their scent to fill your nostrils like it had so many times before, the light wood-like smell of your mother and the blue lily and lavender perfume Nina used to wear. The images in front of you, although faithful to the last time you’d seen them both were nothing other than a brittle and shallow reflection of them. 

The imitation was almost perfect, the slight ups and downs from the way they spoke, the colour of their eyes, the way their faces moved, the way the light hit Nina’s freckles. They were so similar it was easy to be fooled by them, but beyond that and if you looked closer, they were nothing more than a mirror of who they really had been, a frail reflection of the women you’d once loved. A projection, beaming at you from the distance, light shining from a dеad star.

You had read that once in a book, and you hadn’t quite grasped the magnificence of it until you too, felt it. 

“Darling?” your mother said, cocking her head. “Spin the rock! What are you waiting for?” 

“Three times, and then we’re back,” Nina chimed.  

“Are you not going to bring us back?” Your mother asked, it sounded angry. 

“Why wouldn’t you?” Nina said, her eyes welling up with tears. “I thought we were friends.” 

“No,” you said to yourself as you shook your head. “No, no, please don’t do this to me.” 

“Darling,” your mum said, her voice was that of a reprimand, cold and stern, she sounded more like Silas than herself. “Spin it now, bring us back!” she urged. 

You were taking steps back, away from the two of them but they stepped towards you as you did. Your mother was angry, even beneath the charred skin you could tell she was seething. Nina was sad, crumbling, cheeks red and stained with the track of her tears. 

“Please,” you begged. 

Nina fell to the floor, knees crashing onto nothingness with a loud thud, “I don’t understand… We were friends. I loved you. I was in love with you, why did you not love me back? If I were Sirius or Remus you would spin that stone in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you? Am I not enough?” 

“Nina,” you said. 

“I diеd for you!” she screamed. “I’m dеad because of you!” 

You stopped cold when she said that. She was right, and she was dеad because of you. You took the stone ring in your hands, held it closer to your face and touched the stone, tentatively, only with the tip of your finger. And then, out of nowhere, a small blue butterfly landed on your finger. You looked at her, it was the same butterfly you had helped enter the shack. 

“Have you also diеd because of me?” you asked bitterly. “Do you also want me to bring you back?” 

You put your finger back in the stone, but the butterfly got in between, not letting you touch it. You frowned as realisation hit you. That was not Nina, Nina would never say those awful things to you, no matter how many times you had said them to yourself. 

The butterfly on the other hand? The one trying to stop you? That was a lot more like the Nina that tried to snap you from your destructive thoughts back at Evan’s manor. Like the Nina that had hexed Bellatrix without hesitation to defend you, like the Nina that had pushed you out of harm’s way, like the real Nina. 

Nina whispered your name, and you looked up at her. “Bring me back,” she said. “I want to live again.” 

“No,” you said. 

“What?” your mother asked, the steady but furious tone you had come to know so well. 

“I said no,” you repeated louder this time. “I can’t help you.” 

Nina’s face fell to the ground, a tear streaming down her face while your mother stalked towards you angrily. Nina looked up at you, anguish and despair so evident that it was almost heartbreaking. “Is it because I’m not good enough?” 

“It’s because you’re not her,” you said simply. “She wouldn’t want me to do it.” 

“But I do!” She said distressed. “I do! I want you to bring me back! I want to live again! I want to feel the sun on my face and hear the hollow sound of the wind and taste chocolate on my tongue and see you.” 

“I can’t.” 

“But you kiIIed me!” she said desperate, her face morphing into an expression that you weren’t sure Nina was capable of making. “You murdеred me, I diеd because of you! Why won’t you bring me back?” 

“BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT NINA!” you shrieked, your voice breaking near the end. The figure pulled back. “You don’t know how much I wanted you to be her. How much I wanted to see her again, how much I craved to hear her voice again. But your voice, although similar, is not hers. And your eyes? They might be the exact same colour, but they don’t twinkle in the way hers did. You,” you looked at the charred figure. 

“You both are nothing but an illusion of who they both were, of what they were…And you could never be anything but. Because…” you hesitated, you didn’t want to say it. “Because you’re both dеad.” 

The figures dissolved in an instant. 

You crumbled onto the floor and sobbed. The nothingness embraced you like an old friend and you allowed your tears to stream down your cheeks in a cascade of pent-up emotions. All the denial you had forced through them, all the times you had blinked them away. 

You cried and cried and mumbled incoherently how sorry you were over a hundred times. Nina was dеad. Your mother was dеad. They were both gone, and they would never come back. You pulled the ring from your fist, you’d held it so tightly that the shape of the stone had etched itself onto your hand. You held it between your fingers and stared. 

Not even this rock would bring them back, even if it was a real Dеathly Hallow, even if it had the power to bring people back from the dеad, you were sure the price you’d pay for it would be far more devastating than the crumbling ghost of the person you knew that it would bring back. 

“Truth,” a voice said, echoing in your ears the same way it had done inside the dream.

“She saw past despair and looked at the truth,” the other continued. 

“You may go now, child.” A third one said. The reflective-like screen appeared in front of you. You could see the colours of the vault on the outside. You blinked and then turned your eyes back to the ring. You extended it right in front of your chest, holding it in the palm of your hand, before turning your hand upside down and letting it fall to the floor. 

“You won’t bring it with you, child?” the second voice asked. 

“No,” you said simply. “Something like this shouldn’t exist.” 

“Destroy it then.” 

“I can’t,” you said, you had felt the power within it. It was dark and dеadly. “You know I can’t.” 

“Then someone else might take it. Use it.” 

You let out a breathy scoff and then sniffed, your nose was still filled with snot from the tears. “Not if it’s unfindable,” you said and stepped out of the mirror. When you turned back to look at it, Nina and your mother were tapping at the crystal desperately. As if they too wanted to get out as if you were the only one who could help them.

You reached inside your pocket and took Nina’s wand in your hands. You looked at it with a sort of sorrowful look, eyes glassy with tears and then pointed it at the mirror. You took a deep breath, “Reducto!” 

A flash of light came from Nina’s wand and crashed onto the face of the mirror, turning it into shreds. The wand had worked better than any wand you had ever used in your life, as if she had been made for you. 

Unbeknownst to you, your spell hadn’t trapped the ring in the mirror forever, but rather, transported it back to its original place, Gaunt House. And it would remain there for years, until someone else, someone much weaker to the whispers of the dеad, tried to use it.

There's no chance for us

It's all decided for us

This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us

Who wants to live forever

Who dares to love forever

Oh oo woh, when love must diе

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A/N: I questioned myself for making them suffer so much while revising this chapter. Some of Sirius' words are just heart wrenching to me, I swear <3

Read more Marauders Fiction

[charliemwrites]

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m too selfish with you.” 

A simple sentence, one filled with a sentiment that many have felt before when balancing a relationship. But they were enough to bring Nikto’s entire universe to a standstill when they escaped your mouth. You? Too selfish?? Especially when it comes to him????? You could demand that he crucify himself for you, and he would walk into the arms of the cross like he is returning home, breathing in the scent of the cedar as it mixes with the iron of the nails that he strikes through his feet and hands and the blood that weeps from the wounds. You could ask him to drown the rest of the world, and he would tear the heavens open to cause waters to rise. He could become a plague upon humanity at the slightest hint of your desires, and you worry that you are being too selfish with him? When you have barely asked a single thing of him? Your commandments, though they are laws onto him and his actions, though craved into the wall of his bunk, were not orders. You never asked for his devotion, never demanded that he follow you, worship you, and, oh doesn’t that make you all the more worthy of it? So why do you now stand in front of him, shying away from his gaze, looking like a guilty sinner as you confess your perceived selfishness of him? Had he failed you so completely that you doubted his fidelity? What else could he possibly do to prove it to you? Every act of devotion the Bible has taught him is either is impossible for him (there is no family to sacrifice, no world-ending flood to build an ark for, nothing) or would go against your happiness (he would throw himself into fire while singing you praises, but he knows that goes against your first commandment and would make you extremely upset instead of happy). He feels trapped in that moment, staring at you, feeling like he failed you as your most devoted servant, when you finally speak again. 

“You never ask anything of me. Every day, you follow behind me like my shadow, you treat me as some sort of deity, yet you ask for nothing from me. After I asked you to help me when I was injured, you asked for nothing in return. Even when I know you are aroused, you don’t even ask for time away from me to take care of it yourself, and I know I shouldn’t force you to do anything with me like that, I know that it’s probably a physical reaction more than you actually being attracted to me, but the fact that you won’t even separate from me to jack off when you need it all because I selfishly told you to always come back to me that one time, or because you feel like you owe me for being your nurse, and it makes me feel so selfish that I haven’t done anything to free you from me, when you deserve it, you deserve happiness, and release and freedom and-“ 

Nikto has been your shadow for a while now, has been on the receiving end of you talking endlessly multiple times before. It was one of the things that first made him comfortable with you: you talking at him instead of to him because you knew he didn’t want to talk. But never before had this habit made him feel quite so desperately hopeless as it currently is. You think he isn’t attracted to you? You are more beautiful than words could possibly describe! He could know every language to ever exist, and still be left desperately searching for a way to properly tell you just how stunning he finds every single piece of you. No picture or drawing, no landscape, no human, no galaxy, no poem or verse, nothing could EVER come close to being even a fraction as beautiful as you are. And if Nikto were someone else, maybe he could will himself into saying this out loud. But he isn’t. Nikto is only himself, could only ever be himself, and these thoughts in his head stay swirling around while his tongue feels like lead within his mouth. Nikto isn’t a man of words, so he does the best he can, and he grabs you gently, and kisses you.

It’s not the best kiss. You were cut off in the middle of talking, and Nikto, so panicked over the idea of you not knowing his worship is so much more than simple Hero Worship for his nurse, didn’t even remove his soft mask that he wears around base. But Nikto is desperate, and so are his lips underneath the soft cotton of the mask. They work against your own, and it’s clumsy at best. Any kisses Nikto has had before were lost to him in the trauma of his rebirth, leaving him unsure of his actions but certain in his intent. Yes, he may not know how to kiss you in this new body you claim he inhabits, but fuck if the feeling of your lips against his, even through the mask, doesn’t feel like the closest thing to heaven he will ever find. And a part of him feels like he has been knocked into the pits of hell with how hot he burns for you, finally able to feel some of the thrumming arousal that had been living within him, just for you. 

If Nikto is left with a growing wet spot in his boxers when he pulls away from your lips, he won’t tell. At least, not if you don’t ask about it. Because he could never deny his Savior anything that you ask. And when you look at him, dazed but with stars in those beautiful eyes, and asks him “please, just ask for what you want. Don’t just secretly covet it. I want to give you as much as you’ve given me”, he agrees, because there is nothing else for him to do. 

A new commandment for his wall, a new law by which he lives. And he already knows the first thing he will ask for from you, since the taste has left him starving. 

Just… no words. Incredible.

[sp00kymulderr]

After

Dave York x Carol York x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. details of mff threesome. angst. happy couple. one line of daddy kink and mommy kink.

Inspired by one of my favourite poems 'after the threesome, they both take you home' by Sue Hyon Bae.

Words: 739

You're sitting in the back seat of their family car, listening to the lilt and purr of their conversation. There's an abandoned teddy bear on the floor by your feet, fuzzy and warm but not in anyones arms.

You think you know how it feels.

You hold on tight to your tiny handbag, holding nothing in it but wine-stain lipstick and a few crumpled pieces of paper - phone numbers you'd pick from like from a candy jar when everything started to feel numb again.

They chatter endlessly, happily, her mentioning some mother at the school gates she doesn't like, him humming deep in agreement.

Supportive husband to a loving wife.

And the girl they just ruined sat in the back quietly, under their care.

Offices are lit up like christmas trees, and you have to wonder why. Midnight is a memory now, driving through the city, no one here to see them but you and the other lonely souls searching for something they'll never find. Dave and Carol certainly don't notice them.

It had only been an hour ago that he was pulling out of you, that she was kissing soothing promises against your too-warm skin, marvelling at the way his seed leaked from you. She'd given you praise, encouragement, love in a form you craved so much, while he gave it to you in the way you desperately ached for.

Now, she looks back at you and says something. Something silly and trivial, and why does it even matter? You blood was rushing through your veins an hour ago, chanting 'Dave, Carol...fuck...Daddy, Mommy...please' over and over while they turned you into the person you always tried to be. Someone elses thing. For a few hours. Something warm and wanted and special.

"Do you like living in the city?" She repeats, a gentle tap to your knee because you didn't answer the first time.

"Yeah...yeah...I guess"

Their suburban home was like a wonderland, something untouchable, intangible. Covered in sugary sweetness that hung over every part of their perfect life. She had kissed you first, in the kitchen, after they'd invited you home from the bar. Her lips had tasted like cherries.

He was a deeper shade, a darker taste. Something burning in those eyes, not just the desire for things he didn't have to voice but something secret too, darker still. She'd kissed you in the kitchen, but he'd bent you over the counter. Told you to be good. To be so very good for them.

You had been.

So very, very good.

It's nearing 3am by the time they drop you off, home and safe and they loved getting to meet you. She kisses you first, again, on the steps to the door of your rundown little apartment where your roommate is surely still up waiting for all the dirty details. Her lips don't taste quite so cherry fresh now, more like you, covered in you. Suits her better, you flirt and flutter, prolong those last moments as long as you can.

His lips meet yours, and he's holding her hand even as he does it. Gives you a pat on the ass and tells you maybe they'll meet you in that bar again, do it all over again. You'd like that, wouldn't you pretty girl?

You know you'll never see them again.

You never do.

But this time, you wish. Which is more than you can say for the others.

You unlock your door as they stand by their car, making sure you go inside and don't somehow get lost between the front door and the inside of your home. You feel like you could get lost, chest burning with a warmth you don't really expect to feel as you watch them kiss and smile and get ready to go home. They'll sleep the few hours til morning, get ready for their days like nothing happened. The only reminder of you will be the scent of your perfume still on their pillows, and what they'd made you gush onto the sheets.

The other thing too. Stupid of you but you left it there; Your phone number is crumpled on some paper on the kitchen counter. A sweet offering for them in case they ever want to try you again.

They won't. They won't.

For now anyway you let the warmth of them linger inside.

Wave them off, and find yourself alone again.

[sweetteaanddragons]

I Could Not See to See

(Title taken from Emily Dickinson's "I Heard a Fly Buzz When I Died," a poem about the transition between life and death. It felt appropriate.)

(Summary: Morgoth's darkness blots out even the stars. Maedhros loses hope that any of them can survive this.

Some six thousand years later, Elrond refuses to lose hope when it comes to bringing home everyone that he can.)

The last time Elrond saw a star in Beleriand was when he was thirteen. After that, the Enemy’s smog grew too thick; only the sun’s light was fierce enough to bleed through it, and that only weakly.

He was also thirteen the first time Maedhros turned to him around the campfire and said, “When you die - ”

Elrond was not sure precisely what his face did at that moment. He thought Elros would have gone for a weapon if their hands had not been so occupied with the first bowls of hot stew they had been able to risk for three fortnights.

It helped that the most threatening thing Maedhros was handling at the moment was the ladle for said stew. It helped, too, that it had been a very long time since Maedhros had been the most immediate threat to them. He had slain three wights for them only that day and taken a nasty slash to the leg in the bargain; Elrond did not think he would so lightly turn and slay them now, especially while the leg was not yet well, and Elrond, for all his youth, was already the best healer among them.

Still. It did not stop Elros’s grip from changing ever so slightly on the bowl of stew.

“If,” Maglor said hastily, sitting down between them and Maedhros and heavily stressing the word. "If you die.”

Maedhros - the greatest swordsman Elrond had ever seen - looked down at the cut on his leg that even he was not quick enough to stop. Not when surrounded by so many enemies; not when protecting two more vulnerable targets; not when so many plants have shriveled beneath the choking smoke and animals have grown so scarce. “If,” he said sardonically.

He did not complete his thought.

It was two years later before Maedhros turned to them again and said, “When you die.” He paused there for an interruption, but there wasn't one.

Around them, what remained of the Feanorian followers were doing their best to make camp as far back from the mouth of the cave as they could. Outside, the rain hissed down, and there was something evil hiding in its whispers.

There were fewer of them than there were before the rain began to fall.

Maglor was still there. Maglor was by the mouth of the cave, singing up a draft to push back against the winds greedily pushing the rain farther inward. His mouth grew tight at his brother’s words, but he didn't stop the song.

“When we die,” Elros prompted from where he was leaning against the rough stone, wincing as Elrond inspected his wrist, swollen from his fall in the desperate scramble up the mountain.

“I don’t know where you’ll go.” The words were flat, but Maedhros’s eyes were as worried as he ever let anyone see. “You might be counted Men; if you are, there is little I can do to advise you, save to say that if there is any danger where Men go, you should certainly seek your kin.”

“Tuor, Turin - ”

“Huor, Hurin - ”

“Nienor, Morwen - ”

“Yes,” Maedhros interrupted before Elrond and Elros could get too far into their game of seeing who could remember the most ancestors. “Though if it comes to it, I’d recommend more toward appealing to Beren and Luthien and less toward Turin. I know little of his curse, but from what little I did hear, you will not want to tangle with it if it still remains.”

Elros refrained from pointing out that at least hiding behind the edges of a curse would be a familiar state for them. Elrond suspected that even someone not half entwined with Elros’s mind could guess it, judging from Maedhros’s weary twitch of the lips.

“But if you are counted as elves, that is another matter. Mandos’s Halls will be safe; I cannot speak for what you will find when you are released from them.”

The part of Elrond that still remembered being six years old and watching as his father sailed away in desperate hope of Aman’s salvation wanted to protest. Aman was perfect; Aman was untouched.

But he was not six years old anymore, and he had heard enough speculative whispers by now to know that just because the fires of Alqualonde must have long since burned out and those first darkness-fueled riots long since ended, it did not at all mean that all in Aman must be at peace. Conflict would not have ended with the Noldor’s exit.

“Stick together and use your best judgment as to whether it is better to be Sindarin princes or Noldorin princes or anonymous children of nowhere in particular. But before that - ” Here, he broke off and with a sharp gesture summoned Farande over from the throng of people investigating the back of the cave for danger. “Before that, you must get there, and if the wraiths and spirits that have haunted us this past month are any indication, that may require more cunning than it once did.”

Farande saluted as she drew near. “My king,” she said, before turning to them and taking on a tone Elrond had never heard her use before; she sounded like Maglor when he was teaching. “Mandos’s call is loud, but even in the days when all there was to oppose it were some leftover traps, Melkor’s was tempting.”

It took Elrond a moment to process this. His hands paused in their gentle prodding of Elros’s wrist. “You’ve died before?”

Elros peered around him curiously as though the information would somehow make Farande look different than she ever has before.

“On the great journey to Aman,” she said. Her tone did not invite further questions. “After the final blow, your spirit will linger about your body for a few moments in confusion; already, you will begin to hear the calls. They will tug at you. When I fell, Mandos’s was by far the stronger.”

She said nothing about what she suspected about now.

The hissing whispers in the rain seemed to get louder.

“The Enemy is cunning,” Maedhros said. His eyes were suddenly very hard to look into. “He lies well. It is not surprising that some fëa may have become confused by him.”

“Can you teach us what Mandos’s sounds like?” Elros asked Farande. “So we don’t get confused?”

She grimaced. “I will sing up the best memory I can for the company,” she promised. “But it will not be perfect. And without knowing what form the Enemy’s lie takes, I cannot promise it will be close enough. Which is why, when you fall, you should keep your fëar as near as you can to your bodies until I can come find you.”

Elrond recoiled a little. “But houseless spirits - ”

“Not houseless,” she said. “Namo is too stubborn to give up the call so quickly. He will not cease calling for some time; certainly not so little as it will take for me to find you. I can guide you after that.”

Elrond supposed this might work; he had seen communication with the dead before.

But it had always been the Enemy’s dead, bound closer to the world through his magics, and the communication had always been on the order of as forcefully as possible shooing them away. He was not sure Farande would be able to find them to speak to him - unless she didn’t need to, he supposed; if she went to their bodies and assumed they yet lingered, she could speak well enough, although how she would hear them describe the sounds they heard -

Elros’s mind had already raced further ahead. “That will only work if you die in the same battle as us,” he pointed out. He didn’t bother asking what would happen if he and Elrond didn’t fall in the same battle; the idea was too unthinkable. “What if you don’t?”

She raised one scarred eyebrow, almost laughing. “You think you will outlast me, little prince?”

“No,” Elros confessed freely. Farande had been fighting since before elves first saw the light of the Trees; it was hard to credit the rumor he had heard that she was once a healer when her hands were so quick with her blades. “But what if we fall in a fight and you don’t?”

“I will,” she said, all laughter gone. “I swear it to you as I swore it to my king, little prince: I will. And I will lead you home.”

For just a moment, Elrond stared at her in blank incomprehension.

“It won’t take me long,” she promised, her hand, just for a moment, brushing up against her own neck. “You know how quick I am with a knife.”

Elros recovered quicker. “You can’t,” he protested. “Namo won’t let you out, not after - “

She laughed in earnest then, high and clear. “I will be twice slain and thrice a kinslayer. Namo will not let me out regardless, and I would not want him to; Aman was never for the likes of I. No, his Halls shall suit me fine, and I can think of no better mission to bring me there.” 

She bowed to Maedhros and went back to her work, still laughing as she went.

Elrond stared after her. He could not seem to swallow.

“If that was a ploy to get us to train harder,” Elros said from behind him. “Congratulations, it worked.”

Maedhros didn’t smile.

(It did not take someone as perceptive as Elrond to see that Farande had made no preparations to depart.

“Your sons yet linger,” she told him. “I would not leave them alone.”

“No,” he agreed. There were others who had said such, and he was glad of it. “I worry for them.”

“I will defend them to my last breath,” she promised.

“I have never doubted it! On these shores, you shall keep them safe if any can. But Elrohir . . . Elrohir, at least, will sail, I think. I am not sure about Elladan, but I think he will sail for his brother’s sake. They will sail, but the sea is wide, and my sons are not sailors. I do not know that any Cirdan’s folk will yet linger when they decide to try it.”

Farande said nothing.

There were many who had said they would linger a while longer. He worried for them all.

But there were few he thought as likely as Farande to let themselves fade to echoes beneath the trees.

“You promised once to guide Elros and I west if it came to it,” he said softly. “I ask no oaths, Farande; you know that. But is it so greater a thing to ask a different guidance home?”

She swayed forward - swayed back. Swallowed, as she looked down to the courtyard where Elladan and Elrohir played at fighting and laughed below.

“It was no home to me,” she said at last. “It - could be, for them.”

“It could be for you,” he said, softer still. “Surely there is yet some untenanted valley in Aman where our people can gather again.”

The laughter swelled louder below. It had been long since he heard it from them so light and so free.

She swayed forward.

“I will sail them west,” she promised. “If you ask it of me, my lord, then yes; I will get them home.”)

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

Secret Admirer - S.Snape

Summary - Snape had been receiving notes, poems and gifts all year. They were just sitting on his desk waiting for him, he could only speculate who had been putting these things on his desk, until one day, he catches this secret admirer red handed.

Pairings : Severus Snape x Professor!Fem!Reader

Warnings : Female Reader, use of Y/N, not proofread

This is based on this request by @acupnoodle Thank you for the request!

Author's Note : I had a bit of a hard time writing this so please let me know if there was any mistakes or if there was a bit that didn't make sense. I can only become a better writer if I get feedback on how I can improve!!

My requests are open!

my masterlist

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged

Enjoy!

Severus was always curious about who had been leaving little notes and gifts on his desk. Now, he wasn’t complaining, his admirer had brightened his day every single time something was left on his desk. Even the students had taken notice that whenever there was a note or a little wrapped gift on his desk, he’d become happier, chipper even. 

He had no idea who this admirer was and he so desperately wanted to know, he thought he recognized the handwriting but convinced himself that he was delusional. Even one of the students had recognized the handwriting, saying it was Professor Y/L/N’s handwriting. He hoped that it was actually her but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

“Professor Snape?” He heard Hermione’s voice from behind him as he was getting himself ready for the lesson.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” He acknowledged the girl, still facing the blackboard.

“Who do you think is leaving you those gifts?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Not even a guess.”

“No. Let’s start the lesson shall we?”

That seemed to be his routine, until one day one of the house elves had delivered a wrapped box with a poem attached in the middle of one of his lessons. He eagerly took the box from the elf, thanking them before sitting at his desk, gently pulling the note off. 

Severus,

I admire watching how passionate you get when you talk about something you like. I admire everything you do, you’re a great man, a great professor and a great person. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life.

Love,

Your Admirer

The students watched as a smile spread across the man’s face, color gracing his pale cheeks as his eyes scanned the paper over and over again.

“Are you blushing, professor?” Theodore Nott teased. Severus ignored the teasing as he opened the box carefully. Inside of the box was a signed book from his favorite potioneer, the color on his cheeks darkened even more as he handled the book with care. “Snape is blushing!” Theo pointed out to the class. The girls all giggled at the professor and the boys all let out teasing “oohs”. He quickly shut them up and continued the lesson.

The next day, he had decided out of the blue to go to his classroom early. He heard shuffling around in his room which put him on high alert, he peeked into the room only to find a woman placing something on his desk. When he looked closer, he noticed that it was Y/N Y/L/N, the professor he so desperately hoped was his admirer.

He didn’t understand why she chose him, he was cold and mean, he was unfriendly and sour, so why him? He stood by the door and waited until she turned around. She let out a shriek of fright at seeing the man she was leaving a gift right by the door. “Severus! You scared me!” She gulped. She hadn’t expected him to come to his classroom so early, her heart pounding in her chest.

“You’re my admirer. I should have known that was your handwriting! I second-guessed myself,” He admitted, “I was hoping to catch you one day, ask you on a date but I was too nervous.”

“No need to be nervous Sev. I’d love to go on a date with you!”

The two professors smiled at each other, walking towards one another. “I hoped it was you,” He smiled at her.

“Oh really? And why is that Professor?” She teased as she grabbed his hands.

“Keep it up, darling,” He taunted, a smirk overtaking his smile.

“Keep up what? I’m not doing anything,” She said innocently. He leaned down closer to her, giving her the space to decide if she wanted to lean in or lean back. She, too, leaned in, connecting their lips into a shy and gentle kiss. 

They pulled away for a moment before leaning back, kissing each other with more certainty, more passion. Severus letting go of her hands only to move them to her waist, pulling her body flush to his, her arms wrapping around his neck, hands fiddling with his jet black hair.

The sudden cheers and applause had caused them to jump apart, Y/N accidentally biting his lip in surprise causing it to bleed. “Oh Merlin! I’m sorry! Are you okay?” She rushed out, inspecting his lip. Severus couldn’t help but chuckle, wiping away the blood with his cloak sleeve.

“I’m fine, darling. I promise. You’re going to be late for your class, I’ll see you tonight,” He assured her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before sending her on her way to her classroom. 

The students taking their seats were still cheering and chatting about what they saw as they sat. “Snape is gonna get laid!” Theodore called out causing laughter to spread throughout the class.

“That is not appropriate Mr. Nott. I will be taking 5 points from Slytherin for that comment,” Severus told the boy, taking his own seat at his desk as he settled himself for the lesson. A permanent smile graced his face as he taught his classes throughout the day. Word spreading quickly that the Potions master and the most beloved professor were going on a date later that day. Bets pertaining to when the pair were getting married started even though they hadn’t even had their first date.

The students may not have enjoyed Severus Snape as a professor but they knew that Professor Y/L/N was the best partner for him. They wished nothing but the best for the pair.

Taglist

@bigsimperika

[catiuskaa]

the poem about home.

sum: redamancy: (n.) the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.

wc: 1.1k

[☆★ 🌌 ★☆]

there’s a silence that falls down the room, even if it’s not as fast as your tears. it’s impendent gloom had threatened to carve a hole in your chest for days, the weight of it looming over you like a curse you couldn’t get rid off, a lump in your throat that dried off your mouth and tightened your chest.

and ultimately, it had fallen.

you were welcomed by his shoes in front of the door, a view that while it made you cheerful inside, excited to see him again, made the aforementioned feeling seep in deeper, simmering with worry.

he was not supposed to be there.

why would he be there, when you both had agreeded that this, that it couldn’t work and that the best choice was leaving something that hadn’t started?

it’s a memory that you cannot run away from, because ever since then there it was, casting its grey over you because you had accepted said fate and that if that was what he wanted you were okay with his choice thinking you couldn’t miss him if you hadn’t already kissed him.

what a lie.

you throw your umbrella to the floor and you kick your shoes off, and it feels like the fastest you’ve done so in ages, not bothering for a second about the wood that could get stained or scratched or how you’ll probably regret merely throwing your jacket off.

you scan the whole appartment, and ultimately, to your confusion, he’s nowhere to be seen.

those are his shoes. you know it. you’ve seen them in front of your door for months as you walked in, welcoming you with a familiar feeling almost as warm as his embrace.

you can’t help but bring your hands to your face. worry. desperation. confusion. there’s no order in your mind as your feelings rain on you, forgetting about whether how good had they been locked up and bottled in the back of your head.

that’s how you break, tearing up once more. but before you give yourself time to sob, there’s a soft knock on your door.

you approach it softly, scared that maybe there’s a chance you’d wake up. you don’t want to, because the last time you’d seen him had also been a dream and maybe having a nightmare is also worth it if it could mean you’d see him again.

so you open the door. unprepared, afraid, a shivering mess.

your eyes widen when he hugs you as soon as the door is away.

“hannie.” you whisper, your arms not able to follow orders just yet, your body freezing against his warm embrace.

He just hugs you tightly, like a sailor tying his boat to a piece of land, so it can’t float away and leave him astray, to keep him safe and sound, a rocking home that he can return to. a lighthouse. a safe space.

“instead of apologizing, i’ll say i love you.”

his voice is low. broken. a murmur that travels through the air, sounding terrified at the thought that its waves could be interpreted, heard and understood. a whisper to let out what seems to be the same feeling, haunting him just as much as it had been to you.

because no one could have prepared you for what missing something you’ve never had felt like. no matter the fights, the ups, the downs and the inifinite amount of in-betweens. no matter what anyone else said except the both of you, because, because, and because, because you love him, because he loves you, and there could be nothing wrong with that, because how could it, when it’s love?

and maybe you’ve been mad, terribly worried, kept in the dark for so long, away from his thoughts, his dreaded dark piece of mind hidden and rotting inside him inside a chest with no lock for you to find the key.

“thank you for worrying about me. i love you.”

the tears that had been holding on to a red thread could only last for so long, the tears falling down your cheeks and the red thread finding its place on your fingers. it is only then when you hug him back, an embrace tighter than the ones in airports and hospitals, in funerals and memorials, and even birthdays and weddings. a hug full of words you couldn’t say because they hadn’t been created yet, despite how you knew it in your heart. even if love creats poets there may not be words enough to develop sonets about or beloveds.

so you cry and hug him tighter, because there’s nothing else you can do.

“thank you. i love you.”

you don’t have it in you to say anything. you wouldn’t know what to say. and his voice is weak. powerless. you don’t know what happened and maybe you never will, but the source would never mind if its outcome was this, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind, and there’s no clue to what you’ve done or could do.

so you shake your head no and hug him tighter.

“i love you so much.”

his arms threaten to fall to your sides due to how he disarms himself, falling unexposed, falling, falling and falling and letting himself fall because in the end it doesn’t even matter if it’s your arms he can land on.

so he hugs you tighter, the sheer force almost making the both of you end up on the floor. his voice isn’t shattering, nor is it quivering. it’s low, as if it’s set on night mode, a gentle, monotone, deep hum filled with air.

“i love you inmensely.”

and he does. his tone doesn’t matter, nor does the setting, the time or the circumstances because the only truth is that same conclusion.

“i love you endlessly.”

he needs to continue. he’s started, and he can’t stop now.

“i love you completely. I love you so much. I really love you. I love you the most. I love you the most in the whole world. I’m completely and madly in love with you.”

there are no dramatic pauses in between his statements because he doesn’t need them. your love fills him, the tightness of your embrace not crumbling, your eyes failing to look at him through your tears, so your sobbing dims to at least be able to hear him.

in one way or another, love turns us poets. maybe it’s the goodbye that scares us, so that’s why we leave it to airports, hospitals, memorials and funerals. maybe it’s because we’re scared that love is leaving us. maybe it’s because it could never return, leaving us away from what once tasted so sweet, and punishes us for letting it go once them presumptuosly attempt it one more time.

so you hug him tighter, because you love him too, even if in that moment you find no ways to put it into words.

because just for a moment icarus touched the sun, and here you are, basking on his warmth, your sun, your moon and your stars. hugging him tighter and tighter just in case you do end up waking up.

it takes love to be a poet, and so you love, love and love, like a ship with its anchor, carrying your love for him everywhere you go, giving the ship the world to love. you love him the same way a hearth loves fire, with enough passion to make it a home. like a candle in the light who falls in love with darkness, its monsters that creep surrounding it, drowning him. your little star. and you recognize those monsters, and you hug them too.

because you found a home in him, and you want him to find a home in you too.

[☆★ 🌌 ★☆]

~kats, who saw this reel in instagram and started absolutely dissolving her pillow in tears

[alpydk]

@littlelostmabari - Some Angst and comfort as requested. Hurt? I'm not so sure, but then my standards for hurt are very high.

1849 words - Enjoy ^^

Gale watched as she danced, her feet light on the shadow kissed sand, a smile he so rarely saw brightening up the campsite as if she were the flames of the fire itself. Sitting in the confines of his tent, his eyes had been drawn to her repeatedly as the evening had progressed, nerves building within him as he’d made his plans to tell her the truth.

Notes of the spells needed to conjure the stars for her lay dotted on parchment around his bedroll. Various poems had been scribbled and then crossed out, the idea of wooing her in such a way appearing too desperate even for him to bring them to light. All he wanted was to explain how he felt about her before the end came, an end that he knew was finally near.

The orb in his chest gave a gentle thrum as she spun, her dark hair whipping around her as if it were the Weave itself called into being. His eyes met hers briefly, and he hoped she wouldn’t see the pitiful yearning in his gaze, see the lovesick puppy that would apologise should his feelings somehow break free from his lips. Her fingers gently entwined with that of her dance partner, and he wished for a moment that he had found the courage to step up and court her in such a way.

But there were no dances for Gale, there never would be, no fingers delicately entwined with his, no Weave carried locks he could run his hands through. For him, there was only a cruel fate, a sentence that he rightly deserved. Love was not a consequence after what he had done.

Her eyes focussed on the man before her as they knelt, and Gale found he could no longer watch the spectacle taking place. It was one thing to see her dance, to imagine standing in his tower of Waterdeep, her body clutched tightly to his as they swayed with a quiet melody from the piano; it was another to see her give herself to someone he considered a friend, to imagine her wine-tinged lips upon his own. In the darkness of his tent, he bowed his head, a deep ache in his chest emerging, one that he was unsure was the orb or heartbreak.

---

Morning arrived, but the Shadowlands had no sunrise to greet them, not that Gale would have noticed as dark clouds obscured his sight. To him, all was grey, shadows or not, and the feeling went far deeper within him than he wished. He struggled to find the words as Tav made her daily rounds, checking that everyone was ready for the battles ahead. On some minute level, he’d thought he'd stood a chance, that maybe in some realm she would have chosen him. Now, though, all he felt was embarrassment that he could have possibly been so naïve and stupid as to think such a thing.

“Toril to Gale.”

Her voice drew him from his thoughts, soft with the lilt of the northern accent he wished he could spend the rest of his days listening to and memorising. “Ah… Tav, my dear. Apologies, it appears you’ve caught me at a rather inopportune moment. Just shaking off some sleep.”

She smiled at him as she always did, her eyes warm and comforting, her hair hanging loosely over her soft cheeks. “Get something warm in you, you’ll be right as rain before you know it.”

It took all his power not to reach out and brush her hair aside, to feel her skin beneath his fingertips as he’d been dreaming of for so many nights, to just touch her.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay today? You seem a little distant?”

“My dear…” To say my love would have been so easy, a quick slip of the tongue as his eyes fell on her longed-for lips. “…Truly, I am quite alright. In but a short while, I will be back to my regular long-winded philosophies of the Weave, and you will yearn for the distance once again.” The distance would certainly make things easier, he felt.

The day passed in a whirlwind of battles, shadows, and death, and as they made camp at Moonrise Tower, Gale secluded himself under the covers of his tent once again. He’d barely spoken as the day had progressed, too lost in contemplation and waning self esteem to be fully present in all that was going on. Tav had subtly checked on him, and he’d responded as he always did by offering her any assistance, but his heart had remained closed to her, as cracked and worthless as it always was.

Summoning a long dreamt for valley, forests and crisp grass, enchanted stars around him, he accepted what was soon to happen. He could feel it deep down, as if Mystra were whispering to him once again, calling out to him to tell him it was time. The twinkling stars reminded him of home, of nights of Simril where he had searched for his own star, and he wondered if he would join them in the days to come. He hoped he would. The night was fantasised in the image he wished his afterlife to be like: the most beautiful of fantasies.

The crunch of grass behind him almost made the illusion falter, his eyes focussing on the swirling aurora above him. He knew who was approaching. He’d listened to their footsteps so many times before at night when he’d been unable to sleep, his nerves burning and sweat beading on his brow, and too many nights those footsteps had resulted in her at his side with a magic artefact or simply a comforting embrace.

Tav sat down beside him, close as always, as if physical contact were something she could not go without for too long. Placing her head on his shoulder, she sighed. “So… Are you going to talk to me or are we going to keep doing this little dance?”

“Well, you are quite the dab at dancing.” Gale’s words were curter that he’d wished, a slither of hurt emerging against his will.

“Ah… That’s what this is about.”

She lifted her head, shuffling away from him ever so slightly, and Gale couldn’t help but feel the icy chill that now passed over his body. He wanted to correct her, inform her that what happened amongst their party was none of his business, but the words would not come to him.

“Gale… Me and Wyll…” Tav wanted to find a way explain it all, but it was proving difficult. “It’s complicated.”

“Matters of the heart normally are, but surely you must know.”

“You’re putting me on the spot as to whether, after a few short months, I wish to be with him, love him even?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” The answer was needed if he were to go through with his actions come their battle tomorrow. To leave with doubts, even the smallest chance of her love; he couldn’t do it.

Shaking her head, Tav rose to her feet. “I’m not discussing this, Gale.”

Her tone suggested she was annoyed, and he could not figure out why. He had merely wished for clarification, to know for sure where he stood. “You would leave without answering such a question? If it is my feelings you hope to spare, worry not, for come tomorrow the pain will be but a glimmer in the night sky.”

She scoffed at his words. “Of all the things you could say… Do you not realise how much your words can hurt sometimes?”

Everything was happening so quickly. How had he messed this all up so fast? As she departed towards the treeline, he observed her lifting her hand to her face, as though trying to wipe away something. He hoped it was only hair. He couldn’t be the one to have made her cry, to have hurt Tav, whom he loved so deeply.

A broken whimper emerged from his lips as he stood and reached out to her. Fearful words spoken that on so many pained nights he had not needed to say, as she had wrapped a caring arm around him. “Please, Tav. Don’t leave me. Not now.”

Halting in her tracks, she lowered her head, her shoulders tense in the situation she was struggling to remain calm in. “Give me one good reason to stay.”

Gale’s mind was awhirl with what to say, so many expressions of love to her and yet he knew doing so would potentially ruin everything between them. That she would reject him, leaving him willing to detonate the orb without question, or worse, accept him leaving him with something to live for. “I…” The words stuck in his throat, his hand lowering, the precipice he teetered upon calling out to him.

The rising sound of her voice broke with the emotions she tried to fight back, her hand again going to her face to hide how she felt. “Why Gale? Why should I stay?”

It was now or never. To leap from that precipice, to die with no regrets, knowing he had revealed his heart to her. “Because I love you!” He exclaimed desperately, his words stated so firmly, so without doubt. But with them came the creeping acceptance, the knowledge that it was all out in the open and could not be taken back. “I love you…” He repeated quietly, more unsure that he had chosen the right path.

“It was only a dance…”

He didn’t quite understand what she had uttered until she turned around and he saw the tear-streaked cheeks and wisps of dark hair that covered her face.

“Me and Wyll simply danced. He may have fallen for me, but my heart was long ago given to another.”

Gale dared not hope that the other was him. It couldn’t be, not with who he was, not the man with the sword hanging above his head threatening to drop at any moment. As she stepped towards him, his heartbeat quickened. It couldn’t be him, shouldn’t be him, he who would be hurting her again so soon. He averted his gaze in the hopes she would vanish. That this would all have just been some cruel dream, an illusion of what-ifs as the power of the orb overtook him and his body became stardust in the night sky.

A warm palm cupped his cheek, one that he leant into without hesitation. Tav lifted his head ever so slightly, bringing him into her view, and with a tearful smile, she kissed him gently. “I love you, Gale. You, and only you,” she whispered, her lips staying brushed upon his, their warm breath merging between them.

There was no want or need to rush ahead from either of them, no desperation or fiery passion. There was only the comfort as they had found one another, their bodies held together under conjured stars, a dance of hands through weave carried locks, and the distant quiet melody of a piano playing just for them.

[poem-i-wish-i-wrote]

His like a poem I wish I wrote

pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader Author's note: Hey, this is my first time writing fanfics on tumblr. I haven't wrote a fanfic in years. It's not great. But I'll get there. Also forgive my mistakes, English isn't my first language. Summery: The poem you want to write just walked in through the door and wants to make conversation

It wasn’t that early in the morning. Around 8:30. It was raining outside. The window foggy, the rain strumming on the street with a steady pattern. You take in the steam of your coffee. It smelled like just what you needed. A cartado, your preferred first caffeinated drink for the day. The coffee shop wasn’t that busy. Only a few people were around. 

You try to take in everything around you. It all seemed so perfect this morning. A new city, an unknown place, an exceptional cup of coffee, the sound of rain, the humid weather, what more could you ask for? Staring at the blank screen in front of you, you could think of a few things you could wish for.

You woke up this morning to the sound of the rain and you wanted to go for a walk. You also felt ideas running around your head. It’s been a while since you last wrote something. You really desperately wanted to write something today. 

You’ve been sitting here for a while. Your head was running around coming up with half a line, messy rhymes, phrases that didn’t have much of a meaning. Nothing came together. You shift your eyes from the screen to the window again with an exasperated sigh.

That’s when you heard the jingle of the bell on top of the cafe’s door as someone walked in. A man wearing  a white hoodie, black jeans walked in, hood on his head to shield him from the drizzle outside. He walked to the door and took down his hood, a hand ruffling his hair to brush off the water droplets.

You sip your coffee as you watch the boy order. He was unbelievably beautiful with white sleeves pulled up to his veiny forearm, messy chestnut blonde hair ( or at least that's what it looks like from where you were) sharp jaw and those beautiful eyes. The boy finished ordering and gave the barista a smile before turning around looking for a seat. And of course he caught you staring. You quickly darted away your eyes in embarrassment and you didn't notice his amused smile. He walks over and seats at the table right in front of yours facing towards you. You notice that but don’t look up at him from embarrassment. You sip your coffee and keep looking at your blank screen. 

Eventually you do take a glance and his on his phone. You are getting a little irritated. There’s this blank screen in front of you with not a thought in your head to write down, and then there’s this boy in front of the screen in a distance that looks like poetry. Oh no, he's looking at you now. Your eyes meet and he gives you this soft small smile that makes you want to melt in your seat. You smile back as the waiter approaches with his drink. You try to find a place to avert your gaze or look for something to do. Suddenly you don’t remember how to act normal. 

The boy looks at his drink then back at the beautiful girl sitting at the table in front of him with rain soaked hair, sipping her coffee so gracefully. She’s looking out the window at the rain with her chin resting on her hand and he kind of wishes she was looking at him like that.  He picks up his cup and walks to her. 

“Is this seat open?” You look up to see the boy standing right infront of you. Unsure of what’s happening you just nod. 

“Would you mind some company?” “Not at all” 

He pulls the wooden chair and sits down. “I’m Oscar”

You introduce yourself too saying it was nice to meet him.

“I saw you looking at the rain with great concentration. Do you like the rain?” “Yeah, it’s my favourite type of weather.” You smile. It was, but that was not the reason why you were looking at rain drops on the street. It was so you could stop yourself from looking at him.

“You looked very interesting, in this quiet cafe with a nice book in front of you while looking at the rain. Thought I’d introduce myself and get to know you a bit.” He says pointing at the book in front of you with his eyes, the cover green and blue with the words “Normal people” printed on it in white font.

You blush slightly. “So Oscar ,what do you do?” you ask, sitting up a little straight, signaling that you’d like to know him too. He smiles before saying he's a formula one driver. 

“Oh. You're here for the race then, that’s supposed to happen this weekend?” “Yeah. Do you follow motorsports?” he asked, sipping on his coffee, an americano you noticed. “Not really a sports girl.” You shrug. “ What do you do?” “I’m a writer.” 

You see his eyes perk up at that. “Oh that’s very interesting. Any books of yours I might have read?” . “I don’t know, are you a big reader?” You reply with a smile.

“I do read but really not much.” He replies honestly. “You chuckle a little, “even if you did, I don’t think you would’ve read mine.”

“Are you a local here?” he asks, leaning back in his chair looking at you with undivided attention, it almost made you feel a little dizzy. “No, I’m here for a literary festival for my recent book.”

  You two chat for a while. He orders you both another round of drinks. You get to know him from Australia and this is his home race, which makes it a big deal. He explains how the races work when you ask him, and you listen attentively. So does he when he asks you to tell him about your book. 

“It was wonderful to meet you, but unfortunately I have to go to work now.” He says after he takes the last sip of his second coffee. “But maybe I can see you around again? I’m here for a few days.”  He asks, almost shyly. You smile. “I’d love to.”

You exchange numbers and he gets up to leave with the same warm smile.

You look back at the empty white screen of your laptop before turning it off. Because the only poem you would love to write just walked out the door.

A/N: hope you enjoyed it. Requests are open.

[klausysworld]

Are request still open and if they are can you make a Klaus Mikaelson one shot the girl is Tyler Lockwood sister and she hates Klaus so she rejects him as her mate but at the end she accepts him so like fluff at the end

What are you doing to me?

Finding out your mated to the all powerful original hybrid who ruined your brothers like and forced him to become half vampire while also terrorising your childhood friends and what not isn’t exactly at the top of my bucket list.

Him being a willing participant when it came to the whole ‘soulmate’ arrangement was also not meant to be in the cards.

When I realised we were mates I was 99% sure he would immediately reject me as a mate. As strong as a soulmate makes you, it will also always be your greatest weakness. I would be able to kill him far easier than anyone else and I was certain he would want to kill me first.

So him leaving me expensive gifts was…unexpected to say the least.

Detailed drawings of wolves and the full moon in the sky with a poem hand written on the back had my heart fluttering in ways that I should not have enjoyed.

But he had destroyed my brothers and the people I consider my family’s lives.

And so, despite the utter agony I was inflicting on both him and myself, I rejected him as my mate.

It’s a rare thing for wolves to reject their one, the side affects are awful in a way to force your mind into reconsidering.

The crippling pain was emotionally tormenting and physically exhausting. After the initial rejection I was barely able to leave my bed, eat, drink, I barely spoke a word and each time I fell asleep I was haunted by a similar image of Klaus.

Damon had messaged me letting me know Klaus had been out of sight for nearly 3 weeks after.

The pain lingered, never truly gone but it had dimmed. Though a sharp pain would shoot through me when he was too close, when the bond knew I was purposely ignoring him, and i could always see him wince at the same time.

The few times I didn’t shove him away, well I felt much better. He brought peace to my wolfs inner battle between soulmate and family because in reality I knew that he was both. I was just too afraid to admit it fully.

Though I couldn’t help but occasionally step a tad bit closer to him, to feel the warm buzz that ran through my bloodstream.

He was a lot less subtle though.

Often, as soon as his wolf sensed mine approaching he was all over me. Hands would be rubbing up and down my arms, his lips on my neck in a desperate instinctual need to mark me. And what was worse was that my wolf was all the more compliant and for a few wonderful seconds I could indulge in the blissful sensations. My head back, hands firmly gripping his henley and moans leaving my lips, my wolf having the desire to present myself in a truly embarrassing fashion.

Though he would always push it a tad too far, a grope to my ass, his canines about to pierce my skin, and I would be pushing him away. My wolf panting as I nearly tripped over my own two feet to get away from him while ignoring the intense feeling of my heart being squeezed unpleasantly.

I always managed to just scrape past him.

Suffering alone in my room again at the recurring torture of rejecting a mate.

His continued flow of presents didn’t help either, only made me feel worse seeing effort put into paintings of me and my wolf. He hadn’t turned into a hybrid, not yet at least, he probably knew that would be my last straw and id maim him.

But I knew he had followed my wolf on the full moons, I always woke with brand new clothes beside me, lead on a cotton blanket with a pillow under head and the snapping of twigs in the distance as he walked away.

And even though I should have said absolutely not when he personally delivered an invitation to his family’s ball, with those stupid puppy dog eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to.

“Please love, just one dance and if you don’t like it…then I’ll leave you be and accept your decision” as soon as the words left his mouth, both our souls twisted in agony making my teeth grind.

“Fine, just one” I whispered and he nodded, pulling me into a quick hug to calm down both our pain. Which it did like water on a fire, entirely putting out the flames and leaving us calm and quiet.

And then the dress arrived at my door, with matching shoes and accessories and I realised I actually had to do this.

Walking into his house sent a chill down my spine, my body felt much warmer and my wolf was howling inside me.

A hand on my shoulder had me whimpering softly making an arm wrap around my waist and pull me aside to another room.

“Shh love, we don’t want the rest of the guests hearing such lovely sounds” klaus murmured into my ear and I pressed against him, a small moan leaving my lips.

“This is too much for you isn’t it my love?” He whispered, his hand tilting my head making me look up at him.

The entire house smelt like him, I had seen parts of it in the dreams of him when he was suffering from my rejection. Which now intensified my guilt, my emotions were running haywire. I was in his home; I was in the wolf’s den.

Without thinking my hands tugged at his blazer, pushing it down his arms before my fingers began to pull his shirt open

“Woah love, it’s alright” he muttered, his hands grabbed mine and before I could blink we were outside. The cold air cooled down my boiling skin as I panted and he stroked my hair away from my face

“There we go, it’s okay” he cooed, the back of his hand pressing against my forehead.

“I hate this stupid bond” I whispered, covering my face.

“I know love…we can have our dance another time, I’ll take you home” he uttered, his tone was sad and my heart ached again.

“Stop it” I whispered “please stop it”

“Stop what love? What’s wrong?”

“Make it stop fucking hurting! I rejected you weeks, months ago! Why does it still hurt!? What are you doing to me?” I whispered, tears filling my eyes and spilling over. I looked up at him to see him in a similar state though no tears had fallen from his eyes yet.

His hand moved to cup my face and I couldn’t help but lean into it.

“It will only stop hurting us when you truly reject me. Somewhere, inside you, you still haven’t truly given up on the idea. You either have to reject the bond once and for all or accept me” he explained softly

“I would’ve been able to reject you if you left me alone. You kept sending all those things and being so kind, you did this to me” I whimpered

“I wouldn’t have done that if I couldn’t feel your soul still reaching for mine” he uttered “I would never intentionally harm you”

I let out a quiet sob as my soul pleaded for his.

I leaned forward so my head could press against his chest, my eyes closing at the content feeling that rose in me. I could feel myself giving into the bond, our souls slowly binding together. His hand held the back of my head, I could hear his heart speeding up as mine mimicked it.

His other hand moved around my waist, pulling me to him. “Good girl” he whispered “you’ll feel so much better now” he reassured “I promise I’ll make it better now sweetheart”

He kissed my head softly, his hand rubbing my back “let the bond form my love” he encouraged.

I focused on the connection trying to relight the candle.

I could feel the second it happened, my knees growing too weak to stand making him chuckle quietly and wrap both arms around me. He lifted me so my face could be right infront of his, prompting me to lean forward and press our lips together.

Our souls entwined as we did so, endless amounts of passion poured into one act.

The silent appreciation that this was real and it was only just the beginning.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

First off, love your writing, IT MAKES ME FEEL THINGS😭😭 but…

Can we please get more of yandre emo boy Ashton I JUST READ IT AND IM DROOLING SCREAMING CRYING GIGGLING AMD KICKING MY FEET😭🧎‍♀️🤪🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

THANK YOU❤️❤️🤭🤭🤭

(If not that’s okay, ignore this bae🫶)

Yandere! Stereotypical! Emo and his beloved popular bitch

Ayo, thank you for the compliment! I'm glad my writings made you feel things (I don't know what though LMAO)

Actually, I'm not planning to follow up Ashton, but hey, at least it would break my writer's block (lol it's just laziness) so here ya go!

Sorry that it took days though 😔

FOR THIS ONE, I RECOMMEND READING THE FIC FIRST BEFORE THE DRABBLE (this one).

Read the yandere emo fic here!

💌Little Ashton was misunderstood a lot as a child. He never really liked the same things the other children liked, and he had this morbid curiosity with death and occult.

💌Of course, this undoubtedly scared his family, making him out to be some sort of psychopath.

💌This irked Ashton of course. He's just... That. He still loves his parents, and nothing would change that.

💌But the fact that they're so conservative that it's actually bringing Ashton down is what drove him over the edge to find a school far, far away from his family.

💌A small, quaint town, yet filled with teenagers. It was kind of a nightmare when Ashton found out, but he gritted his teeth and thought that maybe, with the current years, maybe they won't judge him. Maybe.

💌So, he indulged more in his Emo lifestyle. He religiously listened to green day, Panic! At the Disco, My Chemical Romance...

💌He even got into writing poems as a way to put out his feelings that he never got to tell other people.

💌 He's actually very sensitive with emotions and feelings. So technically, he should be a great friend candidate, right?

💌But once he got into the school year, that's when he knew, that his life would be living hell. Stereotypes left and right. Mean cheerleaders and jocks that ostracized his choice of clothing, snobby rich students that turn their noses on him just because he's not that rich, geeks and nerds that keeps getting in his way, thinking he's one of them.

💌"Fuck. Get me out of here. Nobody understands me."

💌He didn't realize himself, but he's also slowly being a stereotype. Always alone, writing poems, and being unnecessarily nihilistic.

💌Until of course, one day, you transfered. You, your pink rover, and your slutty little outfit.

💌God, just looking at you and your charming personality made Ashton hard fall for you.

💌He wants you. So bad.

💌So he dabbled back into the occults. He found an old book in an abandoned "witch's hut" that he went on a mad hunt for weeks. Apparently, the witch that lived there was a matchmaker witch, who gave love potions to those really desperate.

💌At first, Ashton didn't believe it. Especially that it involves sampaguita, a flower not native to his town. How did the witch even get the flowers?

💌But there he was, mixing and creating the potion under the moonlight and putting your hair and his in the pot. Creating a love potion that smelled like the sampaguitas he had to smuggle in.

💌He wrote you letters everyday, obsessing and hyper fixating on your allure and beauty. Confessing over and over again on paper that looks old and aged with writing that looks like it came from a fountain pen. With a spritz of the love potion, he would put it in your locker.

💌God, who knew that it would work?

💌Day by day, he watched you read the letters. At first, you were disgusted (much to his dismay) but slowly, you started to read the letters with a neutral face, then a smile, then with a squeal and then a desperate plea for him to come and fuck you already.

💌Maybe putting his... Semen on your love potion got you desperate for him carnally, rather than romantically.

💌But no fretting, he would just make you fall for him.

💌And as you moan and scream out his name as he pounds into your tight hole like the feral, fuck machine he is,

💌He was pleading to the moon to see his bleeding heart and bare soul to make you his.

💌And if the moon won't allow it,

💌Well, it's nothing more love potions won't do.

💌"my beloved, why don't you drink this sweet tea I made? Why is it pink and smells floral? It's a new tea from Japan. Sakura, from what I know. It's glowing? Nonsense, love. It's probably just the lighting."

💌"Now drink up, don't let a drop go to waste."