#Unrequited love kinda

[thewaitingluna]

There are a lot of things that hurt and, tonight breathing is one of them.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 126

In place of August Fourteenth, Promptapalooza 7/ Geralt knows he has a soulmate when he first hears a small voice ask him what his name is. He doesn't respond. He's not humoring destiny (that bitch) or fate (that cunt). He's not going to respond.

It's been a few years and occasionally the voice still speaks to him.

"Are you real?" "Do you hate maths too?" "I fell earlier and really hurt my knee. Today's been bad. what about your day?" "I had a nightmare last night, but thinking of you helped." "When we're grown ups one day and we get married, we'll have flowers at the wedding, right?" "Do you like music?"

And Geralt never answers. He won't link this innocent child to his wretched, wretched life. He won't link them to a murderer.

Another few years go by, and unfortunately the voice won't shut up.

"Still not talkin', huh? That's fine! I can fill the silence easy enough! Let me tell you alllll about my day!"

He's temped to use their connection to tell his soulmate to stop talking, but he doesn't want to expose himself.

…

And he doesn't want to hurt them.

But them telling him a long rambling story about their walk in the woods that day and how a squirrel scared them right in the middle of Geralt fighting a leshy wasn't exactly helpful.

A few more years pass, and the voice still speaks to him. It's gotten deeper, so Geralt suspects it's a boy. Almost a man, but not quite.

"Father yelled at me again. If you care. I hope whoever you are, you have a better home." "Are you dead? They didn't give me a dead soulmate, right?" "Why won't you talk to me?" "i don't think anybody likes me. Not even you. You never speak to me. I wish you did." "I'm thinking of leaving. If there was any time to speak up and tell me who you are or where you reside, it'd be now." "Please talk to me." "I dreamt of you again last night. I keep doing it, recently. Sometimes you're a woman. Sometimes you're a man. Sometimes I can't really tell. Sometimes you're sweet and shy, sometimes you're flirty and crass. Sometimes you have brown eyes. Sometimes they're green. Sometimes they're blue. I wish I knew."

They're yellow. Hideous and grotesque. Inhuman. The boy shouldn't wish to know them.

"I left. I finally did it. I left just last night. I swear, wherever you are, I'll find you."

Another few years pass, and the voice is still there, but it's much rarer to hear. Geralt feels relief knowing he's finally giving up on Geralt and will find himself a better life.

"I haven't been doing a good job of finding you. But you haven't really given me any hints. Do you not want me to find you? Do you really want me to stay away?"

And Geralt finally responds to the man, for the first time ever.

"Yes."

"IT'S YOU! You responded! You're real! You're actually real! I do have a soulmate! I knew it! I knew I wasn't unlovable! Where are you? I'll-"

And Geralt hears the exact moment his rambling thoughts come to an abrupt crashing halt, as he processes what Geralt agreed to.

"Oh."

And that's the last message he gets from his soulmate's voice. It's what Geralt wanted all along. But after a solid year of hearing nothing from him, Geralt will admit he misses him. He misses the chatter.

It's the beginning of the very next year that he meets the bard Jaskier, who stubbornly fights tooth and nail to incorporate himself into Geralt's life.

He fills the silence left by Geralt's soulmate. It's nice to have prattle back. He doesn't tell Jaskier that, of course. Jaskier is young and foolhardy and jumps from bed to bed, but soon enough, he'll want to settle down with his own soulmate and he'll leave Geralt. Geralt isn't looking forward to the silence returning, but he likes Jaskier. He'd go through any silence for him.

It's Jaskier's fifth year traveling with Geralt. They sit across from each other around a campfire as Geralt roasts some pheasants and and Jaskier stares despondently at the notebook he's not writing in.

And then Geralt hears him. His soulmate's voice in his thoughts again.

"I've fallen in love."

And Geralt is happy for his soulmate. Because - Geralt glances at Jaskier for a moment and smiles to himself - He has too.

"I don't know if you hate me. Or if you're dead. Or if you've found someone else, but whatever it is, I hope you can be happy for me. I love him. I really, truly do. I love Geralt with everything in me."

And Geralt jolts and whips his head to look over at the bard.

"Jaskier?" He sends through the connection, and watches as his bard's eyes grow wide with shock.

"…You love me?"

[yume-fanfare]

gentle rejection

[watchoutforthefanfics]

Ticking Love Bomb (Part One) || Eleventh Doctor × gn!Reader

Part 1...

Summary: Your adventure with the Doctor and the Ponds takes a harsh turn when it seems you're targeted with a potion. A love potion, specifically the type where you fall in love with whoever's eyes you met first after "drinking" it. But what if you're already in love with him?

TWS: aliens, space, references of guns, smoke, unrequited love (but not really), self sacrificial attitudes, and purely oblivious people. Also, just a touch of angst (typical of a love confession).

A/N: This is a lil angsty so be ready!!! Enjoy :)

The room was filling with a sort of pink gas, at least it looked pink. Maybe like a salmon color?

The walls were bland, white and tall, and the lights were fluorescent. If you didn't know any better, you would've assumed you were in a hospital of some kind.

"Uh, Doctor… What-" you spoke watching as the gas pooled in around your feet, "What is that?"

He paused, taking a few sniffs, and mumbling to himself before answering, "A potion. They must-"

He stopped, eyebrows drawn in confusion, "Well, they must not know who I am, this won't work on Gallifreyans. It's kind of like that one poison that just makes us sleep for a few centuries but could turn a human to dust-"

"Doctor," you interrupted, hand placed on his shoulder to shake him out of his mind, "-as much as I love a bit of rambling, now's really not the time."

"Right," he corrected, straightening up and glancing around the room (for an escape you assumed), "-I don't see-"

"Hello, my doves," a voice boomed through the room, bouncing off the terribly empty walls, "-having fun yet, are we?"

It was prim and proper, a thick accent in a tone you recognized as 'all-knowing'. She seemed to be readily in control of the situation, and the Doctor… didn't seem to have a clue.

"What is it? What is she filtering in here?"

"Well," he answered, peering at the gas which was now at mid-calf, "-I'm not entirely sure. My best guess is it's a mix of potions, hastily made based on the composition. There's no real proper composure to it, an amateur is the most suspect. Or maybe someone who just wants results?"

"Doctor," you groaned, your fingers starting to swirl the pink around you, "-what is it and how will it affect me?"

"Human, right," he blinked, looking at you solidly for a moment, before turning down to his sonic, watching it buzz, "-I'll see what components are in it and that should-"

He stopped mid-sentence, body frozen and eyebrows furrowed even more, and… was he- was he blushing?

"You must understand now?" The voice continued, tone light with amusement, "The potion was never for you, Doctor; it really was to tear you away from your sidekick. I know how terribly fond you are of them in particular, and thought… this may be the perfect leverage opportunity."

"Doctor, what are they talking about?"

He didn't answer you, just set his eyes on what appeared to be a camera in the corner, "What do you want from me?"

You blinked, ready to argue with the Doctor about just… giving in (the Universe was far more important than you), but something else caught your attention.

It was the smell, god, it smelt just like roses in here. So fresh and beautiful, you could almost smell the morning dew on the thorns. It was so… wonderful.

"Y/N?" he spoke, you knew that voice, you really did, but it just smelt so nice in here. You couldn't help but picture the velvety petals beneath your fingertips, the grass underneath your shoes, the rays of sun on your face.

In an instant, your eyes fluttered shut -finding comfort in the warmth. It was like a warm sunny day on the beach, so nice to just… absorb.

"Y/N, darling-" the voice continued, "-can you hear me?"

And just like that, your brain was doused in, what felt like, a cold bucket of water -the rosy pink glow in your head faded, leaving a bit of paranoia in its wake.

"Alright, Y/N," he explained, calmly, "-listen to me carefully, don't-"

Before he could even finish, your eyes flew open, eyes landing on his green ones -searching for some solace. It was almost an instinct, hearing his voice, you just had to search for him.

"Y/N, wait-" He sputtered, eyes connecting with yours, "-why do you never listen to me? You weren't supposed to-"

He paused, staring at you for a moment (almost analyzing you), you blinked.

"Y/N, are you… are you feeling anything?"

"I, uh," you paused rubbing at your eyes for a second and just having a little check in, "-I don't feel anything different, why? Am I supposed to?"

"Well," he looked at you in wonder, and did that thing where he scrambled for a moment, "-yes."

"What?" The voice boomed again, disbelief coating her tone, "You… Why didn't it work? Doctor, what have you done?"

"I didn't-"

You interrupted, confused, "Wait, what's supposed to be happening to me right now?"

The voice answered, a bit more polite than an assumed antagonist should, "You are supposed to fall in love with whomever you see, it's perfectly disposed in the human genes, I don't-"

You blinked, oh.

"Well, I don't-" you inhaled, trying to calm your internal storm at the fact that the Doctor was looking at you like he just knew, but he couldn't have (could he?), "I feel normal, so…"

"Well, then," she spoke, tone a bit surprised but seemingly knowing, "-let's just hope we don't have any after effects, shall we?"

"What do you-"

The Doctor interrupted, voice stern, "Your potion just didn't work, there are no after effects."

"We shall see, Doctor, we shall see."

And with that… ominous answer, there was a click on the large gray door that had sealed them off before, an unlocking -assumedly.

In an instant, the Doctor grabbed your hand, and pulled you out of the room -where the fumes still lingered. You could smell the hint of roses in the air, and your head started to hurt a little bit from the memory of how strong it once was.

"Hey uh, Doctor?" You asked, slowly following a step behind him through the cavernous hallways, "What did they-"

"Shush," he spun around to you, and without hesitation, put his fingers to your neck (checking a pulse?), "-okay, good. A little fast but, alright so far.

Your face was burning hot and you could barely breathe. Your skin tingling where his fingers once were.

"Doctor, can you please explain what's going on? You act like I'm a ticking time bomb-"

He flinched.

"Wait, am I-" you exhaled shakily, pulling your hand out of his, "-am I on a timer? I can't hurt you, I really can't-"

"Y/N," he spoke, voice soft -a kind of gentle whisper-, "-calm down, okay?"

"I'm not-" you huffed, voice shaking ever-so-slightly, "I can't until you tell me what's going on!"

He exhaled, a deep sigh through his body, and you knew that look in his eyes well, an old man who'd seen worlds crash and burn.

"A lot of people have this idea that putting 2 similar things alike can make a better thing," he began, "-objectively, anyway. Scientifically through, that doesn't work, things clash and spark and burst. Like putting two ends of a magnet close to each other, they repel."

“And, that means?” you asked, tone questioning.

"The person who did this to you, tried to make a, objectively, better potion that was compiled of the same things that 2 other potions had," he continued, hand still locked with yours as you roamed down the hall, "This, being done haphazardly didn't really work."

“So, what, Doctor? What’s-”

“Your-” he started, eyes falling in a huff, “-Your heart is a ticking time bomb.”

[miryum]

Trust (Mattheo Riddle x Reader) Southern Regency AU

Warnings: Reader is a bit of a brat/empty-minded at first but it gets so much better, 10-ish age difference, Reader is in love with Harry Potter at first (or thinks she is), set in the South (of the US), inspired by Gone With the Wind

Y/n L/n was the belle of the South. She had the Weasley twins running after her every weekend and at the weekly balls, their older brother, Charlie, had to have the first dance with her. Her father had rejected numerous suitors, but that didn’t mean they stopped trying. The Diggory family had made a large offer, but their estate was too small for the L/n family.

The L/n’s consisted of the patriarch, William, and the matriarch, Peggy. While William ran the fields, Peggy ran his heart and household. Their oldest was their pride and joy, Y/n, followed by Odessa. Odessa hated being in her sister’s shadow. It meant her infatuation for George Weasley was seen as childish and unwanted. The L/n’s had one last daughter, Della, who was ten years younger than Y/n. Della was a sweetheart who trailed after her mother, following every step religiously.

The family had many acres of fields stretching around their mansion, as did everyone else in the county. Their fields were rich with grains that shipped out to the rest of the state. William had built up an empire that was now run smoothly by his wife. So, no, not a Weasley or Diggory was good enough for their daughter. She was much too young and had years ahead of her before she was considered an old spinster.

Many boys trailed after Y/n, begging for a chance to court her, and she was happy to flirt with them. The boys, after years of growing up around the same children their entire lives, soon learned how to gain Y/n’s attention. They had to catch her when her father was busy, otherwise she would turn into his perfect, sweet little girl who could do no wrong. If her sisters were around, the younger girls would try to steal the attention and Y/n would revert to her cool, unimpressed self that none of the boys could crack. However, if the girl was at a ball or they rode over to her house to catch her reading on the porch, that’s when she would flirt and touch their arm lightly with her coy smile.

But it was not the Weasley twins or the Diggory boy that Y/n wanted. It was Harry Potter. The boy was so oblivious, it was tantalising. He had a mature air around him that no other boy did. He would ride up to her house every Sunday on his majestic white horse, Hedwig, and speak to her like no one else did. He read her poems and took her riding and was just so pretty. He talked a lot about politics and the different families of the South, and that Y/n didn’t like, but he made it up with the little gifts he brought her. There was that lace fan he brought her after his Grand Tour and even some pressed flowers in a thick book. She tried to read the book to show Harry that she cared, but it had such tiny print and was about boring law that she gave up after the first couple of paragraphs.

It was a cool June evening and the windows were open at the L/n villa. The soft breeze ruffled the curtains when the neighbour’s gossip finally reached the ladies in the house. A new engagement in the state! The four females sat at the dining table, William at the head, seemingly bored. Odessa asked excitedly who would be going to the engagement party, thinking of her dear George Weasley.

“It seems like everyone in the county,” Peggy commented, regurgitating what she had learned from the women in her cross-stitch group. “The Weasleys, the Longbottoms, the Malfoys.”

William scoffed and rattled off, “the Weasleys? Their entire brood? And the Longbottoms? They’re hardly in high society. Why invite them? And must we engage with the Malfoys? You know how they get, dear Peggy.”

“William,” Peggy reprimanded, clicking her tongue. “It’s Ginerva’s engagement. Do be kind.”

Y/n raised her head from her plate and asked, “Ginny’s getting married? The little one? To whom? Wasn’t that boy Dean Thomas pursuing her?”

“No, no,” Peggy waved her daughter off. “He was a nice young lad, but they never got along.” She took a bite of food as if she wasn’t about to deliver earth-shattering news to her unsuspecting daughter. “She’s getting married to Harry Potter.”

Y/n didn’t think she heard the rest of the conversation. Small Ginny Weasley, the girl with the choppy red hair and ugly dresses, was marrying her Harry? The Harry that had the most beautiful eyes and lovely lilting words and understanding conversations? Yes, their families were close and Harry was best friends with Ginny’s older brother, but he loved Y/n. She knew it. The way he lit up when he saw her and the way his smile slowly stretched over his lips until he was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. All of that was her Harry.

“Y/n?” Della asked from the other side of the table, always aware of her elder sister. “Are you alright?” But the girl couldn’t say anything. For if she did, then her whole family would know her secret. And then her mother would be embarrassed and aghast. Her father would think of her as yet still a child, brushing away her affection. Lousy Odessa would gossip to George Weasley and his twin, wanting to win over their favour, and the twins would surely tell their engaged sister. Della wouldn’t understand, the poor girl just an infant in Y/n’s eyes.

“Yes, yes, I’m alright,” Y/n muttered. “Father, I’m feeling a bit faint. I think something with the salad didn’t sit right with me. I’m to lie down.”

William muttered permission, waving his daughter away. Y/n tried not to run to her room, for fear it would give her emotions away. But the moment her door was locked safely behind her, she fell onto her bed, sobbing. How could Harry do this to her?

Oh, what was her life coming to?

Y/n had a plan. If only she could get Harry alone at his engagement party and confess her true feelings, he would see they were meant to be together. The problem was that Ginny stuck to his side like annoying glue. It seemed as if the two were off in their own little world, gazing into each other's eyes. Well, Y/n huffed to herself, two can play that game. That’s how she found herself surrounded by beaus from all over the county.

Cedric Diggory sat on the bench next to her and the Weasley twins sat at her feet on the grass. Fred Weasley went even farther and laid his head on her skirts dramatically whenever he wanted her attention. Neville Longbottom stood beside them all, looking nervously back at his Gran, who was determined to get her grandson connected to the L/n’s. Even Dean Thomas, still getting over his loss of Ginny Weasley, was there, trying to talk to an anxious Neville.

Batting her eyes and fanning herself playfully under the pretence of the hot sun, Y/n walked the line of flirtatious and bashful perfectly. She could feel the glares of all the other girls at the party, but she ignored them. She was talking to George Weasley when she spotted another boy to catch in her web. “Oh, Georgie, the Malfoy’s are here,” she commented smoothly.

This caught the rest of the suitor’s attention. “Oh, joy,” Fred said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Come, Y/n, let me whisk you heroically away before that greased boy tries to woo you.”

“You mean Draco?” Y/n laughed melodically, which made Neville blush deeply. “Oh, he’s no harm. A bit rude and uppity, but just a boy when it all comes down to it.”

“Yes, but a boy,” Fred confirmed. “You, love, need a man.” At that, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

Y/n opened her fan and hid her face behind it teasingly. “Oh, Mr. Fred, you charmer,” she chastised.

“Oh, my,” Cedric breathed out, which made Y/n’s attention turn from Fred, who pouted, to the Diggory boy. Did the Malfoy’s bring a girl that captured Cedric’s eye? Oh, that would be horrid for her plan. But, no. Following Cedric’s stare, Y/n saw another man emerge with Mr. Lucious Malfoy.

“Who is that?” she asked without thinking, placing a hand on Cedric’s arm.

“What on earth is he doing here?” Dean Thomas demanded, back stiffening and hands clasping behind his back. His voice was just loud enough for Y/n and her suitors to hear. But he didn’t answer her question.

Y/n huffed slightly and turned to Neville. He would always be at her beck and call. “Neville, who is that man?” she asked again, tone firm.

Neville tore his eyes away from the mysterious man and stuttered, “uh, well, Miss Y/n, that’s Mattheo Riddle.” He slowly sat down next to her, as if testing the waters.

“Mattheo Riddle?” Y/n repeated, the name feeling heavy on her tongue. “Why, I’ve never heard of him.”

“Then your father did a good job,” Fred glowered. It seemed as if he wasn’t the only one shooting dirty looks at the new man.

Dean Thomas agreed, “yes, no respectable lady should have heard of him. An absolute abomination of a gentleman.”

Y/n’s eyes widen in the presence of new gossip and scandal, something all ladies of the county grasped for. None were above whispering to their friends behind their hands whenever they heard something enticing. “Whatever did he do?” she asked desperately.

Cedric was the one to inform her that Mr. Mattheo Riddle was the infamous bastard child of Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange. That made him the nephew of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Allegedly, Mr. Riddle’s father had left him and his mother at a young age, only making visits when he felt it necessary to shape Mr. Riddle into a harsh young man. Mr. Riddle had left to join the military, but was dishonourably discharged when he shot and killed another man for speaking ill of his family and upbringing. He then followed in his father’s footsteps of backalley trading and illicit affairs. With his father and mother’s separate fortunes, along with the one he earned, he had amassed large wealth.

Y/n couldn’t help but watch Mattheo Riddle. Neville tried to hold a conversation with the girl, and she tried to entertain him, she really did, but the way Mr. Riddle held himself on the outskirts of the party captivated her. With a drink swirling in one hand and the other tucked smartly behind his back, he looked… perfunctorily debonair.

For a man a decade older than her, he was incredibly handsome. He was easily the best dressed man at the party, even better than Lucius Malfoy himself. And his hair was most unusual. Rather than the slicked back style that most young boys wore, his had more volume, showing his curls. Y/n could see his striking and calculative eyes from across the yard. They took one sweep around the party, yet glazed over her.

It took everything within Y/n not to march over to the newcomer and demand his attention. Why were his eyes not on her? But then Neville placed a concerned hand on her back and asked if she was okay. He really is a sweet boy, Y/n thought to herself. “Yes, I’m alright,” she assured him. “I just may go lie down with the rest of the ladies.”

“Oh! Of course!” Neville scrambled to his feet and helped her up. Fred Weasley let out a whine when his headrest disappeared, but understood how a delicate lady needed her rest.

“Thank you, Neville,” Y/n said sincerely. She patted his hand and whispered theatrically, “you know… you didn’t hear this from me, but I think Miss Luna Lovegood fancies you.” Neville turned a dark shade of red as Y/n made her way to the house.

But she wasn’t going to nap. With the rest of the girls also laying down, including Ginny, this was her chance to speak to Harry. She would confess her love and he would tell her he always reciprocated and then he would break off his engagement and perhaps Ginny would be sad, but Y/n’s parents couldn’t get mad once they saw how happy their daughter was.

Once inside, Y/n saw Harry bid a loving goodbye to Ginny, the latter who went upstairs to nap. Her future fiancé then turned around and noticed her. “Y/n,” he greeted with a grin. He leaned down to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. “How are you? You’ve been so busy all party, I didn’t have the chance to talk to you!” Ah, so he had seen her with her suitors. Pride filled her. This was going perfectly.

“Harry, could we talk in the library?” Y/n asked, smiling up at him, an intoxication of love filling her veins. Harry raised a curious brow, but agreed. He followed her into the library where he asked if everything was alright. “Yes, I’m fine,” she told him. “I only need to tell you something, Harry.”

“And what is that?” Harry replied with a grin, thinking it was all some lighthearted joke.

Y/n pressed a hand to her chest and looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. “Oh, Harry,” she began. “I must say something now before you go on with this whole affair! I mean, it is truly noble of you to sacrifice yourself for the poor girl, but I couldn’t let you go on with it! Especially when I know your feelings, Harry,” she said. The boy’s expression slowly changed to one of merriment to one of guarded concern. “I’m in love with you, Harry!” Y/n exclaimed, reaching forward to clasp his hands. “I have been all my life and I know you feel the same! So why marry Ginerva when you could marry me?”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment before he slowly retracted his hands from her gloved grip. “Y/n,” he said slowly. “I’m utterly flattered. But I’m marrying Ginny. I can’t… I can’t love you, you know that, yes?”

Confusion showed on Y/n’s face, but a small smile still managed to quirk up on her lips. “But you do, don’t you?” she asked. “Love me, I mean. I know you do, Harry.” After a moment of hesitance, she added, “right?”

“Dear,” Harry said, taking her hands in his and patting them reassuringly. “I’ve always been fond of you. You’re very witty and brave. But that’s not… that’s not who I need. I need Ginny,” he stated, looking uncomfortable. “You’re a lovely girl. Any man would be lucky to have you. But… I’m not that man for you.”

Y/n didn’t remember the rest of the conversation. She was sure Harry said some more nice things, all very awkwardly, and she remembered that he kissed her lightly on the cheek, but then she was left alone. She let herself fall onto a nearby settee, face flushed and hand on her stomach. She felt sick. But she also felt mad. Terribly mad. And yet, depressed. Too many emotions were swirling around her that she wasn’t herself when, with a yell, she picked up a vase and hurled it across the room. With a satisfying smash, it crackled and split onto the floor, just like her poor heart.

A low, amused chuckle filled the room and Y/n whirled around to see Mattheo Riddle sitting up on a couch. “What- who- what are you doing here?!” Y/n cried.

“Why, I was just taking a nap when I got disturbed by an unrequited declaration of love and a splintered vase. Whose is that anyways?” Mr. Riddle asked smoothly, shoulders still shaking from his laughter. “Whom will your father have to pay off?”

“Don’t you dare tell my father!” Y/n said, somewhere between desperate and demanding. “Oh, you sordid man! You have no right to listen in on a private conversation.”

“A rather amusing conversation,” Mr. Riddle chuckled, a wry smile stretching his lips. “I never thought you the type to lust after Mr. Potter.”

Y/n’s skirts swirled around her as she turned away from him in anger but then rounded on him again. “You don’t know a thing about me, sir! Why, I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“And yet by the way you court all those other men, them begging after you like dogs, gives me a glimpse into your character.” It was then that Mr. Riddle took her hand in the most gentle way possible and laid a kiss upon her knuckles. The girl stilled. “Mattheo Riddle, at your service only, dear.”

“My service only?” is what Y/n could think to reply, not even giving her name like a proper lady would.

Mattheo inclined his head in a coy manner. “Yes.”

After a beat, Y/n grumped, “is that all you’re going to say?”

“I have nothing else to say.” Mattheo shrugged. One of his brows raised innocently. But Y/n got the feeling he was anything but. “Other than to ask for your name,” he added.

“Miss Y/n L/n and you will address me as such,” Y/n declared. “None of that ‘dear’ sobriquet.”

“Well, Miss Y/n L/n,” Mattheo began. “You best be hurrying along. The other women will wake from their rest soon and you wouldn’t want to be caught in the library with me, a sordid man.” He repeated her words back, but mockery laced his tone.

Y/n’s face grew hot and she spluttered a bit, looking very flustered and angered. Mr. Riddle watched on in amusement. “And how do I know you’ll keep your mouth shut about what you heard?” she asked finally.

At that, Mattheo Riddle smirked. “You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.”

A week later was Harry and Ginny’s wedding. Y/n wore a deep blue dress, bordering on black. Yet she smiled and cheered along with the rest of the guests, even as her joy slipped away. She had half a mind to propose to Neville just to pull some attention onto her.

Mr. Mattheo Riddle was not there. Not that Y/n noticed.

She was sitting on the porch about three days later, pitying herself as she worked on her embroidery. She was trying to stitch a lovely sunrise, but she just couldn’t get a cloud right. She hardly heard the sounds of horse hooves clopping down the drive. “Miss Y/n L/n,” a gratingly familiar voice called out.

She sighed and her hands fell to her lap in exasperation. “I’m doing my embroidery!” she called back. “I don’t have time for eavesdropping men who dub me frustrating monikers.”

“You sure know plenty of synonyms for nicknames,” Mattheo commented, swinging his leg over his horse to dismount.

“Father keeps me well read.”

Mattheo bounded up the porch steps to reach her, but then realised that looked too childish, no matter how much he wanted to see her. He quickly composed himself. “And what is the lovely lady sewing?” he asked, settling into the rocking chair near her.

“I don’t recall inviting you up for a chat,” she said snarkily. After a moment where he just smirked at her, she replied, “and it’s a sunset. Or a sunrise. I’m not entirely sure yet. Whatever it is, it’s mightily frustrating.” She pricked her finger with the needle and exclaimed out.

Mr. Riddle’s brows furrowed and he took the cross-stitch away, not wanting her to get any more hurt. “Don’t you have a maid to stitch this for you?”

“Mother thinks every proper lady should know how to wield a needle and thread,” Y/n said, her back straightening. She then scowled. “Of course, Odessa has already perfected hers.”

It was then that the girl noticed Mr. Mattheo Riddle carefully stitching her embroidery, his nimble fingers tugging and looping the needle perfectly. Noticing her shocked face, Mattheo explained, “my grandmother taught me how. It was one of her favourite pastimes. I pricked myself many times — just like you. Of course, my father found it too feminine, but I just liked spending time with my grandmother. Perhaps that’s why my grandmother taught me her craft: so I could spare you some trouble and pain. I will gladly do so, darling.”

The air settled around them. Her father’s hounds were barking in the field and she could hear the servants singing from behind the house, doing laundry. She shifted in her seat. “What was her name?” Y/n asked cautiously, still not trusting this man.

“Merope,” Mattheo answered softly. “The poor thing had memory loss, you know. She couldn’t remember my name, much less what we had stitched last time I had visited. But she loved me. And so she taught me how to embroider over and over again.”

Y/n swallowed thickly. She could almost envision Mattheo as a child, climbing onto his grandma's lap to watch her sew out a work of art. Maybe they had sat on a rocking chair on a porch, just like she and Mattheo did now. She watched him finish the cloud she had been working on before handing her back the hoop. “Why are you here?” she wondered, staring down at the cloud, which was done much better than her own.

“To convince you that you can trust me.” And with that, he stood and kissed her forehead before straightening his suit and walking back to his horse. As he gripped the reins in his hands, he yelled back, “oh, and to inform you that I’ll be competing for your hand!”

She saw him next about two months later, at another county party. But this party was special. It was all for Y/n.

William L/n had gone all out for his eldest daughter. This was the day when all the formal suitors presented themselves. Yes, Fred and George Weasley had been courting her for years, but it would now be official. Not only were two of the Weasleys there, but Cedric Diggory, Oliver Wood, Ernie Macmillan, and Dean Thomas and his close friend, Seamus Finnigan. Neville Longbottom was now happily engaged to Luna Lovegood.

As much as Y/n put on a front, being surrounded by men, some of which were years older, was intimidating. She flirted and blushed and acted like a lady, but when Seamus Finnigan talked to Cedric Diggory about the growth of their family’s crops, talking around Y/n as Oliver Wood tried to entertain her with polo facts, she felt useless. Bored. Like a prop to be placed on someone’s arm.

That’s when Mattheo Riddle walked in. He stayed on the outskirts of the party for a long while, observing. He didn’t hide the fact that he was watching Y/n’s attention be snapped up by suitor after suitor. His eyes were already on hers whenever she glanced up to him. It was a dangerous game he was playing, but one he didn’t want to quit. Maybe this was what had drawn him to this little county in the countryside. Maybe Draco’s letter of invitation wasn’t all for naught. It couldn’t be, not when her eyes made him feel more alive than ever before. Mattheo Riddle made a promise to himself, then and there, as he watched the seven suitors surrounding Y/n. He would marry that girl.

Only a few minutes later did Ernie Macmillan chuckle in disbelief. “Is that Mattheo Riddle?” he asked. Y/n let the other men answer, for fear of sounding as if she had been gazing at the forbidden man. Which, if her father asked, she had not.

“Sir!” Seamus Finnigan called out from where he was lounging on the couch. His arm hung over the back of Y/n’s chair, something he found courage to do with the whiskey flowing through his veins. “Come join us, I beg you.”

Mattheo quirked a brow but strode over from where he was leaning against the wall. “Gentlemen,” he greeted smoothly. “How are you all this fine day?” He shook hands with each man. It was only then he allowed his eyes to settle on Y/n. “Ah, my dear Miss Y/n.” Her eyes watched the way his lip curved into a smile. “It’s lovely to see you here.” He took her hand in his and brushed her knuckles to his lips. It took all of Y/n’s restraint not to take in a shaky breath.

“Why, this is her party, after all,” Fred Weasley said, smirking. “Why wouldn’t she be here?”

“Mr. Weasley.” Mattheo turned to the man. “Perhaps if you had paid attention to my words, I never said I was surprised to see her, only delighted. And I can assure you, I am very delighted.” George Weasley snickered and clapped his twin on the shoulder. Fred just glared at the Riddle heir.

Mattheo sat down on the ottoman by Y/n’s feet, posture straight and perfect. An electrifying shiver ran down his spine as Y/n asked how he was. “Splendid,” he told her. “After all, I am in your presence. Darling, if any of these men told you they were less than splendid, I’ll offer to kick them to the street at your command.” The suitors chuckled at the joke, but Mattheo just held his future wife’s gaze. They both knew he meant every word.

Oliver Wood shook his head. “I still can’t believe I have the honour to meet the Mattheo Riddle. From all the rumours, I thought you were surely a ghost story.”

“I hate to disappoint,” came the easy reply.

“No, no disappointment here.” Oliver held up his hands. “Just surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Mattheo stared down the man. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Oliver stammered out, “well, because people see you as- as well, good sir, I needn’t offend, but-”

“Cruel?” Mattheo supplied. After the awkward glances were exchanged between the suitors, he continued, “Unwanted? Cynical, unfeeling, only out for himself and his riches? Well, I can’t say you’re wrong,” he said simply. “I’ve done unhonourable things and I’ve lived my life for my own gain. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. Or that I can’t love,” he finished, eyes on Y/n.

She shifted under his stare and opened her fan to hide her blush. “I may go lay down,” she whispered out. The seven men around her began to protest, but Mr. Riddle simply held his hand out for her to take. He helped her stand and then bid her farewell. He settled back onto the ottoman to which the other men glared at him.

“Why can’t you corrupt some other girl?” Ernie Macmillan grumbled into his whiskey glass that he took a long swallow of. The other suitors seemed to deflate as well, now calling for more alcohol, slouching in their seats, and using more vulgar language. It was only Mattheo Riddle that kept his posture, his little cup of whiskey, and preserved tone. But even he felt a flare of anger at Mr. Macmillan’s words. “Take another girl for your wife. But leave this one for the rest of us. Why do you suddenly have a claim over her?”

“Another girl, you say?” Mattheo repeated, voice low and protective. “Take another one for my wife and leave her for the rest of you? Is that what you think I want? To just take any girl as my wife? No,” he stated, plain and simple, “I want her and only her. And why do I have a sudden claim over her? I don’t. And do not mistake her for a girl, Macmillan. She is a fierce woman, one none of you boys could handle. But perhaps… Perhaps I have fallen in love with her. Against all reason and sanity,” he added in a mutter, taking a swig of whiskey.

“But it’s foolish!” Fred Weasley exclaimed as all other men were stunned to silence. “You- you’ve only met the girl – pardon, woman – once. More than two months ago. And serving my memory, you never even talked to the Miss.” Fred’s memory didn’t have all the facts, as Mr. Riddle had met Y/n twice and had talked to her on both occasions.

Mattheo shot back, “love often makes us do foolish things, does it not? And I’m willing to be a fool for her, if that’s what it takes.”

Cedric Diggory studied Mattheo for a moment before musing, “you’re an admirable man, Mr. Riddle. But you must know I, along with the rest of these men, will still fight for her hand. And we have an advantage: her father’s approval.”

“What does her father’s approval mean if you don’t have her heart?” Mattheo asked. “If she doesn’t love you, what good does it do?”

“Well, does she love you?” Seamus Finnigan implored, trying to turn the tables on the man.

At that, Mr. Riddle rested his weight on the palm of his hand, leaning back. Even though his face was collected, a brush of pain swept over his heart, knowing the answer was uncertain. “Does she love me?” he echoed, tone soft. “I hope so.” He knew when it was best to shut up, so he didn’t say what he really wanted to; she hasn’t said the words, but I see it in her eyes. I see the fire in her, the same fire that burns within me. “You may think it hopeless,” he observed, looking at the other men. “That it’s foolish, believing she could return my love. Call me a fool, then. But I know what I feel, and I won’t give up on her, no matter how hopeless it may seem.”

Y/n had made it a habit of sitting outside, in case Mattheo Riddle came riding by again. Her efforts weren’t in vain, for a couple days later, his horse trotted up.

The coy look on his face showed he was feeling sly and quick-witted that day. He would make Y/n vie for his affections, no doubt in her mind. He dismounted with a flourish and a smirk, his coattails flipping out behind him. “Ah, my dear Miss L/n,” he called out, his voice carrying mischief. “I hope I find you well today!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me by my last name,” Y/n replied, setting her book down. “‘Miss Y/n’, or perchance ‘dear’ or ‘darling’, but never Miss L/n.”

“Hmm, my apologies, my dear,” he said as he strode up towards her, mock formality in his voice. “I suppose I’ve become accustomed to calling you by your given name. But I do like the sound of ‘Miss L/n’ as well. It has a certain… ring to it.” He took a seat on the rocking chair next to her and studied her book. “Never thought you the type to read Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“It’s a love story,” Y/n defended.

“It most certainly is not,” Mattheo chuckled. “You’ve read it before, I assume?”

Y/n huffed. Why she continued to entertain Mr. Riddle was beyond her. “His devotion is clear. And yes, I have. Anyway, before you so very rudely interrupted me, I was going to say I thought you would detest my last name.”

Mattheo clicked his tongue and leaned back in his chair. “There isn’t much I could detest when it comes to you,” he admitted, glancing over slyly at her.

“How sweet.” Y/n rolled her eyes sardonically, but couldn’t help but smile. She added after a moment, “though I still thought you would dislike it.”

He shot her a lazy smile. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time, looking out over her family’s lands. “And why would I dislike it, my darling?”

Y/n let out a soft, mischievous laugh. “Well, I thought surely you’d want to change it.”

“Change it, darling?” Mattheo raised a brow. “Pray tell, what would I change it to?”

Her eyes travelled to the sky, for if Y/n was to look at Mr. Riddle, her gaze would be transfixed on his lips. She swallowed and said slowly, “something that sounds like yours?”

Mattheo’s stare snapped towards her. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?” he murmured in a soft tone.

Ever playing coquettish, the woman responded, “what do you think I’m suggesting?”

Mattheo leaned in a bit closer, his heart beating faster at the notion he was about to say. “I think you’re suggesting you’d like to carry the Riddle surname, my darling,” he replied. “Is that what you’re implying?”

“Perhaps,” Y/n forced out after a short silence.

“And here I thought you thought me brutish and sordid.” When Y/n didn’t answer, an embarrassed flush on her cheek, he said in a quiet voice, “you know, if you enjoy Hunchback, you should see Notre Dame in person. Paris is lovely. We should go sometime.” He crossed one leg over the other and turned his attention back towards the horizon.

Y/n’s lips curved into a small smile. “I would like that.”

“Of course,” Mattheo added, clearing his throat, “if you’re still hung up on Mr. Potter, then you should probably go with him.”

Why, Y/n hadn’t thought about Harry once in the past weeks. How peculiar. And based on the little smirk on Mattheo’s face, he knew it. “I don’t think Harry and I were the right fit,” she said eventually.

“Oh?”

“No,” she mused. “It’s frustrating, yes? You think you have your whole life planned ahead and then… it gets ripped away from you.”

“Or maybe it’s just getting started,” Mattheo muttered. “Your life, I mean. You’re young, Y/n. And Harry Potter shouldn’t dictate whether or not your life has started or ended.”

“I’m not getting any younger,” Y/n complained. “Father wants to marry me off to a good, wealthy man before I turn twenty-five. I thought with Harry, I could get some love out of it as well.”

Mattheo asked honestly, “would it matter if you loved your husband if your husband loved you with everything in him?”

Y/n’s fingers fiddled with the pages of her book. “I think if someone loved me that much,” she whispered, “it would be impossible not to love him back.”

Mattheo felt his hand twitch as he looked down at her fingers. Slowly, he reached out to encircle her palm in his. His warm hand held hers loosely, so that Y/n could pull away if she wished, but just firmly enough that she could sense his devotion.

“Why… why are you doing this?” Y/n asked.

“The truth?” Once Y/n nodded, he continued, “I see the fire in you… The same fire that burns in me. Well, that used to burn in me.” Mattheo paused. “I’m sure you know of my father. I hated the man, and am ashamed to call him a father. But, even so, after he died, I’ve felt… stuck, Y/n. If we’re to keep with the fire analogy, I fizzled out. Yet with you…” he chuckled and shook his head. “Well, I’m sure you know where I’m going with this.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Y/n whispered. “Is this you proposing marriage, Mr. Riddle?” She smirked, even though her heart began beating a bit more quickly.

When Mattheo shook his head, she couldn't help but feel just a little bit disappointed. “No, that’s much too soon for you. Maybe in two or three years. But…” he threw her a wry grin, squeezing her hand lightly. “This is me proposing I begin courting you.”

“What?” Her hand flexed around his. “Really?”

“You can trust me.”

Four years later, because Y/n was notoriously stubborn when it came to her beau, Mattheo Riddle got down on one knee. “My darling dear,” he teased, using the nicknames he knew she hated. Y/n rolled her eyes in response. “You have made me wait what seems like millennia to finally officially call you mine. Of course, I’d wait aeons more, but I’m hoping that today, you’ll put me out of my misery and give me the honour of being your husband.”

“You’ll take me to Paris for the honeymoon?” Y/n asked, despite the tears shining in her eyes.

Mattheo let out a loud, joyful laugh. “Yes, yes I will.” And as he slid the ring on her finger, he murmured, “you can trust me.”

“I always have.”

[k3t4min5]

i just want someone to actually love me

[connect404]

So I saw this tweet earlier Abt the dynamic between Stanford and fiddleford during the partnership and how similar it was to Stanford and bill's dynamic (incoming essay)

AND I COMPLETELY AGREE

As much as I love fiddauthor (or just ford and fiddleford in general) , fiddleford doesn't deserve the type of treatment he got from Ford.

Throughout the entire partnership,ford treated him poorly and only ever cared about him if it was related to the portal. Fiddleford was willing to work with him even though he knew he was being treated poorly,not to mention he didn't know abt bill or his intentions yet (at the time) and still had his suspicions while working with ford. He remembered to give ford a gift (hand-knitted special gloves for him to wear with several failed attempts beforehand AND a snoglobe of the shack) yet forgot to get a gift for his own wife.

He does all this but the second he tells ford that the portal is dangerous and should be destroyed,ford gets angry at him and says he doesn't need him ???

That's not to say ford isn't completely a POS , he does enjoy fiddleford's company and his partnership with him. Ford even gets closure with fiddleford and actually apologizes to him for all the shit he did to him. Ford gets character development for the most part and actually becomes a somewhat decent person. He's terrible but that's what makes him a great character. He does horrible things but also acknowledges he did said things and actively tries to not do that,even if it's hard to avoid it.

(op said he's objectively an awful person for what he did but also loves him anyway because that type of writing is what makes his character compelling and honestly I relate)

It's a shame that ford favours results over sympathy/empathy. He only ever cares people when they are of use to him and when they say something he doesn't wanna hear,he throws them to the side and searches for another.

Another thing Abt ford is that he tends to be stubborn and an egoist. No matter the situation,he always puts himself before others. This can be a good thing sometimes (like when he gets electrocuted instead of just giving bill the equation) but it's always shown in a negative light. Stan dedicated almost his entire life to bring back his brother after several decades and he never even got a thank you or when instead of hearing Stan out on that invention he broke in highschool, he just let his brother get kicked out (Ik the twins are kinda crappy people but Stan breaking ford's perpetual motion machine was an accident damnit. It's been 30+ years and he still won't let it go 😭😭)

DESPITE SAYING ALLAT....ford isn't completely to blame for his behavior and how he treats other people around him to the point of being manipulative. Sure,his main flaws are what make him act this way (insecurity,need to be better than others,doesn't really think of others,etc.) but I think the only reason they've become worse is because of bill and how he manipulated ford,basically feeding into his ego and validating his beliefs. That, combined with his occasional selfish urges makes him want more.

More knowledge.

More praise.

More fame.

And this need for more makes him impatient. So much so that he starts using the same manipulation tactics (whether intentionally or unintentionally I'm not sure) bill used on him on fiddleford to try and get the same results,since said tactics work on him,so it would makes sense for him to do the same.

TL;DR yes,ford is a bad person but he's a bad person with layers and that's why I love him sm. Also fiddleford deserved better treatment

Anyway this'll probably get like 5 likes but uhhhh I'd love to hear any take on this really.

Agree,disagree I'd love it hear it

[radiolore]

venture x childhoodfriends!reader

heeeyyy soooo.... I watched that one episode of mlp where twilight meets and reconciles with Moondancer and it inspired me to write this 😈😈

ALSO MY FUCKIN DRAFT OF THIS DIDNT SAVE SO I HAD TO START OVER RASGDHFJXKSN

also I haven't written a fanfiction since like.. middle school and for reference I've already graduated so I'm sorry if it's not that good 😭🙏

Sloan Cameron, also known as Venture. a now very well known archeologist, talon fighter, and the occasional overwatch agent. needless to say, their strength, wits, and discoveries has put them in the news and a few articles a good number of times.

right now, believe or not, they're not on some site looking for ancient relics of the past. or, in some way they could be. right now, they're at home looking through old photos of their childhood. they had recently moved after their previous apartment had been destroyed in an omnic attack.

for hours, they had been giggling to themselves, reminiscing old memories.

"awww, that was when I dressed up as a mummy for Halloween! I got called a nerd so many times.." they cringed briefly at the teasing they used to face. not like it was their fault that nobody else seemed to care about having a historically accurate costume! well... nobody except....

"wait.. who's that?" Sloan grabbed another photo, one of them in high school standing next to someone. they scratched their head as they tried to remember who this mystery person is.

"oh! that's y/n!" they finally remembered. their victorious smile faded as they started to remember you. "wow i... completely forgot about them.." they furrowed their brows.

they started to look for more photos of you. the more they saw, the more they remembered.

and the more they remembered about you, the more they remembered what they did to you and the pain they caused.

you and Sloan were best friends. from grade school until high school. the two of you met in grade school, both sharing a passion for dinosaurs, and you were inseparable since. you did everything together. you had a passion for art that matched the passion Sloan had for archeology.

Sloan remembered how you always said that you'd become an infamous artist, creating art for all to see and relate to or empathize with. they thought to themselves... well, if you were as passionate as they were, as they remembered, they were sure they could look you up and find countless of articles and online discussions about you. it would be easy to get in touch with you.

so Sloan pulled out their old cracked phone, and started to do some research on your name.

but... nothing. not so much as an online profile appeared. they blinked, confused. what happened? where were you?

their mind was filled with conflicting thoughts about why they couldn't find you online. they didn't doubt your ability to become successful, but maybe... you have an underground succession thing going on?

after not coming to a satisfying enough conclusion, Sloan shook their head. then they had an idea. even if you don't have an online appearance, you two used to be childhood best friends. it wouldn't be that hard to find you.

Sloan didn't know why, but they felt compelled and determined to find you.

actually, that's a lie. they do know why. they just don't want to think about it.

~

Sloan's nerves were through the roof right now. they started looking for you in their old hometown, and, surprisingly enough, you never left. so after some asking around, they found the apartment you supposedly lived in.

Sloan felt nervous as they stood at your door, feeling like an unwanted guest. well, they kinda are, but you'd be happy to see your old friend, right? who wouldn't be?

taking a deep breath in and puffing their chest out to feign confidence, they finally mustered up the courage to knock at your door.

after waiting dreadfully for a few seconds, the door slowly creaked open. Sloan's heart raced with anticipation for seeing your face again after so many years. and, from what they heard from the people who live here still, it seems nobody else has really seen you that often either.

eventually, the darkness inside your home filled with some light as Sloan was finally able to see your face. wow... you looked.. different. but still just as beautiful.

you styled your hair/hijab differently now, you were wearing more casual clothes (assumably resting at home), and.... you had bags under your eyes?

Sloan stood there awkwardly, watching your face go from confusion to shock. they lifted a hand and said, "hey..." while looking off to the side, unsure of how to greet you after so many years.

"uhm.. do you remember me? it's me, Sloan! we used to be friends? I just moved recently and I found some photos of us, and I thought of you so I wanted to-" they started rambling a bit, before they got interrupted.

"what are you doing here." Sloan's heart dropped as they heard the slight venom in your tone and they looked at your expression, only to find an emotionless, yet slightly bitter face. it wasn't the face they remembered... you used to be so sweet and caring, never letting a sour expression on your face. so why are you so different now?

"er- well.. I wanted to reconnect. I know we haven't talked in years, a-and I'm sorry for not reaching out before! but I got so focused on my work that i-" they were interrupted yet again as you scoffed, looking away.

"right. I know you were. I see you all the time on the news." you sighed. "look, it was real nice of you to stop by, but I'd rather be alone right now. goodbye." you shut the door.

Sloan stood there, shocked at your words and reaction.

meanwhile, on the other side of the door, your hands shook as you gripped the doorknob still. your heart ached as you just slammed the door in the face of your old friend, and... your old love.

way back when you two were still friends, as you grew up, you grew to like Sloan. like, really like them. they were everything to you. they meant everything to you. that is, until..

you shook the thought away, not wanting to remember. you let out a shaky sigh, trying to clam down from the flurry of emotions flowing through you right now. you held your head in your hands, overwhelmed. another knock at your door snapped you out of your thoughts. feeling anger build up again, you opened the door again, narrowing your exhausted eyes at your ex-friend.

"why are you still here? what do you want from me?" you spewed at them, feeling annoyed at the sight of them still at your door.

"listen, I know that we've- I've been gone for a long time, but I really want to reconnect with you. I want to be friends with you again." they pleaded, hoping you'll agree to their request.

your heart winced at the word "friends". you bit your lip, closed your eyes and sighed. "no thanks. I don't need anyone else, and I certainly don't need you." you closed the door again, this time with the intention of ignoring them if they tried knocking again.

Sloan stood there yet again, not knowing what to do. you were so... angry. and they knew why. and they knew they had to make it up to you. they did try knocking again, but after you didn't open the door again after the third knock, they left. they were still just as determined as ever to make it up to you.

you on the other hand, was determined as ever to push your feelings away and forget about them. you thought you had moved on, but seeing them again just brought up so many old memories, feelings, emotions, and heart break.

you sat on your couch, going through your phone. finally finding your and Sloan's old messages, you scrolled through the countless unread messages you had sent. tears welled up in your eyes as every emotion you felt then made themselves known again.

you remembered the heart ache you felt. the betrayal you felt. the sadness, the anxiety, the frustration, and the anger. you felt so.. distraught. you didn't know what to do with all these emotions.

after what happened, you became a shut-in. you closed yourself off from everyone else. you never left your hometown, never having enough money to do so and no goal in mind of where you would even move to if you wanted to. the sheer pain Sloan had caused you ruined you.

you had spent countless nights remembering them. so many nights wasted on laying in bed awake at 3am crying your eyes out over them. after a while, you convinced yourself that you moved on and that they weren't worth your time or emotions. nobody was worth your heart anymore. and you weren't going to mope around anymore hoping someone would change your mind. and you certaininly weren't going to let Sloan give you that hope.

~

Sloan felt defeated as they continued on their walk throughout their old town. every idea they had seemed like an idea that wouldn't work or go well.

almost considering giving up and going home, they paused as they saw a flier on a telephone pole. it was an advertisement for an art show coming up, which happens to be the next day. face lighting up, Sloan had an idea, it may be a dumb one, but most of the ideas they had were dumb, and those pretty much always worked out, so why wouldn't this one?

grabbing one of the fliers, they started to make their way back to your home, remembering your door had a mail slot in it.

~

you were sitting on your couch, sketching in your sketchbook to calm yourself down from earlier. even after what happened all those years ago, you still pursued art as a hobby.

your ears perked up as you heard something go through your mail slot in your door. curious, you got up to check what it was. you opened up the folded piece of paper, and saw it was an ad for an art show coming up tomorrow at the local museum. you felt a little excitement run through you at the thought of going to another art show. you enjoyed going to shows like this, seeing other artists' work. but that excitement was short lived as it was replaced with confusion.

"why am I getting mail at 8pm at night...?" you mumbled to yourself. opening the door, hoping to catch the culprit who gave you this ad, you looked around but found no one in sight. you just shrugged your shoulders and closed the door.

around the corner, Sloan was hiding behind a corner, silently celebrating that didn't seem to find out it was them who left it there and, fingers-crossed, were going to the art show the next day. their heart raced again that day as they prayed that you would show up.

~

sure enough, the next day came and you dressed up in some nice clothes and showed up to the art show. but, as you were arriving to the first steps to the museum, a familiar face stopped you dead in your tracks. Sloan.

"what are YOU doing here?" you asked, irritated.

Sloan took some steps towards you, "well, I know how passionate you are for art, so I thought I'd invite you here! we could walk through the exhibits and all the art together and catch up!" they excitedly explained, reaching their hand out for you to take.

they looked away for a second, finally being more honest, "look i- I know I hurt you. and I wanted to make it up to you. so please, let me try." they pleaded, looking back at you, flashing that famous smile at you that you loved.

your eyes wavered, considering taking their hand for a brief moment. but then you swallowed your feelings and pushed their hand away.

"and.. you think this is going to make up for everything?" you questioned.

"uhh, yes?" they said, full of hope.

"oh, so, you're gonna invite ME to this art show, when you couldn't even bother to show up to the last one?" you felt your emotions begin to rise up.

"what after this? you're going to leave? are you going to leave me again without even saying goodbye?" tears started to well up in your eyes.

"everyone was expecting me to be able to make a name for myself at that show, to finally start my successful career in art like I said I would! and i completely bombed it! I felt absolutely humiliated!!" your voice started to rise as you finally started venting all your feelings about what happened to them.

"I spent the whole event thinking about you: 'where's Sloan?', 'where are they?', 'maybe they're just late!', 'where's the person that i love?'!" your voice cracked.

"I felt like I didn't matter to you! it was the biggest opportunity of my life and I needed you there, and you! DIDN'T! SHOW! UP!" finally being overwhelmed by your emotions, you stormed off, tears rolling down your face as you ran off back home.

Sloan stood at the entrance of the museum, unaware of the people staring and just focused on your fleeing form. they were absolutely mortified. they knew they had hurt you.. but they didn't know it was this bad. or maybe they just didn't want to accept that it was this bad. they let a few stray tears go down their face before wiping them and coming after you.

~

you were at home, feeling as embarrassed and exhausted as ever. you felt empty too. tears were still coming down your face as you heard a soft knock at the door. you knew who it was. you briefly contemplated ignoring it, before getting up and opening the door, avoiding eye contact with the tall figure.

"y/n... can- can I come in?" Sloan stammered, unsure if you'd actually say yes.

you didn't even care at this point, you nodded and opened the door enough for them to come inside.

Sloan looked around your home, various art pieces and papers scattered around. they watched as you sat on your couch, following suit.

"hey.. about what-" they started before getting interrupted by none other than you once again. except this time it was much different than the last times.

"im sorry." you croaked out. Sloan had a confused expression on their face.

"i-im sorry for yelling and making a scene like that at the museum. I'm sorry for being so cold to you before when you were just trying to make amends." you genuinely felt guilty. you started to realize that, as much of a horrible friend they were for leaving you, you were just as bad for treating them that way.

Sloan shook their head, "no, I should be the one apologizing." they paused. "I abandoned you when you needed me. and... I never even said goodbye. I left. and we never spoke for over 10 years." Sloan started to feel their own guilt begin to rise up in them as they confessed.

"the reason I left... well, we were 16 and I had gotten accepted for an internship with the wayfinders society. but... it required me to leave to wherever they needed me, whether it's Cairo, Petra, Egypt, anywhere. it was the biggest opportunity of my life... and I knew that if I didn't accept it, I'd miss out on having my dream job." they smiled a bit as they remembered their early days as an archeologist. you started to look up at them, listening to their explanation.

Sloan frowned again, "but... the day they needed me to get on the plane and leave.. was the day of your art show. I had to choose. and... I'm sorry. I couldn't let this opportunity slip by me. so.. I got on the plane and left." their voice started to waver. "i.. I'm sorry I never even said goodbye. I wanted to but... I didn't know how. I knew it'd hurt you. and after you started texting me so much, asking me where I was and why I disappeared and left, I didn't know what to do. I was scared." there were now more tears coming down Sloan's face as they finally confessed how they felt about that whole situation. ever since it happened, they had never told a soul about what they did. they had too much guilt ridden inside them to ever tell that to anybody, especially you.

you reached over to hold their hand, hoping to comfort them, just like you used to.

"im... I'm sorry you had to make that decision. I know it must have been an incredibly difficult one. but you not showing up and leaving without a word really did hurt me a lot..." you swallowed nervously, preparing to say your next words.

"the truth is... the reason why it was so important to me for you to be there was because.. I was going to confess to you afterwards." you closed your eyes, not wanting to see what Sloan's reaction to that was. "i... I had a huge crush on you for so long, and-and i had planned for months how I was going to confess, and after I heard about the art show and applying, I had a whole plan to invite you and confess to you afterwards." your cheeks started to flush a little.

"so... when you didn't show up.. and you left... it completely broke me. I felt abandoned, I felt like you hated me and didn't care about me." your voice started to crack again as tears threatened to spill.

Sloan's own cheeks heated up a little at your confession. you.. liked them? suddenly little behaviors you exhibited way back when started to make sense in their head. seeing that you were about to start crying, they brought a hand up to your face and caressed your cheek with their thumb.

you jumped a little at the sudden feeling of their hand comforting you. it had been so long since you've felt a comforting touch like this, let alone from them. you naturally leaned into and actually begun crying again.

"y/n.. I had no idea you liked me that much.. I'm sorry for not realizing sooner." they paused to think... they knew they never really had feelings for you like that. but... that was over 10 years ago. both of you were completely different people.

"do you think maybe.. we could start over?" Sloan proposed. they still wanted to make things up to you. hurting you was the last thing they ever wanted to do.

you sniffled as you looked up at them through blurry vision and teary eyes.

"i.. I'd like that." you finally smiled. the smile that Sloan loved.

"great.." Sloan cleared their throat as they stuck out their other hand to you for a handshake. "Heya! I'm Sloan, also known as Venture, it's nice to meet you! that's your name?"

you giggled at their silliness, but after calming down, you gently took their hand and shook it. "hi, I'm y/n. it's nice to meet you too." the both of you sat in comfortable silence, smiling at each other.

neither of you knew what your own respective feelings were for the other.. you didn't know if you loved them still. and Sloan didn't know if they'd ever grow to love you the way that you did. but either way, neither of you will ever be abandoning each other. you're here for each other.

~

HOLY SHIT I FUCKING FINISHED IT JESUSSSSS

anywayz

I hope at least one of u gooners liked this even tho I yap a lot 🙏🙏

also not proofread cuz it's like 5am and I've been typing for hours and I'm not gonna read allat 😭🙏

anywayz

hope it was good enough considering I hadn't written for years lol

Bai Bai :3

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Do you think Gojo or Nobara would be angry if you decided to distance yourself from them because they can't reciprocate your feelings?

ANONNNN 🥺🥺 tysm for indulging me on this topic….. i’m extremely abnormal about them…….

i think nobara would be kinda pissed. very pissed. she’s just frustrated about the whole ordeal :((( she’s frustrated with you and your feelings and she’s frustrated with herself and her lack of those feelings . most of all, she’s frustrated that you’re pulling away from her like this!! she treasures you so sincerely and she just . doesn’t want to lose you. unlike gojo she’ll do the emotionally mature thing and confront you one way or another — it might not exactly fix things, but she makes sure that the two of you leave no words unsaid. you’re her friend and she loves you. she just wants to see you smile, and it breaks her heart to know that she’s the reason you aren’t.

gojo though… i don’t think he’d be angry. because he gets it. he’s emotionally mature in a much colder way than nobara is — mature in the sense that he’s accepted your feelings, accepted his lack of those feelings, and accepted the fact that things won’t be the same after he rejects you. i think it hurts him a bit (because he really does care for you!!), but only a little bit, because he’s just. so good at isolating himself from his own negative emotions. he’s still friendly with you, still very much wants things to be the same as always — but he understands and accepts that things aren’t that simple. he won’t force you to be a part of his life, but he’s not going to stop smiling whenever your eyes meet either.

[star-dust-no-name]

Cursed Yellow Flowers

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚

Murder drones N x reader (one-sided love)

Hanahaki AU + Gender Neutrual Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚

You aren't sure when it started to happen, maybe it was all the way back then when you first arrived on Copper 9 with your fellow coworkers, maybe it was when you and N started to form a friendship, or maybe just maybe it was when N told you about his feelings for V.

"YOU CANT BE SERIOUS N"

You said with a surprised tone to your fabricated voice

"R, I am very serious"

"But N, V does nothing but harass and abuse you"

"I know but maybe she does it because we haven't talked much?"

You sighed, N is a pure cinnamon roll, and you couldn't really see V and N working out as a couple.

"I'll help you N but you owe me 2 gallons of oil"

N gasped and, with a huge smile, came running up to you and gave you a big hug before going to the entrance of the shuttle spreading his wings and leaving to get those 2 gallons of oil.

And there was that feeling in your chest again as if something was bothering you as if you were being suffocated from the inside out despite not needing air to survive. You originally thought it might be your clothes you arrived in that were making you uncomfortable or maybe a bug in your system, but then you realized it was N, the feeling in your chest at the beginning when you started to form a friendship with N was warm and cozy and strangely welcoming but then when N started talking about V that feeling slowly starting becoming colder and colder until today when it felt like your chest was about to explode.

You started coughing and coughing, and at first, it was oil coming out from your mouth, and then it was bits of code that you coughed up. It took a while for all the bits of code to come out, but when it finally stopped, you glanced down and saw that the bits of code started forming flowers.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚

LOADING INFORMATION ABOUT YELLOW CARNATIONS...

LOADING...

You sighed, according to the text that was currently loading in front of you from your visor. The yellow flowers you coughed up from your code are called yellow carnations. If it wasn't for the infinite amount of information you had stored in your code, you probably would have freaked out by now.

LOADING COMPLETE

Yellow Carnations

Yellow Carnations are beautiful yellow flowers that blossom from late spring to autumn, but don't let their looks fool you as yellow Carnations have a sour meaning behind them, meaning disappointment and rejection which is why they're one of the most common flowers to cough up when someone has Hanahaki disease

You had a confused but curious look on your visor quickly, pulling up the keyboard on your visor again

WHAT IS HANAHAKI DISEASE?

enter

SEARCHING

LOADING COMPLETE

Hanahaki disease

Hanahaki disease is a disease where the victim experiences one sided love or unrequited love, Hanahaki disease can be stopped by either confessing to your crush or by having a special surgery done to remove the flowers however when the surgery is complete you will no longer feel romantic attraction to anyone if the victim does not confess or get a surgery they will die a slow and painful death.

You weren't sure if robots could have hanahaki I mean for you it was just bits of code that formed into flowers and you didn't need air anyways so, would you just forever cough bits of code until your whole coding system was coughed up?

You grimaced at the thought you then went back to the previous information, "disappointment and rejection." The disappointed feeling made sense as you didn't want V and N to become a couple, but rejection? No, it couldn't be...

"R!"

You quickly turned around, ignoring the warmth feeling in your chest as you heard that familiar welcoming and sweet voice.

"Hey N!, I'll go down there in one second"

"OH, no worries, R ill be up there in a jiffy"

You didn't want N to find the flowers, especially since flowers are long since extinct on copper-9. Before N could even fly up there, you came gliding down your legs touching the snow as it crunched beneath you. N quickly gave you a bouquet, but instead of a bouquet full of flowers, it was a bouquet with worker drone arms.

"I got the 2 gallons of oil, but then I also remembered you like to munch on the arms of worker drones, so I got you this bouquet!"

You smiled thanking N.

Maybe for a little while, you can accept that growing warm feeling.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚

Authors Note: Yall I swear I'm in my returning arc it's just that my depression arc took over two seasons 😰, lmao anyways for right now I'm just going to focus on making masterlists (I come from the stars and the barbatos successor AU) and just focus on updating things and making more content for yall.

-Stardust☆

[aro-laurance-zvahl]

You ever think about how Garroth and Laurance’s fears could’ve been so much more interesting than what we got during the Malachi Arc? Like. Just imagine.

Garroth being cornered by a woman in a wedding dress, face covered by a veil as she says how nice it is to meet him even though her voice is flat, words clearly only for the politics. A voice echoing through the halls, saying things about lordship and domination and how Garroth will carry on his legacy whether he wants to or not because it is his duty.

Flames circling Laurance, people he loves and cares about standing lifelessly on the other side telling him how much of a monster he is, that their blood is on his hands. Other shadow knights standing with him in the circle, familiar faces or obscured by armor doesn’t matter because they’re treating him like a friend and not an enemy as the Shadow Lord’s voice crackles through the fire, telling him how well he’s done.

Or yknow. I guess Aphmau and Dante kissing works ig

[thewaitingluna]

For once, let me be enough. Let my love be enough for this person and this person only.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 56

Jaskier's tears magically heal whatever they fall on. Whether he's blessed, or has fae blood, etc etc is all up to you Geralt learned when he had a certainly fatal injury and his bard cried over him, only for the wounds to miraculously lessen in intensity, to the point he could stitch them up and he'd be fine in a couple of days. The only issue is that certain enemies are getting word of Jaskier's abilities, and are now desperately seeking some way to steal Geralt's bard from him in order to use those powers for themselves.

[nevertheless-moving]

aromantic/asexual Kaladin. Shallan/Adolin mad horny.

once they realize he's sincerely not interested they back off (not sure if he ever noticed them coming on in the first place) and just, you know, sometimes fantasize. Not making it his problem. maybe they talk with eachother about how unreasonably hot he is, it's ok they're married, if there's anyone you decompress with about inappropriate horniness its your spouse. Not sure who breaks first and pitches the idea of, ah, bedroom lightweaving. But would he be mad? or worse, hurt? It's not like he'd ever find out...but storms what if he did? is it wrong even if he never knows? Can we ask for permission? Would it be worse to ask?? It would so much worse to ask.

I wrote it. They ask. Shockingly wholesome.

[watchoutforthefanfics]

Ticking Love Bomb (Part Two) || Eleventh Doctor × gn!Reader

Part 1, 2...

Taglist: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

Summary: Your adventure with the Doctor and the Ponds takes a harsh turn when it seems you're targeted with a potion. A love potion, specifically the type where you fall in love with whoever's eyes you met first after "drinking" it. But what if you're already in love with him?

TWS: aliens, space, references of guns, smoke, unrequited love (but not really), self sacrificial attitudes, and purely oblivious people. Also, just a touch of angst (typical of a love confession).

[[A/N: So I've kind of written a lot of this one already... So, expect a few updates soon. Thanks for reading!!! ]]

It was silent, your heart beating furiously in your chest -and something in you stilled further.

What if it happened now, what if you died here?

You scoffed, in disbelief, “What?”

“They, they crafted something love-related, essentially antagonizing the physical aspects of love, you know? Like, um-” He rambled, voice quieter than it had ever been, “-your heart rate.”

“What so-” you began, a bit in an unbelievable tone, “-my heart can just explode? I breathed in a potion that can just make my heart explode?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” the Doctor continued, moving forward what seemed like endless hallways, “-the potion, if you’d even call it that, slipped into your brain, and that’s where your heart… The brain is the launching point.”

“I…” you hummed, following slowly behind him, “-I can’t control it then, can I?”

“Well, no,” he began, spinning around at the tone of voice- at the defeat, “-but there’s a cure. What, you aren’t- Y/N.”

“Doctor, my heart is going to explode,” you answered, careful and considerate, “I don’t… I don’t think this is the time I play it safe.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he added, a bit astonished and a tone you knew well, sorrowed disbelief.

“Look,�� you relented, “-are you even sure of the cure? Really?”

“I-” he stammered out.

“It’s amateur, right?” you spoke, gently, “-That’s below your pay grade. Isn’t it?”

He cleared his throat, a determined look set into his eyes, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up, and really neither should you.”

“I’m not giving up, Doctor. It’s just-” you exclaimed, “-if it’s between you or me-”

“Stop,” he interrupted, back to you with a tone you knew but had never been the target of, “-just… stop.”

“I can’t, okay?” he added his voice with the slightest bit of a shake, “I won’t. Not you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt it -the spike. It was different, the tingle buzzing up your arms and your heart bumping so heavily in your chest. If you squinted, you could see the fuzz of pink filling in the corners of your vision - leftover potion, probably.

“Okay,” you exhaled, “-I’ll try.”

He hummed, a bit damper than you had seen, but you supposed death could do that to a man. Especially someone who had seen so much.

“I think the sonic is picking up on the Ponds,” he changed the subject, “-best we find them first, maybe they know something we don’t.”

“Right,” you clarified, “Are we brainstorming on the way or? For my…”

“Yes,” the Doctor’s eyebrows flattened, “I’m thinking. I never stop thinking.”

“‘Course you don’t,” you smiled, slowly following him (you trusted him with every fiber of your being). And there it was again, the pink fuzz filling your eyes, just the corners.

You blinked, and it vanished.

“What’s the typical cure?” you asked, mostly out of curiosity, “Like non-amateur.”

“It’s terribly cliche,” he professed, a little bit of a chuckle in his tone, “-whoever loves you has to confess. Or, you have to. To the person, you actually love, not just… not the potion.”

“Wait,” you shook your head, “-I’m the one whose affected how would someone who loved me be involved? Shouldn’t it be-”

“It is,” he cleared his throat, looking oddly uncomfortable, “-it’s kind of a backup option, really. To, uh, get you to see your ‘options’, I suppose.”

“And the difference with mine?”

“Well,” he exhaled, a strong gust of breath, “-yours has a physical emphasis on it, on purpose -assumedly. Your heart is much more sensitive.”

“So…?”

“Let’s say you confess to who you love,” he wasn’t looking at you, and something tinged within you, “-if they don’t reciprocate… Your heart with taking it stronger, a literal heartbreak. You won’t-”

“If they don’t love me back,” you continued, “-I’ll die.”

“Yes.”

“Right so, that’s not an option,” you huffed out, blinking back what hope you had, “-so, we wait for a confession.”

“Why not?” the Doctor asked, genuinely questioning, “Surely if you, Y/N, were in love with someone, they’d love you back. They’d be stupid not too.”

Your head buzzed, and the pink fuzz started again, blurrily along the edges. You could feel your heartrate pick up, genuinely unsettling how fast it was pumping. You almost expected your chest to cartoonishly be pounding out in a comical heart shape.

“Doctor!”

You blinked, and your chest calmed.

Amy rushed to him down a hallway with Rory tightly by her side, their eyes filling with a general sense of relief.

"Amelia-" he let out a breath, scanning over her briefly, partially for assumed injuries. Your heart seemed to not take that lightly, amplified by the curse, you'd assumed.

Rory answered, noticing the familiar trail, "We're unscathed. There was only a voice-"

"She said," Amy exhaled, shaky, "-she said she'd kill you both."

"Right," the Doctor hummed, clearly compensating, "-they all say that though, don't they?"

You chastised, eyes landing on the frazzled redhead (you'd never seen her like this… except without Rory), "Doctor."

"Are you guys okay?" Rory interrupted, taking a moment to look at the two of you, like he could see it on the surface level, "She didn't hurt you two, did she?"

Your eyes fell to your wrist, if you squinted you could almost see your pulse, and Amy's eyes followed them.

"Did she?" She asked, with more intention behind it - a fury you'd become familiar with.

You opened your mouth, but the Doctor found his way to the words quicker, "It's…"

"My heart is cursed," you exhaled, voice wobbly, "- and I… I'm on a timer."

[03junkie]

prompt: night || @rosekillermicrofic || word count: 717 || I rec listening to ‘nights like this’ by the kid laroi

The room is dark, the only light being the shitty bulb on the brink of burning out in the living room. Evan is silent when removing his jacket and setting it on the couch that he knew was in the corner of the room. He ran rough fingers through his hair, raking out the pomade that seemed to glue his hair together. He didn’t want to be loud in case Barty was asleep, which he most likely wasn’t. He grabbed a beer from their fridge, tossing the bottle cap onto the counter.

His bedroom is cold (just how he liked it) and the lights were turned to red. He stripped off his sweaty tee, tossing it onto the floor. His bed looked especially inviting today, after a long day dealing with the sermon-esque teachings of his fathers. The gold cross chain was cold against his clavicle; it was a piece of his roots, and a reminder of what he wasn’t allowed to do. It didn’t really stop him from doing what he wished to, but it brought along an insane guilt that didn’t cease to exist.

He heaves a deep breath, falling backwards onto the duvet, head hitting the pillow. He’s tired, but not particularly sleepy as yet. It was always exhausting to be around his father, with his ideologies that seemed to remain stagnant even when the world moved on. If only the man knew half the things that were happening in the Rosier bloodline. He drank a sip from his bottle awkwardly, setting it down on the floor after he was done.

His door creaked open, revealing Barty, who entered the room. He settled himself in Evan’s duvet, lighting a cigarette. His head rested against the wall, eyes shut as smoke poured out of his mouth. His green-black hair appeared wholly black in the red light, an almost similar shade to his eyes. Barty offered the cigarette to Evan who accepted it. He inhaled, long and deep. He looked up at Barty, whose eyes were now open. He was looking at Evan, who blew out smoke into the atmosphere of his room.

‘Tough day?’ He asked, taking the cigarette back.

‘Is it that obvious?’ Barty smiled, a small, personal thing.

‘No. The cross is visible today, is all. It’s almost never on display.’ Barty was pointing to Evan’s chest with the cigarette, dropping ash onto his bed.

‘Not everyday I get to bask in the glory of a backwards-thinking father.’ Evan huffed a laugh, though it sounded strangely strangled.

‘You want me to do something for you?’ Evan looked at Barty, who appeared to be upside-down from his perspective.

‘Nah, all I need is to get out of these jeans.’

Evan stood up, stalking to his closet to get a pair of sweatpants. His bottle of beer was forgotten on the floor, creating a puddle of condensation. He stepped out of his denims, leaving them where they were. When he returned to his original position on the bed, he noticed that Barty had a dazed look in his eyes.

‘What?’ He asked, opting to seat himself closer to Barty. He pulled the covers over his legs.

‘Have you ever desired something so much that it could be considered a form of worship?’ Evan laughed. ‘It was a serious question, Ev.’

‘I don’t think,’ Barty gnawed on his bottom lip.

‘You must have something. Anything that you would lay your life down for.’ Evan thought long and hard, eyes transfixed on Barty.

‘I really doubt I’ve ever wanted anything that bad. Maybe, like, a dream car when I was 16.’ Barty’s expression neutralised, like someone put out a candle that's burning inside him. He took a drag of his cigarette, sinking his head deeper into the pillow.

They were both facing each other, a layer of smoke separating them. Barty was staring at a spot on Evan’s chest. He reached out to touch the cross that had now fallen askew. He put his fingers around it, which grazed Evan’s collarbone. His knuckles were white around the pendant, and Evan had to pry his fingers off so he wouldn’t hurt himself. There were deep indents of the corners of the cross in Barty’s palm.

‘Nights like this make me wish that I was the object of your worship.’