#and fall in love with a dark haired character that teaches them to be more honest with themselves

[lollygaggingloser]

My mental health dipped significantly last night. Time to look at VAT7K content to generate serotonin and get me though my maladaptive daydreaming and dissociation.

People please send me your wildest headcanons, hot takes, or just tell me your favorite Tangled or VAT7K character and why.

[floatyflowers]

Hi can you write something about The Lord of the Rings, Elves💗?

Dark Platonic Father Legolas x Isakeied Reader x Dark Platonic Grandfather Thranduil

You awoke in a room bathed in soft, golden light, the ceiling adorned with elegant carvings of trees and vines.

The air smelled of pine and rain, but the unfamiliar surroundings caused you to panic.

Sitting up, you realized something was terribly wrong with you.

Your body was not your own.

Small, delicate hands replaced the ones you remembered, and long strands of silver-blonde hair cascaded over your shoulders.

The reflection in a nearby mirror near your bed confirmed your fear.

This wasn’t you in any way or form, but the body of someone else, and clearly the vibe of the palace indicates you are in a different timeline.

Or rather a different place.

All you can remember is that you accidentally fall from your balcony.

Your breathing quickened, and you clutched at the bedcovers as your heart pounded in your chest.

This had to be a dream, a strange, vivid dream.

Also, something caught your attention...you have elf ears.

The door creaked open, and in stepped a figure who took your breath away, not from awe, but from the shock of recognition.

Legolas.

His impossibly perfect features were softer than you’d imagined, but his piercing blue eyes filled with concern.

"You have finally woken up, are you unwell, iel?" he asked, his voice gentle, filled with concern.

The word 'iel' refers to daughter.

Did you really get reincarnated into Lord of the rings?

How is that even possible?!

You shook your head intensely, unable to speak as confusion overtook you.

His brows furrowed, and he moved closer, kneeling by the bed.

"You’re safe," he said, mistaking your terror for something external like the accident that happened to you.

The accident where you tried to run away.

His hand reached out, but you flinched away.

Not out of fear, because you love Legolas as he is one of your favourite characters.

However, you still are wary of what is happening.

The hurt in his eyes was clear, though he quickly masked it.

"What’s wrong, meleth nín, are you still upset about what happened?"

Now this added more to your confusion, what exactly happened?

"I apologise...I don't remember anything."

It's safer for you to take this route, pretending to have amnesia makes it easier for them not to doubt you if you act strange.

Before the Elven prince could say anything or even think of what to say.

Another figure entered the room, his presence commanding and regal.

Thranduil.

The Elvenking’s icy gaze softened when he saw you, yet his posture remained stiff.

"What is happening here?" he asked, his tone calm but laced with the usual authority.

Legolas glanced at him helplessly, gesturing toward your trembling form.

"She lost her memories, she doesn't remember anything."

Thranduil’s eyes studied you intently, his sharp features is unreadable at first.

But then he smirks.

"Then we will teach her, and make her remember by reminding her."

This made you feel more relaxed than they brought your lie.

But you can't contain your excitement to explore the world of your favourite books.

Yet, you don't know that you won't be allowed to do that.

And what your new grandfather means by 'reminding' is that he and Legolas will tell you false memories.

Only to remodel you into an obedient daughter and granddaughter.

[jobean12-blog]

Burn for You

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Even though you know Marcus would protect you with his very last breath you still want to learn to defend yourself but what will your husband say when you ask him to teach you?

Author's Note: Just another little story in our happy world where everyone is on the same side and friends haha. This is a stand alone story that I couldn't resist after seeing the new snippets from the movie- and then Pedro himself posts the sword gif and I died all over again. How dare he? It's so hot🔥🫠Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fun and flirty and tense, he's always soft and perfect, semi public sex, smut, they just can't get enough of each other.

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The gold trimmed linen falls over his bare skin, and you smooth your hands down his chest to straighten it.

“When are you going to teach me how to wield a sword General?”

You reach for the fascia, gently placing it over his leg before starting to secure it. When his silence drags on you look up from your kneeling position.

“Are you trying to think of some filthy thing to say right now?” you tease. “I am on my knees.”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a mischievous smirk.

“If I didn’t know how much you loved being in that position, I might have something more to say…”

“But…” you finish for him as you slowly slide up his body and meet his eyes.

“Your question has surprised me.”

You take his cuirass and press it to his chest with more force than is necessary.

“And why is that husband?” you ask through clenched teeth.

As you begin to tug on the leather strings at his sides he grabs both your wrists, grasping them in one hand and pulling you against his chest, while the fingers of his other press under your chin and hold your gaze to his.

“You think I do not believe you capable?” he asks with his brows drawn in.

“Why else would you not teach me?” you huff.

“Like my heart, body and soul, you have my sword until my last breath and forever after,” he whispers against your lips.

Your expression softens and you press your fingertips to his jaw, delicately tracing the scar just above the dark hair that lines his cheek.

“I know Marcus…”

“But…” he says, echoing your earlier sentiment.

“I wish to learn. I am strong. And I want to be able to defend myself.”

He remains quiet still, releasing your wrists and smoothing his calloused fingers along the curve of your shoulder.

“I could ask Lucius instead…” you start to muse.

“You will not,” he growls.

“He may not have the same reservations you have…whatever they may be.”

Your tone is cheeky as you press yourself closer to him, dancing your fingers down his side to give the leather straps of his cuirass a sharp tug.

He grunts lightly before his lips turn up into a smile.

“As you wish my love,” he murmurs. “I will teach you to wield a weapon.”

“Excellent,” you whisper, loosening your grip and reaching for the Manica to adorn his forearms.

He stops you with a firm hand and you raise a brow.

“On one condition…”

“And what is that?” you ask.

“You will train with me and only me. No other will come near you, touch you.”

“Of course,” you say with a lift of your chin. “Only you.”

He dips his head, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he presses you against his body.

“How much time do we have?” he mumbles, kissing you, chaste and soft.

He pulls back, licks his lips, and moves forward again, moaning softly against your mouth.

“Marcus,” you chide but it’s lacking vigor, coming out breathier and desperate.

When his hips rock you feel him, hard and ready and it’s like someone lights a match inside your chest and you curl your fingers into the edges of his cuirass and push him back toward the wall.

The draped fabric at your waist falls open and you gasp as cool air finds your skin where you’re wet and aching.

His roughened palm slides down your stomach and his fingers slip between your legs.

“Want to taste this,” he whispers, dragging the tip of his fingers in and out.

“Ah General Acacius. So good of you to grace us with your presence,” Lucius jokes, his eyes twinkling.

The other men stifle their laughter, clearing throats and shuffling feet when Marcus glares at them menacingly.

You step out from behind Marcus and smile at Lucius, whose surprised expression quickly transforms into one of mischief.

“Do we have a new trainee today General?” Lucius asks with a smirk.

Marcus ignores him and deftly twirls the sword between his fingers as he walks along the row of gladiators.

“My wife…, he begins, “wishes to learn how to fight.”

You can see that the men are trying to restrain their shock, and you meet each of their gazes, holding your head high and your shoulders poised.

“You will not touch her or even come near her,” he continues. “She will train with me and only me.”

Marcus turns his covetous eyes to you, dragging them over every inch of your skin that glistens under the warm sun.

With a hard swallow he gets into position and instructs the men on what to practice, giving Lucius control of the group so he can work with you.

“That will keep them busy for now,” he says quietly as he moves toward you, circling.

He stops behind you, pressing his chest to your back and slowly sliding his hand down from your shoulder to your wrist. Despite the heat, goosebumps crawl along your skin, and you feel his smile at your neck.

“Focus my beloved,” he murmurs. “You will not win any fights if you are distracted.”

The urge to throw your elbow back and into his side is strong but you refrain and strengthen your wrist.

He places the sword in your hand and maneuvers your fingers into the right position, keeping his hand over yours as he shows you the proper grip.

Every word of command is whispered into your ear and every touch of his hand is both soft and firm. Even with his impressive size and strength, he moves lithely, easily disarming you at every turn.

It frustrates you, motivates you but more than anything, and to your utter exasperation, it arouses you.

“Marcus.” You call his name while in a particularly precarious position and he quickly stands and takes you with him, his gaze concerned as it sweeps over your body.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“No,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand.

He waits for you to elaborate and you step closer. “Perhaps you should work with the men now. I think Lucius bores them.”

His lips tilt upward at your teasing, but he continues to study you carefully.

“Do you need a break then?”

“Perhaps I can work on my stance with Lucius,” you suggest.

His eyes narrow. “We made a deal.”

“I know,” you tell him with a quiet sigh.

Then with resignation you throw back your shoulders and get into position. “I’m ready to continue.”

His body heat at your back sends another wave of tension through your body and when his calloused fingertips ghost along your thigh to fix its position you have to fight back a gasp.

“Relax your muscles,” he says as he presses on your shoulders and lower back.

You let out a slow exhale and try to focus on his direction instead of his touch, but the way his voice is low and deep in your ear drags you right back to your lascivious thoughts.

When he’s satisfied with your positioning he moves in front of you, twirling his sword tauntingly and though his forearms are hidden under the armor adorning his wrists you know the muscles flex and shift enticingly.

He beckons to you, and you advance, remembering the foot work well and making good use of your sword.

But before you can make any real progress he has you on your back and beneath him, the sandy dirt rising and floating around your head as you stare up into his face.

“You are doing well,” he assures you, sensing your frustration. “Remember, it is only your first day.”

Sweat coats his brow and you watch a droplet roll down his temple and along the line of his beard. It settles on his upper lip and the desire to lean up and kiss him is overwhelming. His scent surrounds you, sweat and leather, and his touch burns.

“Marcus,” you breathe out.

“My love,” he answers, pushing up and offering you a hand.

You crash into his chest, your eyes dropping to his mouth and your lips parting. “I need you.”

It takes him only a split second to realize the meaning of your words and his head dips to your ear, his growl full of promise.

“Do you need me to fill you my love?”

You barely get your words of affirmation out when he grabs your hand and pulls you away from the training circle.

“Lucius, you can finish off the training for today. I have to see…to my wife.”

Your quarters are too far away, and you tell him so, letting him lead you to an underground alcove in the basilica nearby.

He kisses you until your back hits the cold stone wall and you can feel every inch of armor and cloth that separates your bodies.

His hands grip your face, thumbs pressing urgently into your skin as he kisses you until you’re lightheaded.

Few rays of sunlight pierce the recesses below and you’re bathed in a soft darkness, hidden, but with the sounds of the world going on right above you.

It reminds you that there are other people on this Earth beyond his kisses, his frantic hands, and the way he can’t seem to get you close enough.

Your armor becomes untied, and you reach under his, tugging at whatever you can find to loosen it. Cloth and linen floats to your feet and his fingers skim the curve of your waist, dipping between your legs.

“Fingers Marcus,” you gasp.

He swears, two fingers sliding deep.

Your hips rock into his hand and you hold onto his broad shoulders, on the edge of something that starts in your stomach and slips up along your spine.

You cry out, too loud and breathing so heavy you might pass out.

“I’m so close Marcus,” you whisper. “I want you inside me.”

His eyes lift from between your legs, and you take him in; messy curls, fallen over his damp forehead and sticking to it, his body shining with a light sheen of sweat and dust clinging to his skin.

You almost come at the sight of him. He feels you tighten around his fingers and pulls them free with another curse.

His knee parts your legs and you feel the head of his cock as it slides through you and you’re so wet that with just the smallest push forward he starts to slip inside.

With a grunt, he tucks his head into your neck, takes deep, steadying breaths.

“I need a moment,” he murmurs and holds your hips still.

He straightens, reaching a hand over your shoulder to brace it on the stone wall.

“You feel too good,” he whispers, pulling out and pushing back in slowly. “Too perfect.”

He builds a rhythm, hips rocking against yours, the sound of his armor thudding into yours as he fucks you.

His hand reaches up, holds your face as his thumb traces your lips, the taste of you lingering on his fingers.

“I want to watch you come,” he says, dark eyes moving across your face.

You wrap your arms around his neck, the muscles strained and tight with his restraint, pulling him harder to you.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I want it harder.”

His lips brush yours and he nibbles the lower one, tugging and then soothing with his tongue.

“And��?” he asks, knowing there’s more you want to say. More that you need.

“I want someone to hear us. I want them to know how good you feel.”

He grunts and grips your waist tightly before he starts slamming hard and slick into you.

Voices echo above, the sounds of feet and horse hooves growing louder.

“More Marcus,” you cry out.

You feel so full and stretched and the tight feeling in your stomach grows warmer and hotter until your head falls back against the stone, and you moan out his name as you come.

He follows right after, his movements becoming jagged and frantic before finally stilling with a muffled groan into your skin.

You lean into him, catching your breath and letting your fingers wander over the dips and curves of muscle in his back.

He lifts his head and immediately searches for your mouth, sealing his lips to yours.

When he pulls back his eyes are ablaze, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“What?” you ask, trembling when his fingertips skim along your collarbone, strong but gentle.

They ghost higher, to the hollow of your throat where your pulse beats wildly still, before closing lightly around your neck.

Your breath hitches.

“Was it the fighting that aroused you so?” he asks, pressing his thumb under your chin while he still holds your neck. “Or…?”

You swallow and lick your lips.

“You know what it was General,” you whisper.

“I want to hear you say it.”

He’s still inside you and he starts to thicken, the throb making your eyelashes flutter along your cheeks.

“You, General. It is you. Always you that fills me with an unquenchable need.”

“Then it is a good thing my hunger for you will never be sated,” he whispers as he begins to slowly rock his hips.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic april 1 - spring - 1340 words (of domestic bliss with little harry)

Sundays are slow in the Potter household.

One would think James doesn’t like the pace of it, always having to do something usually, always active, moving around or talking, tugging at his loved ones or caressing their skin, but he does. It hasn’t always been this way but with getting older and especially since they’ve become parents James had noticed how his body and mind welcomed the one break in the week to just shut off and recharge.

They’ve fought their way through a cloudy March and with the arrival of April, spring is finally here. 

James loves spring. People always assume it’s summer—and credit to them, because he does—but there’s just something about the rebirth of everything that comes after the long gloomy fall and icey winter period. The birds chirp with their return and in search for a mate, insects buzz lively and everything brightens with colour. 

Like clockwork, Harry appears in the threshold of the master bedroom at around 7 am, deer plushie in a tight grip by the antlers, his dark mob of hair messy as anything. He drowsily rubs the sleep from his eyes, face squished and James sometimes thinks he might die from how adorable their four year old is.

He grabs his glasses, pushes back the sheets and plants a gentle kiss on Regulus’ cheek where he’s still knocked out like the dead and smushed into his pillow.

Harry pads wordlessly into the living room, James hot on his trail. Though while Harry goes in search of a children’s book for James to read to him, James makes a detour to the kitchen. He fills them two bottles with the tea they let out on the counter overnight, preparing one for Regulus as well for when he wakes up. He cuts up some fruit and vegetables and grabs the packets of rice cakes and crackers from the pantry, loading it all on a tray before he sets on to the living room.

Harry is already curled under the big fleece blanket they keep there, grinning when James rounds the corner with their pre-breakfast.

“Morning, dada,” he greets, sweetly.

James’ chest swells. “Morning, pumpkin,” he returns, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair, setting down the tray. Before he takes his place next to his son he walks over to open the big terrasse glass doors. 

“How’d you sleep?” James asks, plopping down next to Harry who immediately snuggles closer, plushie still in hand.

“Good,” Harry sighs contently and James can’t help himself when he brushes some of his hair back from his forehead and kisses him again. “Can you read to me?”

It’s a hidden object book but James knows what he means. He grins, “’Course, Hazza.”

They do just that for a bit, James describing what’s going on on the pages, creating a story for recurring characters. Skipping back and forth with Harry randomly pointing out another happening of the drawing while he’s munching away on his rice cakes and cucumbers and the occasional grape. 

It’s still mildly cool, especially when a faint breeze picks up, moving the grass outside and swishing inside but Harry’s still wearing long pyjamas and James knows he’ll tell him if he’s too cold. He simply burrows further under the blanket and into his father’s side. James runs hot anyways.

When Harry decides they’re done with books James puts on a nature documentary for them.

They’re teaching about the strength of some rainforest ant species when Regulus shuffles into the room, arms wrapped around himself and eyes nearly closed.

“Morning, Papa,” Harry whispers excitedly, already wiggling out of James’ embrace even though he knows Regulus will join them there in just a moment.

A smile tugs at Regulus’ lips as he blinks his eyes open, dark lashes fluttering agonisingly beautifully and giving way to soft grey. James swears they get a little more blue every time right around his birthday, like Regulus is just another subject to the changes of spring.

“Mornin’,” Regulus sighs happily when he squeezes Harry against his chest, peppering the side of his head with kisses until he pulls away, tugging Regulus along to James.

His eyes are already closed again when Regulus nuzzles into the crook of James’ neck, pressing a kiss there before he gets comfortable.

“Morning, love,” James murmurs, voice thick with adoration, audible even to himself, and he strokes Regulus’ exposed arm softly.

The spell of Sunday is thick in the air, heavy in their bones. 

Harry, usually the most lively child, always animatedly talking about something or the other, giggling, making jokes or doing mischief, is quiet now too. It’s routine, the way he grabs for Regulus’ arm and squeezes between his two dads, waiting for James to absently card his fingers through their hair and send them back to their slumbers.

It doesn’t take longer than five minutes before Harry’s breaths are deepening and it’s marvellous. Magical in the way that Regulus’ presence seems to calm him so much it pulls him back into another nap.

James smiles so wide, looking down at them like that for so long that his cheeks start straining.

He watches a bit more of the documentary, snaps a few obligatory pictures of them on his phone and sends them into their family group chat. Monty sends back a pixelated picture of a zoomed in shot of Effie in the garden, Sirius replies with a shaky snapshot of him running with the dogs and Remus answers with an aesthetically pleasing picture of what seems to be the breakfast he’s preparing for the two of them.

James’ belly growls hungrily at the reminder and when his gaze falls on the lone grape sitting in the bowl on the tray he decides it’s time for breakfast. 

It’s nothing short of artful the way he extracts himself from besides Harry and Regulus without rousing them before he heads for the kitchen.

He grabs flour and sugar, eggs and milk for pancakes, as well as the bacon, bagles and cream cheese. It’s meditative to put together all the ingredients, set the table and assemble syrup and blueberries and chocolate chips. Halfway through James remembers the leftover quinoa in the fridge and between placing patches of batter in a sizzling pan he whips them up a quick salad as well. 

The smell in the kitchen is divine and James has already made acquaintances with the joyful bluetit in the tree by the window by the time Regulus comes into the kitchen with Harry on his hip. He’s babbling now, talking Regulus’ ear off by the looks of it and Regulus hums and nods and gasps at all the right places, looking ridiculously endearing with his curls mussed and an imprint of the couch cushion lining his cheek.

“Morning, champ,” James teases, smacking a loud kiss over the line in Regulus’ cheek.

Regulus growls quietly, grinning despite himself, “You’re lucky I love your cooking so much.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky,” Harry parrots, grinning widely.

James tuts with faux affront, “What kind of sentiments are you teaching our poor child, Regulus. I’ve been standing in this kitchen for hours now. How about a ‘Thank you, daddy’?”

“Thank you, daddy,” they both reply in unison though Regulus’ has a decidedly different tone to it that makes James point the spatula at him in warning.

Regulus just smirks before he leans heavily into James’ side and rips a piece of pancake off of the ones already on a plate, blowing on it before dividing it in half and feeding it to Harry and himself.

James tasks them with setting out glasses of water and orange juice, mugs for tea. On Sundays coffee is banned in the Potter house. Regulus thinks he can wind himself out of his caffeine addiction that way.

When everyone is done and everything is in place they all sit down together, legs tangled under the table, smiling warmly at each other over their plates of delicious food, the spring breeze ruffling their hair and clothes pleasantly as it drifts through the open window.

[r0-boat]

*Free falls from the sky*

Hello there, I’m 🦩anon! I come from the land of being terrified to send asks but finally got the courage to when it comes to the hot demons from WHB

I absolutely loved your Mammon Headcanons (totally not because I go feral for him, and also loved the dark/more twisted ones)

Do you by chance have more? If not then that’s ok!

🦩

Let's get some very sweet headcannons I don't have a lot but I have a few of certain characters so here's a mess of them!

Wholesome what in hell is bad headcanons various demons

Gehanna eddition

Let's give some love to the nobles!

Belial

Your Belial's first love, You're the apple of his eye. He constantly daydreams about you. And he's always eager to go on cute dates with you.

Belial before he lost his voice was a very good singer now you can only hear little bits of it when he hums. Someone hadn't heard his voice in a long time so he's a little shy about his singing.

Belial is always staring, please don't mind him He just likes looking at you listening to your voice. You could talk for hours and he could listen. Only for him to respond 'I love you.'

Leraye

When he gives you gifts he always gives you stuffed animals.

Leraye will randomly text you just to remind you that you're beautiful and great and sexy and that he loves you. Sometimes you'll just send you texts or at a context photos throughout his day He just likes telling you about himself.

Leraye feeds stray cats every time You see him, He is surrounded by stray kitties purring and cuddling up to him as he's trying to feed them. He has the biggest smile on his face as he tries to give them all attention and food.

Paimon

Paimon always shares his food with you, It is His love language He doesn't let anyone else do it but you. Sometimes he'll order big sizes just so you can eat it together. Paimon will even feed you.

If you have feminine clothing paimon will ask to borrow it. If not Paimon will buy outfits to match with you. They even bought you two little keychains to match.

Paimon loves to do those couples challenges with you. every time they find a new one they get so happy and then text you sending you the link to it and asks if you want to do it with them the next time you come over.

Sitri

A very overworked demon as much as your heartbeat turns him on it also calms him down when he lays against your chest he starts falling asleep.

Sitri is very touch starved He loves when you calm your hands through his hair melting into your touch and when you pull away he whimpers asking why you stopped.

Yes he does get annoyed when Leraye is hogging your attention but to be honest he's kind of happy that Leraye And you get along so well he hopes he could take care of you and you can take care of him part of him kind of hope you will choose him. Leraye is it good demon.

Zagen

Zagen is a really good artist, when he's bored he doodles for fun and those doodles look like works of art. During a meeting Zagen and Belial started doodling on a piece of paper. Despite Belial's crappy drawings Zagen says they're absolutely amazing and Belial should draw more so now they draw together! Zagen Even teaches Belial some art techniques and he's getting better Zagen is so proud! Leraye and Zagen still go to the gym together.

Zagen even though his rank is lower he still feels like a big brother to all of the other devils. He's very stoic protective yet caring and sweet. Zagen is a gentle giant. He may look scary but he's actually pretty shy. One compliment and his face is turning red, trying to hide that blushing face.

Zagen always reminds you to eat, He wants you to be strong by eating healthy. He knows how to cook because he makes his own healthy meals. You will never go hungry when he's around and he is happy to cook for you.

Astaroth

Instead of texting which he does do sometimes, He sends letters to you. Some of them are rather... Spicy, but all of them are filled with poetic and lovely words that make your heart flutter. It feels as though you are in the middle ages getting a love letter from your beloved fiance. Every word drips with love and you could practically feel the emotion on the paper. He even puts a little wax stamp on it before sending it to you the letter isn't an envelope smelling of his cologne.

Astaroth imagine is himself as the main character and you as love interest when he reads romantic novels. You can't help but imagine the two of you in those lovely situations sometimes he even writes it himself.

When he does text you he pours his heart out in a longing text. Telling you how much he longs for you. How his heart aches when he's not near you. How he feels as though he has lost without your touch. He knows just what to make you swoon.

[uyuforu]

Jungkook's Juno in his Natal Chart

Juno (3) is an asteroid discovered in 1804 by Karl Ludwig Harding. It represents another part of the person we will marry as it represents destined partner, our soulmate, "the one" for us. Briede & Groom asteroids are more about just the FS. But Juno has a more destiny message, more of a spiritual link. To see moe about this person, looking at our Juno Persona Chart is recommended!

Juno Leo

-> This man will marry someone with Leo placements. In the big 3 or at least in the big 6. Juno Leo means that he will marry someone who will be famous at some point. He will look at her, and she will just be the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She will be the sun to him, he will not be able to look at anything else. He will just radiate around her. He will be obsessed with her, but he will need her to be obsessed with him at some point. She is warm, have a beautiful laugh and smile, hair are very good looking, more on the wavy, curly hair. Thick hair. It can make the FS also bright and very charismatic. She can be popular. And people just love her. She might feel like the main character most of the times. She can be lucky in any occasions. It means love at first sight too, for both of them. Like in the movies type of love! This placement makes him want to be chased, to feel like his FS will literally fall on her knees when she sees him, yet it will be his reaction lmao. An intense connection when they meet, he will just know she is the one. He will absolutely adore her, and she will too. He will see her as perfect, and she will keep thinking "how come he chose me?? am I that lucky??". Just a couple who will be obsessed with each other and be their biggest fan lmao. A power couple. Basically: Jk will marry someone who will give him the love he always desired to give, meaning a huge love. He will commit himself 3000% as she will, and they will love that. It will literally make him feel so in love, he will feel like he is back alive.

Juno 8H

-> She will bring a lot of change in his life, literally nothing will be the same after her. JK's rebirth. He will meet her at a moment something important in his life is ending, and a new era is starting. It can also be at a moment he is going though a major changement, that he likes it or not. Instant attractiveness, a lot of passion towards each other, and could even be instant s3xual attraction, JK will think she is the hottest girl he has ever seen, very sexy. She could appear cold like, someone who looks very distant, etc. Could wear a lot of dark and black. Looks intimidating. But someone who warms up when you talk to her. Meeting her at night, or somewhere hidden, somewhere where nobody else see. Emotional bond, spiritual bond.

Juno 21°

-> Love at first sight, loving them from the first time he laid eyes on her. Absolutely loving her vibe since the first moment. He will think she is very funny and very smart. So someone smart, funny, open-minded. Another sign she could be a foreigner. He will think she is very unique and outstanding. She is literally very different, and doesn't even try. Someone he can and will admire, he will feel like she can teach him a lot of things.

Thank you for reading!

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[sleeplesssmoll]

More Stuff about Matilda Bouanich

Athletic

"SPDM kids are built different" theory confirmed. Just like Sonetto and Vertin, Matilda is also freakishly athletic. For Example, she jumps straight over a wall with no assistance. She's also very tough! She doesn't seem to be as resilient as Sonetto and Vertin (squishier and takes more damage) but even as she's bleeding, she will endure. Disclaimer: this ends up being an illusion but her taking on waves of enemies despite being bloodied says a lot about her character.

Stupidly Fearless

Falling asleep at a train station, walking down a dark tunnel on her own, Matilda really is wandering into dangerous situations like a lost duckling. I love how Shamane, Kaalaa, and Kanjira adopted the little duck and became her guides. Also, reminder she is a baby at only 14. She's younger than Sonetto and Vertin, but she is equally as brave. She's also vulnerable because of this. Her wallet was stolen multiple times and she puts herself in precarious situations.

Milky Blonde

They describe her hair as "milky blonde" which is just really cute to me.

Generous

Matilda always had a big heart. We saw it during the break-away event when she helped Vertin escape because she wanted to help her friend, even if she had no intention of following Vertin herself. She also gave Vertin the earrings the kids used to communicate with each other during their plan. She still has that generous side where she will willingly give away things and volunteer to help others. Not wanting to dirty Kanjira's skirt, giving Kaalaa her crytal, and overall helping the group in anyway she can. There are so many examples in the event!

Serious about Divination

Just like she did for Sonetto, Matilda guides people in a gentle voice we don't normally hear when she is divining. She is also extremely talented. She talks about being a genius all the time, but its true. Kaalaa and Kumar are both impressed by her.

Other Skills

Matilda knows first-aid and carries around an SPF 1 Portable Contact Device that allows her to call for back-up. She's also a quick thinker. Her thought process isn't as streamlined as Sonetto's (she mutters to herself and stumbles sometimes), but she recalls her guides and teachings and applies them to her situations.

Appreciation

I loved seeing Matilda shine in this event and the last one. We see her make friends, bring up ideas, and just being a fun character in general. For example, her interactions with the sly Kanjira and the oblivious Jessica are hilarious! Her admiration for Kaalaa also shows another side of her. She is confident, but she recognizes brilliance in others. Shamane is just a treat in this event too. We must thank this man for looking after the duckling and the danger noodle (Kanjira is a snake). For all her talk, Matilda doesn't try to impose herself as a leader. Instead, we've seen her in the main story and in the events take on supportive roles. She's a good friend. Normally I'm all for pining, but I think the story is much stronger because it excluded it. This allowed Matilda to show more sides of herself. While I'm partial to events with my beloved Vertin in them, if she and Sonetto were in this event I wouldn't be able to appreciate Matilduck!

[mundanemoongirl]

Huh… really interesting to read that you think Sel is more trope than character when it seems like that’s how everyone feels about Nick. I have always felt weird about not really being into Sel. We have seen the brooding, dark haired love interest a million times.

Exactly my thoughts. I never really liked that type of character to begin with. I think people don’t see Sel as a trope because 1. they eat that trope up and 2. they think being morally gray means a character has depth. They do not, in fact, have depth. They are all copy and pastes of each other.

I actually rolled my eyes when Sel was first introduced because these characters are so predictable. They all start off hated by the FMC (yet she always ogles him). They all hurt people, including her. But they all also do some nice things which makes them immediately forgivable in the FMC’s and audience’s eyes. For years I’ve been wondering why these characters are so popular in books made for girls in their formative years. Why are we trying to teach them to love men that hurt them?

About Nick, I think he seems like a trope because Deonn wrote him off in order to give Sel a romance arc. He could have had so much more depth than Sel with the identity crisis thing going on, but then the romance Deonn wanted wouldn’t have worked.

I try to write MMCs more like Nick. I will admit it is challenging to create a character who is both nice and compelling, but there are ways to make it work. And we need to make it work. We need more diverse storytelling than falling back on what everyone else is doing, and we need to move past the internalized misongyny that keeps making its way into books made for girls.

I hope the girlies aren’t too mad about this take.

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 6

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 6/? 4.6k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Your 30th birthday is nothing like you imagined, but Eddie has a surprise for you.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, smut (18+ mdni), true love, internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: drinking, angst

It was quiet in the early morning of your 30th birthday. Still dark outside, as it always was when you rose from bed at 5:10 AM.

You looked in the mirror, at your face still puffy from sleep. The harsh light above your bathroom sink was bringing out the darkness from under your eyes. Leaning closer, you ran your fingers over your pores to feel for imperfections, noting how large some of them seemed to be, especially at this time of day. There were a few raised bumps too. You couldn’t believe you were still getting pimples at this age. 

You brushed your teeth and washed your face. The cool water felt refreshing on your skin still warm from sleep. You rubbed on your favorite skin cream and blotted some concealer over the spots that needed it, blending it out with your finger. You then brushed on your eyeshadow, curled your eyelashes, and flicked your mascara wand over them, bringing your face to life more and more with each step.

Taking in your features, you looked at yourself for a long moment. Your eyes traced over the lines of your jaw, of your nose, and the shape of your eyes, all coming together to form you. A soft smile made the lines of your lips even plusher. 

Timeless.

Assessing your hair, you styled it a bit differently today.

It was casual Friday, a concept which you always thought was kind of hokey but you would take any excuse to wear jeans for a change, something that felt a bit more like you and less like a costume. You had a pair specifically in mind for today — your favorite. The lightwash Levi’s that hugged you in all the right places.   

You wondered for a moment if he’d notice. Shaking your head, you chastised yourself. Here you were, officially 30 years old, and you had spent the last four days thinking about a thumb. It was bold what he did in the parking lot on Monday, even for him. He’d been sending all sorts of signals for the past three weeks since you started tutoring him, but there was no mistaking this one. 

Eddie Munson had a crush on you. If you had any doubts before, his thumb had squashed them.

It was a common thing for students to have crushes on their teachers. Common enough for Van Halen and The Police to write hit songs about it.

But Eddie Munson was 20 years old, and you had a crush on him too. A bigger one than you cared to admit to yourself. In any other context, this wouldn’t be a problem. In the context of your job, it was an enormous one. At the same time, it was hard to remember the last time you looked in the mirror and felt this way. 

You wondered if he woke up in the morning and decided what to wear with you in mind. You wondered what he thought about as he watched you from the back of the classroom every day. Wondered what sort of scenarios the mind of a horny young man could conjure up on a daily basis, what he imagined doing with you, to you.

You shook your head again, feeling a twinge of guilt. What on Earth were you doing?

Then again, you couldn’t get in trouble for your thoughts. So long as you didn’t act on them.

You sighed and gave yourself one final look up and down in the mirror, turning to glance at every angle.

Timeless.

______

“Come on, come on.” You wanted to kick the Xerox machine. It hummed and sputtered, spitting out the top half of a paper, the bottom half crinkled in a jam, as if it had been hungry and thought the tests for your second period sophomore class were a tasty snack. It didn’t help that there was a line forming behind you.

You had been at work for all of ten minutes and it was already going south. Grabbing the paper, you yanked slowly, trying not to rip it as you un-jammed the machine.

“Hey happy birthday!” said Diane, waving a card in front of you with your name on it. “Off to a great start I see.”

You chuckled and took the card. “Yeah, I think it knows.” 

“I hate this thing,” said Diane. “I don’t need to use it nearly as often as you do, I feel lucky for that.”

Tugging on the paper again, you slowly and steadily worked it out of the clutches of the machine. “There we go.”

“See, it wasn’t that hard,” she said to the machine. “Give the girl a break, it’s her birthday for crying out loud.”

You chuckled and started the copy job again. “Ok, you better behave now. This is the last warning.” The machine whirred and beeped, thinking a moment before it began to spit out fresh, clean, uneaten copies of your test. “There you go, jeez.” You grabbed your card stepped off to the side running your finger under the top edge to rip the envelope. “Thanks, Diane.”

She smiled, “This one’s from the faculty, you’ll get mine later tonight,” she said with a little wink.

Opening the card, you took in the generic birthday wishes of your coworkers in different handwritings and inks. With a soft smile you tucked it into your leather grading binder.

You wished you could have said the day turned around after that, but the copy machine jam was only the beginning. A student got sick in your first period class and the room smelled for the three periods to follow, even after the janitor came.

There was a food fight during lunch period and you stepped in mashed potatoes as you exited the teacher’s lounge, tracking it all the way back to your classroom before you noticed. It was caked into the bottom of your boot and the tissues you had on your desk did a mediocre job at removing it from the crevices.

Your seventh period class might as well have been sleeping. The walls could have given better answers.

By the time the last bell of the day rang you felt like a frazzled mess. You should have just taken the day off.

You sighed and tidied up your desk, filing away papers and loading up your leather work satchel with folders to take home with you. That was when you heard a knock at the door.

Eddie Munson leaned against the doorframe, rapping his knuckles against it rhythmically. 

Your heart skipped a beat. “Hey Eddie,” you said, looking up from the mess on your desk. 

Eddie walked over to you slowly, his dingy white Reeboks padding softly against the tile floor. “Happy birthday,” he said.

“Oh thank you,” you said with a breathless chuckle. “It’s been a pretty shitty one so far if I’m being honest.”

His strong brows furrowed. “Well, I hope I can make it better,” he said as he extended his hand to reveal two small boxes.

“Oh my god, you didn’t have to get me anything!” you said, coming around the front of your desk to meet him. 

“I know, but I wanted to,” he said.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you took them from him. You turned them over in your hands. They were wrapped in newspaper — the funny section. Your heart swelled as you admired his handiwork before tucking a finger under the tape to break the wrapping.

“Sorry I’m shit at wrapping gifts.”

“Oh hush, you did great,” you reassured, tearing the wrapping off the first box. It was a Black Sabbath tape — Paranoid. 

“I would have gotten you some artists I know you actually like but with these I knew that you didn’t have them already, so…”

“Oh my god, thank you! This is so sweet,” you tore the paper on the other one to reveal Metallica’s Ride the Lightning. 

“I thought that these would be a good introduction to metal, since you said you really hadn’t heard much of it. The Black Sabbath one is their second album, you might recognize a couple songs actually. Dio sings for them now but I figured we’d get you started with the classics and work our way up,” he said with a wink, “And then the Metallica one also has some really good songs on it too.”

You smiled, big and broad. “Thank you so much, this is so thoughtful.” Your arms extended outward before you could even give it a second thought, still holding the tapes in your hand.

In your defense, you would have hugged anyone who surprised you with a gift on your birthday.

His eyes widened as he stepped toward you, bringing his arms around you without hesitation. Not diagonally as you might hug a friend or an acquaintance, but around your waist, guiding your arms over his shoulders. He held you tightly to him.

He wasn’t wearing a jacket or a vest, only his raglan Hellfire shirt since it was a Friday. You could feel him. Feel the shape of his body pressed to yours, of his back as you ran your free hand up and down it reflexively. Feel how solid his shoulders were with the other draped over them. You were worried he could feel your heart pounding through the thin cotton barrier.  

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, longer than you should have. 

You relaxed into the hug and rested your head against his shoulder, letting out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. His hair pressed against your cheek, softer than you had imagined. There was that scent again — you were enveloped in it. That warm, intoxicating combination of skin, smoke, and laundry detergent. You wished you could bottle it, spray it on everything.

You didn’t want to pull away. You knew you should but you just couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not for another few seconds that stretched on like a small eternity as you committed the touch to memory.

It was really the kind of hug that you get from a lover. The kind of hug that greets you as you step off of a plane. The sort of hug that molds to you, like two interlocking pieces. You felt him sigh.

His arms where strong and safe, one hand running up and down your back soothingly, the other wrapped tightly around the small of your waist. He pressed his cheek against your head.

Finally you gathered the strength to break away. His hands lingered at your waist as you did. 

Eddie’s eyes caught yours as you separated, they were soft and heavy lidded. His irises were deep and warm like Dutch-processed chocolate. You could have devoured him whole.

You cleared your throat and tucked your hair behind your ear, “Thank you. For the gift.”

He swallowed and nodded, “Sure. Give them a listen and let me know what you think.” He swung his hands back and forth, bringing them together in front of his body. “You uh, doing anything fun later?”

“Oh, not anything big or fancy, just gonna go to Pal Joey’s with a few friends.”

He smiled softly, “Sounds like a good time.”

“Yeah, it’ll be good,” you said, turning back toward your desk to finish packing up your things.

Eddie watched you for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say something more but refrained. “Well, I should probably get going. The guys are all waiting on me, so…”

“Have fun, give ‘em hell,” you said with a little wink as you gathered your papers.

“Oh I will,” he said with a smirk, turning to leave. He paused for a moment. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you said softly. “For everything.”

______

The grey sky hung heavy above the parking lot outside Pal Joey’s as the sun began to set. From your dashboard you could see the warm glow inside the restaurant through the large front window. You watched as the bartender served the two patrons at the bar while Black Sabbath’s “Electric Funeral” rang out full force in the speakers of your small sedan.

You thought about Eddie Munson again. Thought about him listening to this same song, only twice as loud and cruising down a dark road at 80 miles an hour. Thought about him at a concert, in a mosh pit, swaying and bobbing with the crowd. There was a quality about metal that swept you up in it. It was fast and driving, loud and heavy. It was alive and full of energy — much like he was.

You thought about Eddie Munson on a stage. Thought about his quick fingers on the fretboard, how his long mop of hair would shake as he bobbed his head with every strum. You wondered if he sang at all, what his bright voice sounded like in song. You thought about him singing to you — to only you. Thought about him sitting on the couch in your livingroom, an acoustic guitar across his lap, singing your favorite song. 

You thought about how good it felt to be in his arms. How safe you felt in them. There was a part of you that felt guilty about it, greedy about it, but you really would have hugged anyone who surprised you with a gift, student or not. It’s not that it wasn’t allowed either. There were plenty of students of yours in the past who had given you a hug. Some as a farewell on the last day of school. Others who really needed it. It was different with him though, and you knew it. But you had an excuse and the too human part of you that growled in the pit of your stomach wanted to know what it felt like.

There was a shadow in your window that startled you. You turned to lock eyes with the blonde as she waved excitedly. 

“Janet! Hey!” you said, flicking the key to your car to turn it off. You dropped it into your purse and hastily opened the door.

“Happy birthday!” she said as you got out of the car. You could smell her hairspray when she hugged you. “Oh my god, look at you,” she said, taking a step back to admire, “You look amazing.”

“Well thank you, so do you.” 

Janet sighed. “Thanks for being so nice. I’m just going to pretend like this wasn’t the second outfit I picked out after the baby got sick on my first one.”

“No, I mean it. You do look nice!” and she did. The perm was new, not new since you saw her over the summer, but new since you knew her in high school. It had been longer back then, long enough to braid at sleepovers.

Janet gave a weary smile, “Well thanks, I’ll take it.” She folded her arms, a curious look playing on her face, “So, you listen to Black Sabbath now?” 

“What? No — I mean yes. Um, I guess now I do,” you said with a flustered laugh, “One of my students got me a few tapes for my birthday, he’s into metal so he wanted to give me an intro to the genre.”

Janet chuckled, “How thoughtful.”

It was hard to tell whether she was being sarcastic or not. “Yeah, it is. I really like it so far actually.”

“I feel like all I listen to anymore is the Muppet Babies theme song. I’d take just about anything over that at this point.”

You heard quick footsteps against the pavement and turned to see Diane hustling up to you with a cake in a tupperware container. “Sorry I’m late, I had to take the dog out before I left,” she turned to you, “Happy birthday, again,” she said with a little chuckle, then turned to Janet, extending her free hand. “Hi, I’m Diane!”

She shook her hand, “Janet,” she said. “I think I remember you actually, from debate team? You were a few years ahead of me.”

Diane blinked, jogging her memory, “Oh! Yes, wait a minute, Janet… Johnson right?”

“It’s Peters now, but yes.”

“God, it’s been ages! How are you?”

“Happy to be out of the house,” she said with a chuckle. “Let’s grab a seat, we can catch up inside.”

Pal Joey’s was one of those places that never seemed to change. It was like stepping back in time to your summers home from college. They still had the same colored glass light fixtures above the bar. Same old metal beer signs plastered haphazardly along the walls. Same red, threadbare carpet by the pool table in the other room. It still smelled like cigarettes, even in the non-smoking section by the front bar where you were directed by the hostess to sit.

You scooted yourself along the vinyl booth bench after Janet, brushing away the hardened French fry crumbs and gritty salt granules as you followed her. Diane sat on the other side. 

You stared down at the smeared laminated menu. The food hadn’t changed either. It was your typical bar food selection of hot wings and burgers, one in particular called The Beast which there was a contest surrounding. 

You weren’t exactly sure what had imagined your 30th birthday being like, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t here.

“Can I get you ladies started with something to drink?” the hostess asked.

“I’ll have a margarita,” said Diane, “Oh, and hers is on me tonight,” she said gesturing to you.

“Oh thank you, you’re the sweetest. I’ll have the same.”

“Make that three,” said Janet. “Oh, and water!”

“Alright we’ll have those right out for you,” said hostess as she scribbled on her notepad and walked away.

You thought about your friends back in Indianapolis. You wondered what they were doing tonight and if they remembered. You wondered if he remembered.

“I’ve got some pictures to show you, before I forget,” said Janet, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a handful of photographs and laid them out on the table.

You and Diane leaned in to look at them. 

“Ok so this is Michael on his third birthday this summer.”

The little boy was towhead blonde, his hair almost white. Pizza sauce had stained his face orange around his toothy little smile. He was sitting in a high chair with Janet behind him, both their faces glowing in the soft light of the birthday candles. You could see the joy reflected in her eyes.

You glanced up at Diane, you could see the ache reflected in hers. You wondered if you were to hold up a mirror to yourself if your face would look the same way. A strange, soft sadness playing on your lips. A gentle longing in your eyes for something that may never come to be.

“He’s adorable,” Diane said softly.

Janet slid another photo to the center of the table. “This is one of Sarah from a few months ago, she’s eighteen months now, which I can hardly believe,” Janet said with a chuckle, “It feels like she was just born yesterday.”

“She already looks just like you,” you said thoughtfully, “I mean I know she’s just a baby but I can already see it.”

You thought about the wedding you were supposed to have next spring. Thought about the photos that she would surely have by then. 

The waitress approached the table with a tray of drinks and that you had never been so happy to see in your entire life. She took your order, just a classic burger and fries. Diane got the mushroom and swiss burger, and Janet got an order of chicken wings and a side salad.

Janet raised her margarita, “To you, my dear. May your thirties be your best decade yet.”

The three of you clinked your salt rimmed glasses together and a smile found its way back onto your face. You hoped she was right.

You took a generous sip of your drink. It went down easy. The lime was refreshing and the salt woke up your taste buds.

“So,” Janet started, turning to you, “Are you still writing? You were always so creative in school.”

“Oh, not much anymore. I guess I just haven’t been feeling that creative lately. Not really in the past few years actually,” you said. “I’m still a big reader though. You should have seen my dad trying to help with all the boxes this summer. He swore they were full of bricks and not books,” you said with a little chuckle.

“Well, maybe you’ll pick it up again someday,” said Diane. “You’ve been through a lot, give yourself some grace.” 

“You’re right, thank you,” you said, giving Diane a gracious look.

“How are your parents, by the way?” asked Janet. 

“Oh they’re fine, my dad keeps talking about wanting to retire but I don’t think he’s quite there yet, and my mom, well, she’s my mom. You know how she is.”

Janet laughed, “Yes, I do.”

“That was one thing about living in Indianapolis, at least I got some space, you know?”

There was a loud clanking that rang out from the pool table in the other room, causing you to glance over for a moment.

That’s when you saw it, the mop of wavy brown hair swooshing as the one who made the noise stood upright after taking their shot. You couldn’t even see their body over the booths in front of you, only the back of their head, but your heart rate kicked in full force at the site of them. At the possibility.

Is that?

Only when they turned around did you realize it was a woman.

You took a deep exhale, trying to steady your racing pulse.

You felt like a fool. What were you doing?

Here you were, officially 30 years old, pining for a guy who wasn’t even old enough to have a drink at the bar you were at. A guy who also happened to be your student. 

You took another generous sip of your margarita and looked down at the table, thumbing at the dull rubber rim. A numbing buzz washed over you.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but May wasn’t that far away, when you really thought about it. What if you waited and he asked you out after he graduated? He seemed really interested. It wasn’t an impossible scenario.

Janet and Diane carried on the conversation, talking about their parents.

You tried your best to tune in, but all you could think about was Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson who looks at you like he’s going to kiss you, who leans in too closely, who touches your hand because he can’t help it and flashes you signals with his in the parking lot. Eddie Munson who was gentle and kind and would hurt somebody — for you.

Eddie Munson who said you were timeless.

You wondered if he would still mean it by May.

You downed the rest of your drink and set the glass on the table. Only the ice remained.

“Woo, that’s the spirit!” cheered Janet. “Next one’s on me,” she said, giving Diane a wink.

You offered a weak smile. “Thanks, you guys are so sweet.”

You were thankful when the food arrived. It gave you something to do with your mouth other than talk. Something to focus on other than your blaring thoughts.

All three of you were quiet while you ate. You could tell that your friends were equally as hungry, probably wrestling with thoughts of their own.

You sat back and sighed after you ate as much as you could manage of your burger and fries. 

“Save some room for cake,” said Diane with a wink. 

You gave her a wide-eyed look and the three of you laughed.

“Oh yeah, I totally forgot to ask,” started Diane, “How did that dinner go with your mom and that guy?”

“So awkward that my mom didn’t arrange another one,” you said, laughing probably way too loud.

“Yikes.”

“I don’t miss that part about being single,” said Janet. 

Diane swished the liquid around in her glass. “I’ll tell you what, I’d be pretty lonely if it weren’t for Remi. He keeps me busy and gets me some fresh air during our walks twice a day.”

“Maybe I ought to start thinking about getting a pet,” you said, running your finger along the wet condensation on your glass.

“There are some perks to singlehood that I miss. You don’t have to answer to anybody, well, except Remi I guess,” said Janet with a little chuckle.

“Trust me, whoever I end up with won’t be expecting me to answer to them,” said Diane, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh you know what I mean, like have to come home and do things for people who can’t do anything for themselves, husband included sometimes,” she said with a snort, “I love my family to death but it can be so exhausting.”

Diane nodded, “Your feelings are valid,” said the therapist in her. Though you could tell there were other feelings under the veil of her mature response.

The three of you sat and enjoyed your drinks and each others company for a while longer while you processed dinner. 

Then came the inevitable song. You knew it was coming when three other servers and the bartender showed up at your table. You braced yourself, smiling awkwardly while your friends howled the familiar tune, the margaritas amplifying their voices.

The cake was beautiful, Diane had really outdone herself. It was a red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting and sprinkles on top. 

You stared into the glowing candles as they wavered in the air and took a deep breath. Though it seemed childish and unrealistic, like asking for a pony, you knew what you wanted to wish for. You blew out the candles and let the quiet whispers of your heart sing for just one moment, the smoke writing cursive in the air, like a silent prayer wafting toward heaven as it rose.

There was clapping and cheering from the waitstaff and your friends around you.

It wasn’t until after you had taken your first bite of that delicious cake that your server approached you with another drink.

“From the man over there,” she said, gesturing to a young man in a suit with closely cropped hair seated at the bar. “For your birthday.”

He glanced back at you for a moment and you locked eyes with him, feeling your stomach start to turn. You gave him a weak little smile and glanced away quickly, your face turning as red as your cake.

Diane and Janet looked at each other, their mouths gaping in excitement. You wanted to evaporate.

“Go talk to him,” Janet whispered excitedly. 

“If you don’t, I will,” snickered Diane.

It might have been partially the alcohol but you were starting to feel dizzy. “Oh, I don’t know. Go for it, Diane.”

She gave you a deadpan look. “Come on, I mean he bought you the drink after all.”

“I just… I don’t really know if he’s my type, you know?”

“What is your type?” asked Diane curiously.

“Yeah, I always thought it was brooding intellectuals,” Janet said with a laugh.

Apparently it was metalheads with long hair and loud vans, but you weren’t going to admit that out loud. Especially not in front of your coworker. 

“I guess it just depends on the person. It’s never been guys in suits though.”

You stared down at your fresh drink sitting on its pristine napkin and wondered how wise it was to place your heart in such reckless hands.

After all, time moves quickly for young men.

You of all people would know it.

______

A/N: Woof, am I right? We are beginning to ascend the angst portion of this roller coaster and it’s going up and up for the next handful of chapters so strap in. Next chapter is from Eddie’s perspective *rubs hands together*

Once again thanking all of you for your continued support and enthusiasm. It keeps me going every week to see your excitement and reactions so keep them coming, please! I love interacting with you guys, it makes me feel like we’re all on this journey together.

Your reblogs help this story reach a larger audience and mean so much to me! Thank you 🧡

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[yandere-paramour]

How long did it take for Jaime to fall in love with Asteria? Did he still love her when he tried to run away with Ata? I assume that although Asteria is a more strict yandere she still wouldn't take advantage of Jaime, so when did he decide he was ready to be intimate with her and have a child?

Would it make him happy to see darling raising her and Ata's child with a more healthy view of love?

It's so interesting to know more about these characters and think about how they impacted Ata!!^^

It took Jamie about a year to fall in love with Asteria. In truth, when she initiated something sexual about 10 months into their marriage, he wasn't fully comfortable with it but he said he was anyway. But after, he found he felt okay and he trusted her a little bit more and that did help their relationship. Before their marriage, she remained completely chaste with him, only holding his hand and giving him a quick kiss at the altar. When she initiated on their honeymoon, he started crying and she stopped immediately.

Around a year and a half into their marriage, she started pegging him and they began talks about trying to conceive a child. They both knew they would need to continue the Montclair line so they were expected to have a daughter, but Asteria made it very clear that she was willing to wait quite a few years before trying if he wasn't ready, but Jamie said he was. He understood his duty was to sire a Montclair daughter, but he also liked the idea of a little Asteria and him running around. He really did love her at this point, and Atalanta was very much a wanted child.

Not to say it was Atalanta's fault that he tried to run with her, but it was her fault. She was about 4 years old and suddenly interested in all types of love. Jamie caught Asteria telling Atalanta about their love story, telling his precious daughter how her father calmed down and accepted his place by her side once she set down clear restrictions and punishments in place and how she should use these tactics on her own love in the future to keep them happy and calm. Atalanta was listening intently and asking questions, and Jamie knew he had to run and he had to take his daughter with him. He loved his wife, and he loved his family, but staying would be continuing the cycle, and he couldn't in good conscience do that. It broke his heart to run away from the life he had come to like if not love, but he had to.

But now, nearly 25 years later, he's a broken man. He's old, his dark hair is streaked with grey, and his knees hurt sometimes. He gave up trying to escape a long time ago, and he won't do it again. He's given up on trying to fix anything with Atalanta's view of the world, so now he's just trying to love the daughter who has turned into his wife. All he can do is hope that his daughter's wife is a braver person than he.

Seeing Darling teaching his grandchild that love is something mutual and shared between people, not something forced, might honestly bring him to tears. Maybe the cycle can finally be broken and he can stop feeling like his life is wasted and he's a weak, pathetic failure of a Father.

[tobytost]

*taps microphone to check it works before holding it towards you* wanna share some of those hyper-specific headcanons? can be for any rebels characters or just kanan (oddly specific headcanons are my fav thing :])

OMG I'VE WAITED SO LONG FOR SOMEONE TO ASK THIS <3 mwah anon ily

Kanan's show-care is cutting fruit (in typical dad fashion)

often, Kanan would just eat his space apple with a knife, alone in the kitchen, and Sabine would just sit beside him, in total silence and Kanan would give her a piece of an apple straight from the knife and she would take it

that's what I call father-daughter bonding moments

Zeb and Kanan are NOT normal about the sports

whenever there's a match, they buy the cheapest beer and occupy the living space for at least 5 hours

they're very loud about it as well

they tried to get Ezra or Sabine to watch but none of them actually like the sports like they do

Kanan and Zeb trained together in the early days, they still do, but it's rarer because of Ezra's training

Hera and Kanan watch space drama TV together when the rest of the crew are out on a mission or asleep

they gossip together about it as well

in the early days, when it was only Zeb, Hera, Chopper and Kanan and when Kanan was still deep in his dark heavy thoughts and trauma

the force around him was so freaky Zeb and Hera actually thought that the Ghost was haunted.

like, for example. Imagine Hera going through Chopper's memory bank and there's a recording that Chopper doesn't seem to remember having

and in that recording it's just Chopper's pov as he rolls into the room with Kanan, and Kanan just stands in the corner

and as he turns his head towards Chopper the recording gets CORRUPTED and it just switches to some silly stuff Chopper recorded later

and Hera is just like FUUUCK WHO DID I PICK UP

or when he sits down to meditate, the temperature on the ship suddenly drops

freaky stuff like that

Kanan actually cooks really well! He cooks most of the time and he teaches Ezra how to cook as well

Kanan realises that he thinks of Ezra as a son when Ezra came to him with a nightmare for the first time

the worry, the feeling of pride that he reached out, the love and care he felt in that moment

he braids Ezra's hair sometimes, when they're just chilling together

he also helps him with his haircare routine

Kanan loves Abba, he's an Abba guy

sometimes Kanan forgets that he's dating Hera and gets flustered cause he has a huge crush on her

Hera thinks it's adorable but she also calls him an idiot

Kanan is very protective of his family, he checks in with everyone through the force before he could fall asleep

he's especially protective of their youngest, he knows they're capable of protecting themselves but he believes that this is his job

so he always keeps an eye

I HAVE SO MUCH MORE BUT THIS POST IS TOO LONG ALREADY LMAO let me know if you want more

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 5: Elves again (Thingol + other important ones)

So now it says Melian was most associated with Yavanna. Which one is it then?

Also the forest where they meet is Nan Elmoth, the same where later Eol lives. well, the place doesn't determine how well the relationship goes. remember this when picking a restaurant for a date. :D

Thingol was awesome before, but he gets the "extra tall + silver (glowing?) hair" description only after marrying Melian.

Geography… So Tuna is in Valinor but on the edge. I should probably remember this better.

Fëanor!!!

So, Fefe is better with words, more knowledgeable and more handy, but Finarfin is the prettiest! And the wisest. At least among the sons of Finwë.

Ambarussar are identical twins, same faces and temperaments. Also, they are even more associated with hunting than Celegorm, but he is a friend of Orome.

Unless it's Polish translation issue, Aredhel is canonically very pale-skinned. Not that I care about the canonicity here, but it's interesting because very few characters have clearly stated colors of anything. (Also I think dark-skinned fanart of her looks better because of the contrast). Oslo, canonically she is not romantically interested in any of the sons of Feanor (including Celegorm).

OK, so the Teleri reach Valinor proper… it makes sense that Alqualonde is on the continent, but I somehow managed to forget this. :|

Ingwë is the high king od all Elves. Hmmm. I don't think Feanor cares about this.

Darkness mentioned again!!! Fefe and sons wander to the edge of darkness (small d, but I'm not sure how consistent Jirt is), meaning the Western edge of the world, I think, because they are drawn to the Unknown. This is an important sentence!

Capital "U" Unknown — but not Darkness. And it is defined as outside, maybe Void, maybe the general direction of "out of Ea"? And I have thoughts. Oh, I do have thoughts.

Who was also drawn by the unknown empty far places in his youth? Yes, Melkor. (I wonder if he talked about it with some SoF in Valinor. Especially Maedhros. Yes, I love two part "polite maybe even friendly // torture" philosophical conversations it seems)

all of them share the "I wonder what's there" curiosity and go and wander in places (yes I cannot stop thinking about this siple proto-hobbit song)

at some point the neutral or even inviting "Unknown" becomes "Darkness" in their eyes. This is the (result of the?) fall.

(also, Men in the tale of Adanel or what her name was)

I feel like there's more to explore here, but not for now

Anyway, it is another place which may have impacted the notion of "darkness everlasting" in their minds.

Fefe's chapter.

The writing was invented in aman, and Rumil lived in Tirion (everyone important did I suppose).

Finwe and Miriel fell in love in Aman (not before) and were very happy and in love. After her death Finwe did mourn her a lot even in the published Silm.

Feanor is canonically tall!!! And pretty, light-eyed and raven-haired. He made a lot of glowy gems, silmarils were just the magnum opus.

OK, so Indis here isn't Ingwë's sister, just an unspecified close relative. from the order of those in the narrative, I suppose Feanor married Nerdanel before Finwë remarried. Before the remarriage and Melkor getting free, Feanor seems pretty stable mentally. but it is not clear, which of those two factors messed him up more.

Melkor is set free during the adolescence of Fingolfin and Finarfin, or at least before they are full adults, but after they're born.

Melkor is such a jerk. :/ I mean, sure he is but he's even more of a jerk instantly after his release than I remembered.

It's not like "the Valar set Melkor free to roam"! He was supervised and restricted to Valmar, but pretended to be good and behaved and the Noldor actually benefited from his advice (per the book!) so he was let to go whenever he wanted in all Aman. Because Manwë thoght that Melkor is fine now.

Tulkas is less nice than I remembered and does have anger issues indeed.

Melkor teaches the Noldor a lot of thigs they should not be taught. I wonder what were those.

Feanor never took advice from Melkor. …or from anyone else (except Nerdanel in their early marriage). so it's not as noble of him as it seems.

[clockwork-ashes]

Day 4 - Traditions | Hounds

Note: for day 4 of @erisweekofficial <3 some of you might recognize a few of the characters from all you have is your fire ;) thank you for reading!!!

Summary: Having an equinox ball is tradition in the Autumn Court, but young Eris and his friends have other plans (one-shot). Read also on Ao3 <3

Music rang, low and lovely, in the large space. The orchestra played their instruments expertly, each song drifting to transition into the next with no effort. The most important members of the Autumn Court whirled in time to the beat, spinning in clothes made from the richest fabrics, looking like leaves falling in the wind. 

Eris stood separated from the vicious fray, hardly eager to dance with any of them. Each of them were dressed in their finest, celebrating the night before the equinox as one of the longest standing traditions in his home court. The richest aristocrats and most influential courtiers were gathered in the elegant ballroom of the Forest House, invited personally by the High Lord himself.  

Eris preferred no one speak with him at such events. His arms were crossed over his forest green jacket, the golden thread along the sleeves bright in the light of the flickering chandeliers. Long shadows cutting across his already sharp features gave him the appearance of looking more harsh than usual. 

There was a cigarette hanging limply between his fingers, a crutch for him whenever he was feeling uncomfortable. The smoke lingered in the air around him as he brought it to his lips. His father had already given him a withering glare from the other side of the dance floor, disappointment heavy in his gaze. 

Eris decided his father would be too concerned with keeping up appearances and forgo teaching him a lesson in front of the large crowd. 

Kai sighed from where he was standing next to Eris. Their shoulders were touching as he spoke, deep voice filled with a familiar concern. “I don’t think your father wants you to smoke.” 

“Does it matter?” Eris mumbled. Beron Vanserra always had opinions on how his sons were supposed to behave, an ever growing list of things that he deemed unacceptable constantly at the back of his mind. At just a little over a century old, there were plenty of ways in which Eris adjusted his actions to better suit his father’s expectations. 

Eris watched with furrowed brows as Kai took the lit cigarette from him. “Don’t make him angry.” There were scars along the other male’s knuckles, each one earned from when he had been learning how to handle throwing knives. 

In a gesture obviously meant to provoke a reaction, Kai brought it to his own lips, taking a long drag. He looked at Eris, desire clear in the depths of his dark eyes as he blew a stream of smoke into the air.  

They had met during Eris’s first year in the war camps, and had fought alongside each other during the war. As heir to the Autumn Court, Eris could admit that he had very few friends, and an even smaller number of people who he trusted. 

Kai was vicious, a brutal warrior as well as an excellent courtier, older than Eris by a decade and from a small town that bordered Spring. He was tan in a way that most faeries in the capital city were not, his brown hair threaded with lighter strands of gold that fell in loose curls to his shoulders. 

Eris could admit that their relationship was often complicated, no romantic feelings whatsoever, but the level of comfort shared between them was well known to many, and very few cared what Eris did in the privacy of his own bedroom. 

Kai was one of his best friends, and Eris had no idea what he would have done without him. 

“When can we leave?” The other male asked, flicking the last little bit of the cigarette onto the stone floor. With a small flare of his magic, it was turned to ash entirely. 

Eris shrugged, dragging his gaze from Kai with great effort. He ran a hand through the short strands of his red hair. He searched for the final member of their small friend group, spotting her easily in the crowd. “When Lethe says we can.” 

The young courtier was wearing a gown the colour of fresh blood, her long hair falling in a sheet to her waist as she spun in the arms of a male she was much too good for. Eris had danced once with her, the only female he knew for certain was not after his crown. She was his only childhood friend, more ruthless than even he was. 

If it was not a well known fact that Lethe was only attracted to females, Eris was positive his father would have already arranged a marriage between them. The only reason he had not done so was because guaranteeing more heirs was deeply important to the High Lord. 

“You ever seen her smile so wide?” Kai asked absently, concerned.  

Lethe’s grin looked painful to most watching, like she was not used to making the expression. It would have been funny had it not been so disheartening. “She does seem to be enjoying herself,” Eris winced.

“I can’t believe she wants to find a husband.” Kai said, shaking his head. She would have no trouble, they both knew. Her family was unbelievably wealthy and powerful, and the complicated chess game the nobles were playing was never to be disregarded in Autumn. 

“I pity the fool who thinks he might be able to tame her,” Eris added, tilting his head in curiosity as the song came to an end and Lethe stalked angrily towards them. He straightened as she approached, hoping at the very least they could leave if she had thoroughly finished charming her suitors. 

Eris watched as Lethe’s lips pulled into a scowl, her pale hands in tight fists at her side. Her eyes were the colour of dried drops of blood, embers flaring to life inside them.

“Who gave her the right?” She asked none of them in particular, staring at another female on the room’s opposite end. Courtly rivalries were common in the Forest House, but Eris was unsure what might have happened between them. 

Kai clapped a hand on Lethe’s back, winking at Eris as a knowing amusement lined his handsome features. “Don’t pay her any mind,” he offered, “perhaps you can kiss her and make up.”

“I hate it here,” she huffed, throwing an arm around them in frustration. “Can we go?”

It took very little convincing on Eris’s part. At her words, they easily snuck away from the crowd, going into the empty corridor. Eris felt relief wash over each of them as they walked silently to his chambers. 

Pyrrhus met them at the door, his tail wagging adorably at the familiar faces. Eris took the time to scratch him behind the ears, humming softly as the creature snuggled up against his legs.

Lethe slipped past the entrance and made her way to Eris’s large bed, throwing herself over the fur covers. She landed in a heap of fabric, her skirts making her seem smaller than she actually was. “Bring the cognac,” she ordered, sighing as she fell onto her back, “no glasses.”

Eris straightened as Kai brushed his side, leaning into the soft touch. He kicked the door shut behind him clumsily, waiting for the lock to fall into place before he reached for the other male. Pulling Kai close, Eris kissed him gently. 

Kai took hold of Eris’s neck, keeping him in place as he licked at the seam of his lips. Eris made a low sound of approval deep in his throat, the fireplace on the room’s other side sparking to life. 

“I’m still here,” Lethe called out to them, grumbling under her breath as they ignored her for a moment longer. Pyrrhus had padded quietly to the foot of the bed, jumping onto the mattress as his ears twitched to the sound of her voice. 

“We sometimes forget about you,” Eris offered as he moved away from Kai. The other male laughed charmingly, shoving at him playfully. 

Lethe raised her middle finger at them both, her other hand rubbing Pyrrhus’s snout, unafraid of the hound’s sharp teeth. 

Eris used his magic, making a full bottle of cognac appear in his hands. Kai was already sprawled out along the pillows when he went to sit. He gave the drink to Lethe first, sitting next to her. 

Lethe drank deeply, giving the bottle to Kai as her eyes closed. She leaned her ear against Eris’s shoulder, tucked close to his side. “This is much better,” she said softly.

Kai hummed his agreement, cringing at the strength of the cognac. “Happy Equinox,” he added, addressing them both. 

Eris reached out his hand, glad to have his friends with him. He offered the smallest of smiles, raising the bottle Kai gave him to his lips. “Here’s to next year.” 

[anghraine]

The graduate school at my university finally formally approved my dissertation and is sending it onto whomever "publishes" it. (It's "finally" because they never had any corrections on the actual body of the diss, but several corrections to the title page and Table of Contents bc Word kept reformatting my stuff. But at long last, the whole thing is suitably formatted and acceptable now. Glad there's someone really paying attention to whether dissertations say "by" or "By"!)

I've never used mods for any game ever until today, when I downloaded a bunch of additional faces and hairstyles my housemate Ash showed me and got them working on my PC, and then independently(!) found one that will allow me to live my dreams of having black hair (natively BG3's character customization sucks for dark hair, especially the curly hair I wanted, but it turns out there's been a mod for this for a year). And I got them all working without the game crashing!!

While loading the Larian launcher for the first time in months to see if I'd destroyed anything, I saw the announcement for the next patch, which unusually, I'm really excited about! It adds an official mod manager they've been working on with some of the major modders, and a bunch of evil playthrough material (not that I'd do an evil playthrough, I was emotionally scarred by my first Durge murder and returned to my usual LG ways, but I respect it), and apparently a bunch of dialogue, particularly for Wyll. I also respect them not making an expansion when it wasn't sparking joy and am hoping I can get some of the Xanathar's subclass mods also working, since they're the main reason I'd even want an expansion.

The upper-division literature class I'm teaching this fall looks like it's been formally approved. It doesn't pay super well but it will considerably assist my early modernist creds, and J, Ash, and I saved enough to carry the household through the year. And while I don't love teaching in a formal academic context (I know, I totally chose the right career!), it's a lot more fun when it's literature and upper-division and in something I actually specialized in.

(All these things are clearly of equal importance!!!)

[jeanie-g]

Oh yes, teacher AU please 😏

I mean how can I not 🤷🏼‍♀️

HAHA we were just talking about this so ofc! i started writing it months ago, but lately i've revisited it to flesh out the story a lil bit.

let me set the scene: jack is a 7th grade english teacher working on his first Big Project (either a novel or a play - i'm between the two rn, but i'm leaning towards play) that he's....kinda stuck on. he doesn't love being a teacher either, just sees it as a temporary job til he gets published (can u see the incoming character arc? lol)

so, he's a bit lost. he's got his best friend trevor (who teaches 8th grade science), and he's got his brother/roommate luke (who pays the majority of the rent w his swanky ahl contract), but that's it.

until he meets nico at the bar one night, who's new in town (and also hot and mysterious). and wow! jack finally has a life outside of school....a way to separate his work/home life and a chance at love!

until he shows up on monday and sees that nico is the newest gym teacher lol. cue hilarity and nico trying to seduce jack in the broom closet. jack has to reassess the way he separates his personal and work life and how they intersect - and fall in love in the process ofc.

it's very much a rom-com but i wanna explore jack's identity as a writer and teacher, and give him some room to figure himself out :) i just finished Writers & Lovers by Lily King (highly recommend!!!), which is major inspo for this new direction.

here's a (slightly ~spicy~) snippet:

***

Jack clicks his tongue. “I don’t wanna talk about work. It’s…exhausting sometimes.”

“Hence the bar?”

“Pretty much.” He regards Nico, just sitting there—the hottest man in this whole place—and plays with the straw in his glass. “But I’m feeling better now.” It’s cheesy, he knows, but Nico flushes anyway. Jack is really liking how easy this man is to read.

“And why is that?”

And Jack can’t help himself. He lowers his voice. “Well, I’m hoping the handsome European in front of me is going to ask me to go home with him.”

Jack expects Nico to be surprised at his forwardness, but he just grins like the cat who got the cream. “A little presumptuous, hm?” he asks, goading—devilish.

Jack smiles, darting his tongue out to lick the lime juice off his lips. “Am I out of line? I’d hate to assume…”

Nico takes a calculated sip. He leans in close. “Jack, I’ve wanted to ask you that as soon as I laid eyes on you.”

Jack shivers just the tiniest bit. It's the air conditioning, surely. “Yeah?”

Nico eyes him. His lips shine. “Yeah.”

They finish their drinks quickly after that.

“I should probably warn you,” Nico says in their Uber to his apartment just a few blocks up. They would’ve walked if they had any kind of patience. “My place isn’t very furnished.”

Jack’s hand is tracing patterns on Nico’s quad—this man has to work out. He wonders what he does for work. Construction, maybe? He never did mention, but then again, neither did Jack.

“Do you have a bed?” he asks. His hand crawls towards Nico’s inner thigh and he hears a sharp intake of breath.

“Yes.”

“Sounds suitably furnished to me.”

They’re on each other as soon as Nico’s front door closes, greedy hands finding purchase on any pull of fabric or strip of skin they can find. Nico’s mouth finds Jack’s in the dark, meeting him in a blazing kiss that makes Jack’s hairs stand on end and fireworks light behind his eyelids. Nico’s like a magnet—or a planet, pulling Jack in to orbit around him. Jack surrenders to it easily, and he doesn’t give himself time to even worry he’s being too needy about it.

It takes them a while to get through the small apartment, pushing each other up against walls or furniture to make out some more, Nico getting distracted by Jack’s wandering hands and Jack getting distracted by Nico mouthing marks that will definitely bruise along his jaw. Thank God it isn’t a school night; his students would have a field day with that one.

Blissful, adrenaline-fueled minutes elapse over Jack, and he doesn’t even register they’ve gotten to Nico’s bedroom until the backs of his knees bump against his bed and he goes tumbling backwards with a surprised yelp. Nico tumbles with him, shifting his weight so he doesn't crush him. He’s chuckling into Jack’s neck, and the sound vibrates through his head, swimming alongside the subtle buzz from the gimlets and Jack’s own desire, burning like an uncovered flame with an endless supply of oxygen.

Nico leans back, his hair thoroughly mussed from Jack’s fingers raking through it. A sliver of moonlight from the window illuminates his beautiful face.

“What do you want, Jack?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. He sounds like he’d do absolutely anything Jack would ask him to.

The moment feels tight with anticipation, a Schrödinger’s cat of possibility. Jack leans up and kisses Nico sweetly, and drops his head back on the pillow.

***

and that's where i have to stop before it gets actually nsfw lmaooo

i'm so pumped to keep writing this. thanks for the ask <3333

[stxrshxpxd]

autumn

pairing: 90s professor hugh grant x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: student x teacher

prompt: reader falls for her university professor and she thinks it just might be a mutual feeling…

requested by anonymous <3

September.

I had seen Mr. Grant twice in passing on my walks across campus and through the seemingly endless hallways of marble flooring and dark stain wooden arches, on my little quests to navigate my way through my new university. The first time I had turned my head rather indiscreetly and nearly walked into a massive pillar as I studied his locks of brown hair bouncing away from me along with his rushing steps. The second time I had felt a stab deep in my stomach at the sight of him across the library, pulling his hand through said locks of brown hair, before ending his short conversation with the headmaster and quickly disappearing again.

My third encounter with him came on a September morning with ambiguous weather. I sat watching the strong sun begin to beam through the patchy coat of clouds and chase the morning mist away. As the doors opened to the lecture room I expected a large pregnant belly to enter first, but instead that pain in my stomach returned at the sight of Mr Grant marching inside. There were scattered whispers and mumbles around the room. I had no one to whisper to, and so I took a deep breath and secured my gaze on the bronze buckle of his belt and bit the inside of my cheek.

“I take it Mrs. Sherman hadn’t told you who would be filling in for her,” he chuckled at the palpable surprise in the room. “Well. It’s lovely to meet you all. I’m Professor Grant. I do recognise a few faces around the room.” His gaze hopped between students and he gave a handful of them soft smiles, skipping over me. “Well… Mrs. Sherman went into labour on Sunday and now has a little baby girl at home.” I noticed he spoke with his whole face and half his body, smiling, raising his brows and opening his arms in celebration at the happy news. “So, I will be teaching the rest of your Literary Analysis course this year.”

The sun had come to lay across half his body and was making the silver ring on his pinky glow brightly.

“I heard you’re reading Sense and Sensibility,” he said and a few of the students nodded in silence, backs straight and ears eagerly open. Mr. Grant swiftly pulled out a small, weathered copy of the book in question from the back pocket of his black suit trousers. For some reason that act made the stabbing in my abdomen worse. I held in a sigh at the fear that everything he did would make my stomach wrench in agony.

October.

The rain was beating aggressively against the large windows to my right and added to the soundtrack of Mr. Grant humming between his nods as well as tapping his index finger softly against the desk he was half sitting back on. I had lost track of what the student behind me was saying about Children of the Corn but forced myself to hurriedly tune back into the monologue once I felt Professor Grant’s eyes resting on me occasionally. I anticipated his question and I searched my mind quickly.

“That’s a very nice analysis, Thomas, thank you. Y/N, what thoughts did this story provoke for you?”

I couldn’t recall a time when I had properly shared my analysis directly with him before. My written words about Sense and Sensibility had been met with a seeming intrigue on his behalf though.

I greatly appreciate the depth of your character analysis. It shows you have a strong sense of morality and can view a person from a number of perspectives without favouring one. That is a very helpful tool. I am eager to hear more of your thoughts this year!

I had read the scribbled comment at the bottom of my short essay over and over, and right now they were the only words in my brain.

“Um, well, I think King has an incredible way of creating an atmosphere with just a few words. It’s quite remarkable.”

Mr. Grant nodded and smiled in agreement. Finally my thoughts caught up with me and I stammered on, all the while staring at the previously hidden forearms now sticking out of Grant’s rolled up sleeves.

“And, um… the thought that followed me all the way through the story is the exploration of religion in the modern world. Oftentimes I feel that religion is this untouchable and completely unstoppable thing that is, sort of, ironically out of our hands. You know, do we create it or does it create us?” Professor Grant’s smile grew slightly and I looked away, desperately trying to not lose my train of thought to the beauty of his pale, soft face.

“And also what is the difference between religion and cult, what defines them? …And why is one seemingly the pinnacle of good and the other inherently evil, if the line between them is so blurred, or indeed can’t be drawn at all? …Is ruthlessly shunning and marginalising people not just as bad as brutally killing them in a corn field? It’s just a choice of mental or physical death really. Except there isn’t a choice.”

I looked back at my professor once I had gotten my sentences out. He nodded slowly and pondered calmly with that satisfied smile on his lips, as I sat half panicking in the silence. All I could hear were my words echoing in the air between us.

“And do you think it should be stopped? Religion.”

He tilted his head and I took a deep breath in, in the midst of my light panic. He chuckled sympathetically with me, realising the magnitude of the question he had just asked.

“Yes and no, of course… I just think that it’s been a hell of a long time since society existed without religion, it might well be very healthy for us to step back and consider the world without it.”

“So, yes?” Mr. Grant suggested for me with a charming grin and an eye with a big twinkle in the centre. I laughed shortly and looked down at my nervous hands toying with my pencil.

“So, maybe,” I responded, looking up again. He chuckled and nodded once more and combed his fingers through the left side of his hair, only for it to bounce right back to its previous position.

November.

My eyes ached as I sat with my head hanging over my borrowed copy of E.M. Forster’s Maurice, reading the same line over and over again. I had read the book a few years earlier and adored it, but re-reading it now as the time was nearing 11 pm on a Friday night the words carried little meaning. Even my own words in my neat notes appeared increasingly alien.

The library was lit up softly and was about as silent as it could possibly get. It felt wrong to move and make sound as I stared out at the vastness of the room and the hallway outside of the library walls. Suddenly, just as my gaze had fixed sleepily on a framed painting hanging in line with my eyes, a person startled me as he came walking down the hallway. It was Professor Grant.

I shortly pondered the concept of fate as he turned his head casually and locked eyes with me. A smile came upon his face and he steered his steps inside the library without hesitating. He was in his usual black suit trousers and tight belt, a button-up without a tie, and a long coat and knitted scarf draped over his forearm. Under his other arm sat a thick stack of stapled papers caged in firmly against the side of his ribs. Shortly again I pondered the concept of jealousy now, before he spoke and washed my mind clean of everything else.

“Why aren’t you at that big dormitory party?”

Mr. Grant sat on the edge of my table and glanced down at me. He tossed his stack next to my stuff, at which my eyes scanned it and noticed several little notes and markings in red ink scattered throughout the text. I concluded that he had stayed late in his office to mark essays.

“How do you know about the party?”

He laughed quietly and looked around the room momentarily, allowing me a few seconds of shamelessly staring at his strong jaw as he looked away from me.

“Kids always think they’re very secretive. My hearing and deductive skills are excellent in fact.”

I smiled when he looked back at me, but the sentiment of the smile faded quickly from inside me.

“Do you think of us as kids?” I asked in the most neutral tone I could manage. He was only fifteen years older at the absolute most. He couldn’t be a day over thirty-five.

Mr. Grant’s soft stare dropped down my body in stages, seeming to halt at my collarbone and ribs and then my hinged hips where his gaze settled a short while.

“No,” he decided after a moment’s silence.

I didn’t know how the rest of that conversation was meant to go or indeed how to deal with the apparent tension that had built in the quiet room. Instead I backtracked to his initial question of why I was in the library on a Friday night.

“Well… You set an essay due Wednesday, didn’t you,” I chuckled breathily and impulsively looked down as I closed the book in my hands. We both gazed down at the cover and it felt like a strange form of eye contact. When I looked back up I saw a soft smile on his lips.

“That’s one of my favourite books.”

I exhaled and responded quickly.

“I will choose my words carefully.”

My professor’s smile grew and he met my eyes with his visibly tired ones, shaking his head.

“I trust you.”

Something in the air made me feel as though our conversation was coming to an end and it made me sad, which was why I grabbed onto a bit of substantial conversation I could find in our repertoire.

“I’m not big on parties anyway.”

Mr. Grant had crossed his arms now and nodded with the remnants of a smile.

“I understand.” He thought for a second and licked the corner of his mouth. “The parties in your future will be much more up your alley, when you’re an esteemed author. Trust me.”

He spoke of me being a revered published writer, yet all I felt like was a silly teenage girl as I tried to control my blushing cheeks at his sweet words. And then a soft groan escaped him as he reached to grab his essays again and stood on his long legs, clearly on his way to exit again.

“Just don't forget your old Literary Analysis professor when you’re famous,” he demanded sweetly and I simply kept smiling and blushing as he headed out, leaving me with my own company again. I had to fight to stop grinning and I found I was on the verge of breaking a sweat under my knitted jumper.

December.

For a few weeks now I had noticed an increase in stares between me and Professor Grant. I had found him resting his eyes on me several times across the room and once I thought I had made him blush, simply by looking up and meeting his eyes. He had looked down quickly and stuck his one hand into his hair, tensed his brows and stared down at his books again. I had mirrored his actions but hadn’t been able to make a single note for the next few minutes, completely consumed by the idea of letting my lips gently kiss his brow bone and feel him soften at my touch.

I was currently wrapped up in another one of those thoughts as I stared out the window, where light snowflakes were falling and slowly but surely forming a thin white coat over the lawn. I could hear his voice loud and clear as he was in the middle of a lecture - something about anti-heros apparently - but I wasn’t listening to the words. In my mind my lips were attached to his jaw and my fingers rushing to unbutton his shirt. Just as my mouth had reached his collarbone, his real life self changed his tone of voice and I tuned back in.

“Right, we’ll continue this tomorrow for a bit. And we will also have a chat about the exam in two weeks. So, bring all your anxieties and questions tomorrow and we’ll talk it through. Does that sound alright?”

I scanned the room quickly to find all the nodding and smiling students begin to toss their books into their bags and I scrambled to do the same, but once my eyes turned back to the front of the lecture room I found Mr. Grant on his way over to me.

“Hi,” he uttered quietly with a kind smile and I returned it. His hands were in his trouser pockets and his head tilted slightly as he looked down at me.

“I heard,” he began, glancing away at the last few students leaving the room. “from Mr. Holland.. that you’re doing quite well in your Creative Writing class.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I shrugged and laughed shyly as I fidgeted with the pages of my notebook.

“Now, I would hate to find out you have a favourite class that’s not mine, but,” Grant sighed jokingly and then gave me another soft curl of the lips. “I would love to read some of your writing if you wouldn’t mind. I promise to give you nothing but praise, of course.”

I chuckled and had to force my mind out of the gutter of imagining what type of praise he might give me.

“No, I want your critique,” I nodded, still anxiously toying with the notebook that conveniently enough held a lot of my creative writing drafts and half-ideas. Mr. Grant nodded back and swivelled around to my side of the table as I began flicking through my notebook to the sound of my umming and ahhing nervously.

He had planted his large palms on the table and his head hung between his broad shoulders as I finally decided on a page that felt somewhat representative of my work. His thin-rimmed glasses had been pushed up into his hair for the majority of the lecture, and he pulled them down now as he focused his eyes and mind fully on my text.

He was so close to me I could feel his scent begin to fill my nose, and his tricep was nearly brushing against my shoulder. I studied the few veins on his hands as his fingertips instinctively held the paper down against my table.

“It’s really good, Y/N,” Professor Grant finally concluded with his voice just a step above a whisper. “Really good.”

I looked up to make shy eye contact again and found his expression had changed from his sweet, composed smiles he would usually give me. There was something behind his spectacled eyes that suggested conflict. I realised there were just a few inches separating us and the urge to stand up and press my lips to his grew quickly, until I simply couldn’t fight it.

Pushing my chair back and half standing up, I planted a desperate kiss on his already slightly parted lips. For a second everything stood still and I wasn’t sure if he was kissing me back, but at least he wasn’t pulling away. Then I felt those gorgeous hands coat my sides, if only to help stabilise me as I staggered to my feet. It felt like everything happened within the space of a nervous heartbeat. Soon he backed away a step, his warm palms being the last to leave my body. Grant anxiously threw a glance behind him at the half open door as he wiped his bottom lip with his thumb. The sounds from the hallway came back to me again and regret washed over me with such power it nearly made me lightheaded.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I breathed.

“No,” he simply said and shook his head. The empty space in the air made me feel like he was supposed to or wanted to say something else, but he didn’t for a while. His eyes hopped from one corner of my face to the other and his chest rose and fell with his stressed breathing. At last his gaze settled on my lips.

“Y/N, you’re…” He rubbed his forehead and took a few more steps further away from me. “You’re very special and I really admire you… There’s just no way this can happen. You understand that, don’t you?”

He turned around to find me standing in the spot he left me, horrified by my own actions.

“And you have no idea how common it is to fall for a professor. It’s a very peculiar relationship; a student and a teacher… It happens. It’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, okay?”

Fully knowing I was going to be excruciatingly embarrassed by this incident maybe for the rest of my life, I nodded.

“Really, it’s alright,” Professor Grant spoke in a warm voice with a definite sadness behind it. My whole body was vibrating with nerves and heartache and I managed to move my stiff limbs enough to pick up my books and bag.

“Okay,” I exhaled, wanting so badly to believe him. I left his concerned expression behind as I passed him and stepped out into the hallway, managing to catch the heavy sigh he let out behind me. Even still, with embarrassment weighing down my steps, the only thing I could think of was the incredible feeling of his lips against mine and his hands holding my waist. My insides ached as I realised I would never be allowed to kiss him again. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to kiss him this time. My lower lashes held heavy tears as I stomped outside and kicked my boots through the fresh snow, heading towards my dorm.