thepurplebones

[electric-ecclectic-a]

Small PSA -

So,, My laptop is currently in the process of dying (she nearly had a hard drive failure around two days ago - thankfully it was able to fix itself but she is very slow and is crashing a LOT). This is part of the reason I’ve been so backed up on threads and responses - I’m unable to trim threads until I get on a PC, but my PC is essentially unusable. It currently takes me about an hour to load a webpage, and I cannot edit posts made in legacy without an error message and crash.

It will take me some time for me to save up for a new laptop, so thread responses will be somewhat slow. However, I’m still able to respond to DMs/asks, and I am available for plotting! If you are okay with being the one to trim our threads, please also let me know ;v; For long threads, I’ll likely just move them to a new post. I can edit using the beta editor, but that takes about thirty minutes for one post.

Thank you for your understanding! If anyone has some solutions for trimming threads while mobile-bound, please let me know, I am in Mourning 🧎🏼‍♀️

[mossy-paws]

Idk if you're still doing requests or not but likkee.. Perhaps a Cursedshot doodle? (If you want lol)

His ass is NOT!!! Beating those furry allegations!

anyways hope you like this! Sorry it took a bit to finish! I’ve been pretty busy lately n stuff!

honestly super happy with how this came out, I think I’m definitely starting to feel a lot more comfortable with this style! I think I’ll definitely try to do a few more larger pieces with the asks, specifically I wanna break away from only bust shots n stuff and move into full bodies! I also have some memes planned with some of them! So keep an eye out eheheheheh!

[happyhauntt]

a grey day — spencer reid.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: spencer meets the newest member of the department.

─── pairing: spencer reid x autistic!medical examiner!reader.

─── warnings: fluff, reader is autistic & a mom, spencer's iq gets slashed to sixty when he talks to pretty girls and it's my favourite thing. no use of y/n. reader is performing an autopsy so mentions of blood but nothing too graphic.

─── word count: 1.3k.

     YOU KNOW IT'S A GREY DAY before you even manage to open your eyes.

     And really, you’re expecting it  ━  this whole week has been filled with pale pink and lime green with solid, unwavering turquoise blobs in the middle, because you started your new job on Monday and the apprehension, the excited, the nausea, they've all been stirring up inside you for days now.

     Waking up to a grey day doesn't hit you as hard as it usually would.

     Still, you feel sluggish when you drag yourself out of bed ten full minutes after your alarm has gone off. The shower is a no-go this morning  ━  if you’re honest with yourself, the shower is a no-go most mornings, when your skin feels soft and sensitive and your brain can't cope with the idea of a barrage of hot water raining down on you  ━  so you slap on some deodorant and spray some dry shampoo in your hair, tugging it up into a rough ponytail.

     You take your time with your makeup, though; strawberry lipgloss and lots of concealer, a heaping of eyeliner and your favourite gold hoop earrings are exactly what you need to feel better. When you step out into the hallway wearing your comfiest black jeans and a jumper that's probably smart enough to pass the dress code, hearing your daughter giggling in the kitchen, the grey day lightens a little.

     It gets even better when your sister-in-law presses a travel mug of iced coffee into your hands.

     "Jackie, I fucking adore you," you say around a mouthful of delicious, soul-quenching caffeinated goodness. You’d half-expected Jackie to have something planned. Four years of living together means that Jackie tends to know about your off days before you do.

     The other woman suppresses a smile, coupled with a sharp look. "There's a three-year-old right there!"

     You snort, waving your hand nonchalantly. As if you don't have this conversation every single day. "Nellie knows not to repeat what I say." You turn to your daughter, your heart swelling three sizes as the little girl at the kitchen table looks up from her drawing. "Nell, baby, what am I always telling you?"

     "Don't go home with strangers."

     "Well, yeah, but I meant the other thing."

     The little girl brightens, revealing a missing front tooth. "If Aunt Jackie won't say it, then I shouldn't say it."

      You giggle, scurrying over to drop a kiss on your daughter's forehead. "Exactly right, my little love."

     When you turn back toward the kitchen counter, your sister-in-law's face is painted with an affronted look, her mouth half-open. "I can say bad words!"

      You wrinkle your nose. "I'll believe that when I see it."

     By the time you leave the house, sliding into your car with a second cup of iced coffee in hand, the day has lightened to a pale blue. You hope it will stay that way.

     "YOU LOOK SO TIRED, DUDE."

     Well, alright, he'll admit it wasn't the first thing he was expecting to hear when he entered the coroner's office. It's been a while since he ventured down to the morgue, sure, but Dr. Peterson has never talked to him like that before, and he's fairly certain not that much has changed in the three-or-so weeks it's been.

     And Spencer's observant. He prides himself on being able to notice things, tiny details other people seem to miss, things that are so obvious to him that he can't comprehend how normal people can't see them.

     So if anyone asks, he'll never admit that it took a full twelve seconds before he realised that the girl in the white lab coat, elbow-deep in an open chest cavity, is definitely not Dr. Peterson.

     "Uh..."

     It's the most intelligent response he can muster in the moment.

     "It's okay," you add, hardly bothering to look up from the corpse. "I'm tired too. And you're not the worst-looking guy in the room." You jerk your head at the dead guy on the table. "Although I'd say that's a pretty low bar, all things considered."

     "Where's Dr. Peterson?"

     "He retired. Or got a promotion, I think? Not totally sure." You shrug, raising an eyebrow at him. "I thought I'd met most of the department already, but I don't recognise you.” You tell him your name, squinting at him through your plastic glasses.”I’m the new... coroner, medical examiner, pathologist, dancing monkey? They didn't totally specify the position when they offered it, which I think says more about me than anything else."

     Spencer blinks. He's not totally sure he's ever met anyone who could talk nearly as fast as him before. "Dr. Spencer Reid, Behavioral Analysis Unit. Nice to meet you."

     "Oh, cool!" The liver in your hands gives a wet squelch as you drop it into a metal dish. "I'm under the BAU! I answer to your Section Chief, um, Agent Strauss? She's a little harsh, huh? I'd, uh, shake your hand, but..." You hold both hands up, mimicking a surrender, showing off the blue medical gloves slick with blood.

     An inkling of a smile creeps onto Spencer's face. "I don't shake hands."

     "That's fair," you say with a shrug. "Can I help you, Dr. Reid, or did you get lost looking for the cafeteria?"

     “No, actually.” He remembers the files he was supposed to show you and reaches into his satchel. The intensity of your gaze is like lasers on his skin and he can’t help but fumble, almost sending a stack of documents scattering across the floor.

     When he looks back up at you, cheeks flushed rosy, your stare hasn’t wavered even slightly. Amusement lingers in your eyes.

     He clears his throat and holds out the files as if they are a peace offering. He doesn’t quite understand whether a battle has been fought, but he definitely feels like he lost one. “Hotch— uh, Agent Hotchner sent the Howard County ME’s report on the Richardson case. He wanted you to look it over and sign off before they file it for the District Attorney.”

     You nod at him. The corner of your mouth quirks a little at his stuttering. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so immediately endeared to somebody before, but there he is, blinking at you like a deer caught in headlights. It’s so adorable.

     “Sure, I can do that,” you say. “Just pop it on the desk over there and I’ll get on with it when I’m done here. Can’t get any bodily fluids on the paperwork, y’know? That’d be a nightmare.”

     The volume of your laugh startles him, and he jerks slightly. The sound of it is loud and warm and it should really freak him out, considering you’re wrist-deep in a cadaver and cackling like a maniac, but it doesn’t. It’s actually kind of sweet.

     “If that’s all, Dr, Reid, I’d like to finish rooting through this guy’s insides so I can sew him back up.” Your words are an obvious dismissal, but he doesn’t feel offended, not with the kind smile still adorning your features.

     He nods and backs away. His feet feel a little numb. “Sure thing. I’ll, uh, catch you later. Have fun!”

     “I’m sure I will.”

     You sound like you’re about to laugh again. Have fun, really? He knows he’s fairly inept when it comes to women, but have fun? He scurries out of the morgue and back into the land of the living, and as Spencer boards the elevator all he can think is that he’s so glad Derek wasn’t there to witness that.

     He’s certain he’d never live it down.

     Meanwhile you resume your autopsy with an odd, fuzzy feeling in your chest. You start to hum beneath your breath, a song that must have played on the radio while you were driving to work.

     Your grey day feels a little pink at the edges.

[bucktommypositivityweek]

welcome to bucktommy positivity week!!

FRIDAY AUGUST 16TH - THURSDAY AUGUST 22ND~

we feel like this fandom really needs a burst of positivity right now, and nothing does that like a fic/fan creation event!! we hope this will encourage people to write fics/write short drabbles/make art/spread thoughts about the daily prompts, and keep some positive energy flowing in the fandom

• tldr this is one week of daily prompts for fics, art, gifs, metas, headcanon posts, etc, all related to celebrating positive things in bucktommy's relationship! there are absolutely no rules on what you can create, how big/small it can be, or anything like that, as long as it's a good-faith bucktommy work

• we will be posting the full list of prompts tomorrow (august 14th). then each day will focus on one prompt (though of course, late submissions are completely fine!)

• we know this is last-minute compared to a lot of weekly prompt events, but i think many people will recognise why a lot of us were feeling like we wanted something to channel some positive creative energy into right now!! and hope others will do the same!

some more points below the cut

• we will reblog all the creations we are tagged in, and at the end of the event, we will be also collating any fics shared into a masterlist. we hope this will also be able to act as effectively a rec-list for those who are feeling worried about opening unknown fics on ao3 right now (and we will, of course, be triple-checking there are no trolls)

• just make sure you @ tag us when you post your creation on tumblr so we can reblog it and add it to the list!

• our askbox is open if you have any questions or suggestions :) however, this is really less of an event than an encouragement for people to enjoy some positive creations during this rocky hiatus time, so please don't feel you need to stress about anything related to contributing!

[cottagec0relover21]

hii!! i first wanted to say that you're doing well and taking care of yourself :) could i request headcanons for chilchuck from delicious in dungeon where the reader is kind of like the bard of the party? and maybe they stay up late writing songs and chil ends up saying up with them? you can do what you like with it other than that but i like sharing ideas (and i love chilchuck :3) i hope you have a good day!! 💜💚

Hiii! I'm so happy to get a request, I forgot how exciting it was to open my askbox and read that someone wanted me to write them something (can you tell youre the first one yet?). I know you asked for headcannons, but I got carried away and ended up making it a fic I believe, by the way I wrote it. I still hope you like it! If not I'll try my best to specifically do headcannons next time if you ask 🌸✨️ (also have a good day too)

"Late Night Songs"

[Chilchuck Tims x Bard!reader]

Warnings: none - gn!bard!reader - fluff

Being the bard of the group was rather hard. Why? Well, writing songs and seeing if they ended up sounding good wasn't easy. (y/n) needed a lot of creativity for that. Luckily for them, they had a source for it: Chilchuck.

Yes, that guy in their group everyone treated like a child sometimes just because of his height. And while it was very adorable, yes, (y/n) saw a lot of depth in his personality.

Tonight they had decided to stay up, which many might say was not a good idea considering the fact they were exploring a dungeon. But they didn't care, they wanted to write, to compose something new.

And so they stared at the sheet of paper in front of them, their instrument by their side as they sat away from the fire so as to not bother or wake up the rest.

Entranced in their thoughts, they didn't notice when Chilchuck stirred in his bedroll to then wake up with a huff at the inability of going back to sleep, sitting up and looking at the fire that had not gone out yet.

That's when with his amplified hearing, he heard the sound of a pen writing down on a paper.

He looked behind him and found (y/n), sitting rather far from them. When had they woken up? Or had they not been able to sleep at all? What were they writing that was so important at this time?

All those questions filled his head as he got up slowly, trying to not make much noise for everyone's sake.

(y/n) raised their head at the sound of rustling and found their muse, standing up and looking at them, now approaching. He rubbed the sleep off of his eyes as he walked to them and sat by their side. —What are you doing up so late?— His groggy voice asked softly.

—I'm trying to write a song, or to at least think of a new melody, but I can't seem to come up with anything— they said as they looked at him, noticing a sleepy smile.

Chilchuck sighed, looking at the rest of the party, all in a deep sleep. —Well I can't seem to fall sleep anymore, I'm really not comfortable with how hard the floor feels today. Mind if I stay up with you?— He took a quick peek at the paper, but saw nothing written. They really had some artistic block, huh?

(y/n) smiled at their question, excited to finally have spend some peaceful time alone with him— Not at all, you might help inspire my new song in fact— they winked, and Chilchuck felt his heart leap in his chest at the gesture. He really hoped the darkness of the night helped hide the embarrassment in his face. It was a simple wink, what was wrong with him? he thought, shaking his head.

He chuckled softly, his gaze moving away from them for a moment in embarrassment— Don't say those things�� he rubbed the back of his neck— thank you though, it's... flattering— he admitted with a sheepish smile.

—In fact, you've always been my inspiration. I'm not gonna lie to you— God his heart was about to stop. Had he heard them right? What did that even mean?

—I have?— He didn't know how to ask without looking too excited about it.

—Of course, you're practically my muse— they noticed him staring with slightly wide eyes at their sudden confession.— I don't know but– you just have something that always makes me stare and it makes the inspiration bubble up inside of me— okay today was definitely going to be his funeral. Chilchuck swallowed harshly, a blush definitely burning bright on his cheeks as he kept silent, his brain failing to come up with an answer.

He watched them suddenly gasp and start to write down something on the paper that rested on their thighs. (y/n) mumbled to themselves as they kept writing, a sudden urge of inspiration rushing through them.

They look up again quickly at him, a light in their eyes.— Ah– I almost forgot to thank you.— they smiled at him with sincerity and gave his hand a quick squeeze, at which he just nodded, humming in response as they watched them write down their ideas, praying to whatever deity was out there to make his blush go away.

He would've never guessed he was helpful in more ways than just picking locks and finding traps. But thanks to them, now he knows he is, for (y/n) at least, a source of inspiration. And their heart swelled with emotion and pride at that.

[gatheredfates]

So... I asked if you guys might want some of my question drives back, and you sure did answer!

If you had told me I'd get that big of a response like a year ago, I probably would not have believed you. I know I mentioned it on the actual poll itself, but that's insane. 🥺 Thank you very much for supporting my projects.

Anyway, onto the thing you're all here for: The single-word (anything) drive!

What is a single-word (anything) drive?

I'm glad you asked! The single-word (anything) drive is an extension (and evolution) of my single-word fic drive, where writers would write a small fic based on a word of my choice. I want to give people the opportunity engage in creative mediums beyond writing; aka, gpose, art, meta analysis — whatever makes you happy and engaged creatively with Final Fantasy XIV!

By liking/reblogging this post, you consent for me to go into your askbox to send a one-word prompt generated from this website, picked from a selection of five, as a prompt for you do something creative with your oc. I will then queue any and all completed works to my character question tag, which can be found here, as well as posting them to my Tumblr Community over at SEAFLOOR (though you and other members are welcome to reblog them there in my absence, too)!

While the SEAFLOOR Community is public, it is currently invite only by Tumblr's restrictions about beta communities. If you'd like to join, you'll have to like this post for now. Once Communities are out of beta, you should be able to join straight from its page!

There is no word limit or time limit, no barrier for skill, and you are welcome to ask for another prompt if the original one doesn't vibe. This is all about giving you the opportunity to explore a concept or part of your character you might not have considered, or expand upon your artistic/technical ability.

Sea, when does the drive end? I'm glad you asked! I'll probably keep it open for about two weeks (around July 26), unless I decide to manually call it before then. I'll update this main post to reflect the change if I do (as well as announce it in SEAFLOOR).

That's all for now! I'll either update or reblog this post with more information as needed, so please check the notes of this post for any updates.

[midnightsnyx]

girl at home | mat barzal | part 6

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader chapter summary: a new face threatens what you've started to build with mat and nora & you recieve some much needed advice from jax

warnings: angst, not edited, mentions of food, a sprinkle of fluff word count: 1.7k (sry its not longer i am trying my best lol) authors note: hi so it's been a month and change but i am finally able to present to you guys, part 6!! thank you for the continuous love on this story. your likes, reblogs & comments mean the WORLD to me!!! someone said nora needs to start a parent trap - don't worry, she's on it <3 quick important notes: the first bit in italics is a flashback. not sure if I will do many more of them. second, i have no idea how many more parts there will be to this series because i feel like i've barely scratched the surface of what can be done. and last, im sorry if your name is calista. enjoy and please don't hate me :)

requests are open. masterpost masterlist tag form askbox

It wasn’t often that you and Mat had time to yourselves. He was busy with school and hockey, and you had a lot going on so when the opportunity arose, you always made time for each other. Liana was at a sleepover and his parents were gone out for dinner with friends so the two of you had the house to yourselves for a few hours, which as teenagers, wasn’t often. His parents were always good about giving you and Mat space but you were still teenagers, after all. 

You were curled up together on his bed with some random movie playing in the background but you weren’t paying attention to it. You were thinking about graduation that was fast approaching and what the aftermath would look like. It wasn’t a surprise that the two of you would be going separate ways once you graduated high school. Although not set in stone, Mat was on his way to the National Hockey League to an unknown team. It wasn’t realistic for you to wait to see where he would end up and then figure something out for school. You had scholarships and your heart set on UBC, not quite yet ready to move too far from home. 

But Mat, well he could go anywhere. 

You’d toyed the idea of a long distance relationship in your head but you always ended up realizing that it wasn’t logical. Mat would probably be playing on a team thousands of miles away and you were going to be busy with university. Sure, there were holidays and summers but going from being basically attached at the hip to hardly seeing each other. 

“What’re you thinking ‘bout?” Mat suddenly mumbled. His hand had been rubbing your back but when it stopped, you thought he had fallen asleep. 

“Graduation,” you said and his body stiffened. The difference between the two of you was that you were an overthinker and a planner whereas Mat was a go with the flow type of person. He didn’t think about things until he had to. 

When he didn’t say anything, you peered up at him. He was frowning, staring at the ceiling in deep thought. You reached out to smoothen the wrinkle between his eyes and he looked down at you and smiled. 

“If I was selfish enough to ask you to come with me wherever I end up, would you say yes?” 

It was a theoretical question because you knew he would never be that selfish. Neither were you though, because you would never ask him to give up his dream. 

“No,” you admitted and his smile didn’t waver but something flickered in his eyes. 

***

As a general rule of thumb, you don’t introduce Nora to anyone you date until the three month mark. It isn’t something that you have to worry about often because most of the guys you meet run the second they find out you have a daughter. It doesn’t bother you most of the time; you have your family and friends, and Nora is your number one priority so if someone has a problem with you having a kid, they aren’t worth your time. 

So, it didn’t occur to you that it was a conversation you should have had with Mat. You thought that he had enough common sense not to bring the girl you recently learned that he’s casually seeing, to lunch with you and Nora. 

It takes all of your willpower to stay in your seat and not take Nora and leave when they sit across from you. Mat seems completely unfazed by the sudden tension in the room and it hurts on some level because he used to know you so well that if something was upsetting you, he always knew. 

But that was when you were kids.

You don’t get a chance to say anything because Nora gives the girl a onceover, and wrinkles her nose. 

“Who’s that?” She asks in such a bitter tone that you’re torn between scolding her or laughing. 

The girl, to her credit, doesn’t even blink an eye. She just offers her hand to Nora and introduces herself. 

“I’m Calista, and you must be Nora,” she says, still holding her hand out and waiting for your daughter to shake it. When she realizes that Nora is not going to respond, she quickly brings her hand back and lays them in her lap. Mat looks absolutely horrified, either by Nora’s behavior or the fact that you haven’t scolded her. He’s still not sure if he’s allowed to reprimand her when she acts out and often looks to you to be the bad guy. You’re enjoying this a little too much though, especially when he coughs and gestures to you.

“Cal, this is-”

“His baby mama,” you cut him off, smiling sweetly at her. He’s not getting off the hook for ambushing you, and sure, maybe it’s a little childish of you but you have heard the stories from Liana already and you know you won’t like this girl. 

“Um, nice to meet you,” she says awkwardly, but there’s something in her eyes that tells you she isn’t the innocent, sweet, new girlfriend of Mathew Barzal. There’s definitely a different personality hiding behind the curtain. 

“Have you guys ordered already?” Mat asks.

“No, we were waiting on you,” is your reply and you make sure to emphasize on the word you. He doesn’t humor you with a response, instead looking at the menu and asking Calista what she wants. 

Lunch goes about as terrible as you expected, with Nora acting out because of a new person suddenly joining the outings she was used to only being the three of you. She ignores Mat’s attempts at talking to her, opting to read a book she brought along and gives Calista the stink eye anytime she speaks. You’re fine with her wanting to ignore Calista, but you don’t want her relationship with Mat to suffer because of this, so towards the end of lunch, you excuse yourself to the washroom in hopes that she might talk to Mat if you step away. 

The only problem is that Calista decides to tag along with you, claiming she needs to wash her hands. You suspect there will be something more and your suspicions are proved true when you’re washing your hands and she walks up next to you. 

“The whole kid-trap thing is really cute,” she says, fixing her hair. “Just keep in mind that it’s me in his bed every night.” 

She doesn’t give you a chance to say anything before she quickly walks out of the restroom. You stand in shock for a moment, because you haven’t had a girl talk to you like that since high school. Liana wasn’t wrong when she told you there was something off about the new girl Mat was seeing, but this teenage-like attitude? This isn’t something that Nora is going to be around.

You storm out of the restroom, planning on taking Nora and leaving right away but you stop short when you see Mat and Nora talking. She’s giggling about something he must have said and the fondness and love in his eyes towards her is almost enough to make you stay but one look at Calista, reminds you why you were leaving in the first place. So, you walk over to the table, picking up Nora from her chair even though she’s capable of walking herself and tossing a twenty on the table. You don’t look at Mat before you leave, only calling out a goodbye over your shoulder. 

Nora doesn’t say anything until you’re buckling her seatbelt. 

“I didn’t like her,” she says casually.

“Yeah,” you agree. “Me neither.”

*** 

Mat blows up your phone with calls and texts but you ignore them. As soon as you left the restaurant, you planned on driving straight home and you knew that was where Mat would look first so instead you drove around aimlessly until you ended up in Jax’s driveway. Nora fell asleep about twenty minutes ago and you didn’t want to wake her, so you sent him a text to come out to your car. You watch as Jax comes out of his house and runs down the driveway in bare feet, climbing in your car and closing the door quietly. 

“It went that bad, huh?”

You’re quiet for a moment before leaning forward and resting your head on the steering wheel and taking a deep breath. 

“I feel like Mat and I are stuck in this constant cycle, you know?” you mutter quietly.. “Like, two steps forward and then five back. Everytime I think we’re making progress, something happens and I can’t help but wonder if I should have let him in her life at all. I’ve been a mom for 6 years, and Mat has only been a parent for a few weeks so the rational part of me knows I can’t be too hard on him, but I feel like we’re not making any progress and this is just going to end up bad, especially for Nora.”

Jax knows you well, and doesn’t say anything right away. He lets you say and feel your own thoughts out loud before giving his opinion. 

“Want me to sugarcoat anything?” he asks and you lift your head to look at him. Jax is looking at you with slight concern so you know he’s about to give you his exact thoughts. 

You shake your head and he sighs. 

“I think you still have feelings for Mat,” he says and when you open your mouth to cut him off, he stops you. “I’m not saying that you’re still in love with him, but you have something going on in your head that is creating chaos with the relationship you have with him now. You said he’s doing well with Nora, yeah?”

You nod, but don’t say anything. 

“If he’s doing well with Nora, you shouldn’t be having these doubts about if you should have let him in her life. You’re her mom, you know what’s best and if you really felt like it wasn’t working, you would have stopped it right away. You are the problem, whatever lingering feelings you are holding inside, you’ve got to figure them out.”

For a split second, you hate Jax. For a split second, you want to yell and scream and swear at him because he’s right.

“He has a girlfriend,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Jax says. “Why are you upset about it?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t say anything until you look at him. 

“I think you do,” he replies.

You hate that he’s right.

tag list: @literatureluster @dasiysthings @barzyblogbabe @diary-of-jj @heatherawoowoo @fallinallincurls @topguncultleader @shadowsndaisies @lovinbarzal @whatthepuckisgoingon @alilstressyandlotdepressy @teapartydreams @keiva1000 @hischiershoe @cavill83 @bellstwd @alwaysclassyeagle

if you'd like to be added or taken off the list please let me know <3 also if you asked to be tagged and wasn't, it was because when i typed in your user, it didn't come up. send me a msg & we can figure it out.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Hi, I saw your askbox was open so I wanted to send my request in if it's not too much. What about the M6 with an MC who has really bad anxiety (I suffer from generalized anxiety disorder) so doing normal things like: going to the market, interacting with strangers is very difficult for them. Maybe they wanna do something but if they're not good at it on the first try they get very anxious because they feel like they just ridiculed themselves? (Feel free to ignore my request if it makes you uncomfortable in the slightest ^-^)

The Arcana Mini-HCs: When MC has anxiety

Julian: gets a fair amount of anxiety himself and relates to you so much it's painful. always takes your fears seriously and will accompany you to whatever anxiety-inducing place you need to go, and won't hesitate to introduce himself to people you want to talk to

Asra: has built up a plethora of ways to help you, including (but not limited to) soothing fabrics and textures to carry around, smells, affirmations that Faust will repeat on an endless loop in your head- seriously, though, he's always ready to soothe your worries

Nadia: doesn't get what it's like to have anxiety but knows an over active, self-critical brain when she sees one and is determined to bring you the comfort and security you deserve. never judges you for needing space or a moment to breathe, and always has your back

Muriel: he gets it more than he wants to, to the point that sometimes seeing you get anxious is exactly what he needs to snap him out of his anxious spiral. can listen to what you think are your silliest fears without an ounce of judgment or flippancy and comfort you

Portia: she gets insecure sometimes, sure, but anxiety isn't something she experiences a lot. that said, you should never ever ever feel anything less than your incredible self and she is going to be your personal hypewoman for every tiny thing you're doubtful about

Lucio: somehow great at soothing you, because while he's oblivious by nature, he believes in his heart of hearts that you are the best thing to ever exist (right next to him) and he will always be able to say that to your face without an ounce of doubt. he'll say it often, too

[ghost-proofbaby]

if it were anyone else (e.m.)

warnings: strong allusions to depression, disordered eating/rough relationship with food, mentions of smoking, description of a sort of panic attack. very sad. hurt/comfort? not edited.

wc: 1.6k+

a/n: this is literally entirely self indulgent and written entirely after i sat and cried and thought "i wish i had eddie here right now to hold me". maybe in like thirty minutes tops. this is for me and only me. go figure lol. sorry. yeah. anyways.

if you relate, my askbox is always open, and i'm very sorry you've felt this way as well. i hope you all take care of yourselves. drink some water, call a friend. be kind to yourself.

“I’m worried about you.” 

Four words that always manage to strike a certain type of fear in your gut. You don’t know how to react as he says it, how he wants you to react. You can only stare blankly, you can only wish harder for the earth to swallow you whole.

“What do you mean?” you laugh nervously, following it with a hard swallow.

You’re playing dumb. You know it, he knows it. The tremor in your bones and your numb appendages know it, too. 

“You’re…” Eddie stalls, licking his lips, letting his eyes rake over you, “You’re getting bad again.” 

You’re quick to shake your head, forcing another hollow chuckle from your chest, “It’s not that bad. I’m fin-”

“You’re not fine.”

The look in his eyes could crack your spine if you stare too long. Wet eyes, a trembling bottom lip, worry lines etched into his forehead that you realize might be caused by you.

You’re causing him worry. The last thing you want to do, you’ve accomplished. You’re on a fast-track to becoming a burden – the first step is always acceptance. 

You’re still unsure of how he wants – no, needs you to react right now. This conversation is a landmine for both of you, and you hold every breath with every step as you try to navigate it. If you make one wrong step, it could cause an explosion that spares no survivors.

You don’t mind if it tears you apart limb by limb. You do mind if it hurts him. 

“How… How do you know that?” 

It’s not a sarcastic snipping or defensive deterrence. It’s an unfiltered response of genuineness – you want to know the signs, you want to know what has exposed the rot this time.

And then, maybe next time, you’ll be able to better shield it from him with this knowledge. 

“How could I not?” he takes a deep breath in through his nose, and you focus on the flare of his nostrils rather than any of the tears beginning to gather at his waterlines, “It’s been happening for a while now, though, hasn’t it?” 

Your throat is a cage, tight and restrictive and ringing with a bitter metallic taste in its tenseness. You can’t respond with words. You can only nod. 

He chooses to answer your question more properly now that you’ve admitted it, “You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground. Picking up distractions like they’re going out of style.”

“Hey, they might be. We never know-” you cut yourself off when your eyes meet his. Now’s not the time for jokes, “Sorry. I… I know. I’m sorry.” 

He’s right. Fuck, he’s right. 

“I want to ask you something, and I need you to answer me honestly,” his own steps across these landmines are just as delicate, just as feathery light, as your own. You hear it in his tone, see it in his body language. You wish your body could sink into the mattress you’re sitting on the edge of as he crouches in front of you, warm palms connecting with your knees. Grounding you. Tethering you. Holding you back from that sinking you crave. “Are you… Sweetheart, are you okay?”

If anybody else had built up to such a stupid question, you would have laughed in their face. You would have shoved those warm palms right off of your skin and you would have thrown up those ice cold hands of your own, shouted obviously not. 

Obviously not. I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay, it’s a bit comical. I am drowning. I am treading in freezing cold waters and I am barely capable of keeping my head above the waves. My engine is fucked, my tank is empty. I don’t think I’d even know how to be ‘okay’ again if you did manage to pull this mangled body of mine from these depths and sat me down on safe, solid ground again. 

You can’t say any of this, though. Not because you don’t trust him, not because he would judge you. But because the moment he asks the question that should make you scoff, you let out a sob instead. Something like a muffled, broken wail that tears from deep within you. It had already been ready and poised, laying in wait for a perfect moment like this one to escape. 

His eyes aren’t the only glossy ones anymore. 

“I-” you start, breathing already stuttering and chest already constricting, “I- I-”

“Hey,” he palms smooth up your thighs, carrying their warmth with them, as if he were trying to spread it across you. As if he had heard your thoughts. As if he already knew all about those dark, treacherous, freezing waters you were stranded in. All you can do is spew out another cry, strangled as you tried to swallow it down before it entered the atmosphere between you two, “Hey.” 

You only notice the tears when you crumple forward and he meets you halfway. Those warm palms, those hands so capable of safety and promise, cup your cheeks and his thumbs make quick work of swiping away the salty streams. 

“Hey, baby, breathe for me,” his voice is tragically gentle, “Just one deep breath, okay?” 

To demonstrate, you watch his chest expand dramatically, his hands forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

You can’t see through the bleariness. 

“C’mon, sweetness,” he encourages again, “One breath. Just one.” 

If it were anyone else, you’d turn into a fit of rage at the coddling. You’d break everything in sight. You’d scream until your already burning lungs finally collapsed as they’d been yearning to for so long. 

But it’s him. It’s just him, it’s just Eddie. 

His chest rises dramatically again, and this time, yours does as well, albeit through stifling hiccups. You’re dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the flood of emotion that was wrecking you. 

“There you go!” his voice rises ever so slightly, and when you flinch a bit at the sudden volume, he retracts, “Sorry, sorry. But that’s it, sweetheart. Another one, okay?” 

Another breath. Another sob. Another wave of all the pain you’ve been battling off. 

You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground.

He was right and it fucking killed you. None of those are things you could ever shield him from. You didn’t have the heart to pull away those numb and icey fingertips every time he’d reach out for your hand, or try to cover the shivers that managed to rack your bones even in the middle of summer. The sleeping situation had been spiraling, a pendulum of sleepless nights that would end in a sleep so deep that you could have been mistaken for resting with the dead. Maybe the smoking you could have hid, especially when you’d been so boastful about quitting. 

You weren’t running yourself into the ground. You had already collapsed into the dirt, you had already joined the worms. You’d buried yourself alive, six feet under, and nothing could have stopped him from sniffing out that scent of decay on you. 

The death of a soul and mind. The death of the thing that had propelled you forward for so long. No amount of sweet perfume, or hour long scalding showers, or minty gum to occupy your mind rather than a proper meal, can erase that stench. 

You never could have shielded him. He always saw right through you. Always had, always would. 

“I’m sorry,” you end up crying out. 

You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but you echo the words again. Over and over, on repeat, until he’s rising from the ground. Until he’s sat beside you. Until his arms are suddenly encasing you and you’re awarded a warmth you didn’t feel deserving of. 

He doesn’t smell like the decay you’d surrounded yourself with. He smells like slow waking in the morning, dreary and calm and at a reasonable time. He smells like warm baths that only relax your bones, and don’t have to blister your skin in the process. He smells like three meals a day, all comforting and all effortless and that never linger with a sense of regret.

He’s not decay, never even treading close to death. He’s home. He’s the promise that you could be okay. Even if it isn’t right now. 

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, squeezing you tighter into his chest, not even blinking an eye at the patch of wetness you leave behind from where your cheeks bury against him, “Never apologize. Ever. Not with me, sweetheart. Keep the sorries. I don’t need them.” 

If it were anyone else, the holding would have suffocated you. But it’s him. It’s Eddie.

You don’t fight him when he pulls you fully into his lap, situating the two of you comfortably on that mattress. 

You don’t know how long you let him cradle you like that. How much of that time is spent filled with your cries, or how many breaths he gently urges you to take with him. He never once has to verbally say what you already know; he never once promises aloud that it’ll be okay. He doesn’t put that pressure on you, not yet. Not today. Not when he knows the journey to okay is still such a long one. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers to you instead, “I’ve got you, now, sweetheart.” 

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t believe them. 

But it’s him. It’s Eddie. 

And he’s got you, for now and for as long as you need.

[tuliptired]

more of egon x ta!reader 👉👈

Hello? You're My Very Special One

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Gn!Ta!Reader

Warnings: Very familial and child-centric, though stuff like reader anatomy isn't specified

Askbox is little backed up (my bad) but that's ok because now I have more time to write for you all :)

Strayed from the ask a littleeeeee bit

Better formatting on Ao3!

Egon sighed to himself as he pushed the campus door open, setting out into the warm air of the afternoon. Ray was on his tail, while Peter stood up straight and off of a wall after waiting for them for so long. They’d come out of a meeting with a professor, after getting a sufficient scolding from the Dean. One accidentally too loud experiment late at night, and the pair couldn’t hear the fire alarms going off. The chemistry lab’s lights were the only ones still on, and Egon suspects that everyone outside assumed they were burning alive- thus the door was torn down. Thankfully, their professor was able to get them out of sufficient trouble as he was the one who suggested the experiment. They were off scot free, as the scholar let them know that the least he could do was give them community service.

“What’d he tell you?” Peter walked with them down the front steps.

“Just some service,” Ray didn’t seem all that upset, which wasn’t surprising after the rapsheet the trio had managed to build over their years in academia. Egon could handle an hour or two of giving back to his city, it just felt like a big inconvenience in his plans.

Peter clicked his tongue. “You won’t find any luck at the bulletins. All filled up.”

Ray’s pace didn’t falter as he put his hands in his pockets, unbothered. “No problem, we can go to the library.” Egon was lagging behind then, almost coming to a full stop before catching back up to his friends. Anywhere but the library. He’s had enough of a backwards day. The soup kitchen had to have a few spots left.

He walked behind Ray’s shoulder. “No need. We can get vests and pick trash off the road,” he tried to hide the desperation in his voice. Ray only laughed at such a suggestion.

“I could rob you with a cigarette box. Let’s just go and check, and I’ll renew my book while I’m there,” Ray spoke casually, tapping a hard spot on the inside pocket of his jacket. Egon swallowed, unable to convince his oblivious friend. Peter leaned into Ray, voice at a stage whisper.

“Spengs is just embarrassed to ask the librarian for forms,” he confessed, making the man in between them snicker. Egon could feel his face burn, adjusting the wrists of his dress shirt.

As they reached the library, Ray reassured Egon that it’d be fine, hand on the door. “Don’t be like that! Whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“The hell did you do?” Your fingers stopped flipping around your binder as the reality of what he requested hit you. “Mr. Spengler? Doing community service?” He had a blank expression, eyebrows down as he tuned out the bustle of the main library floor. You kept on teasing him, baffled at the idea that he could be in trouble warranting civil service.

He resisted rolling his eyes. “Is it that surprising?” You smiled, continuing to go through the binder anyway. He noted the way you decorated your little corner, obviously not an official desk but a secluded spot for you to work.

You stopped at a certain page, pulling a piece of paper out of the plastic divider. “Always in such a bad mood. And no, it isn’t,” you remarked, placing the paper in front of him. “You’re the reason we can’t smoke in our dorms anymore.”

He took a look at the paper, scanning for an open square. He could hear you ask “what’s with you and fires?” as he surveyed the document, but he was more preoccupied with the lack of openings. You pointed your pen towards two free spaces at the bottom, though there was no assignment corresponding with any of the columns or rows.

“The art department’s book sale,” you sat a bit forward, seemingly trying to contain your excitement. “Every year, downtown. It's always a lot of fun.” He raised a quick eyebrow before you passed the utensil over to him. “You’re lucky these were left. That first one’s helping with the science fiction section.” If he had looked up, he’d seen you gazing at him, expectantly. Without thinking, he knew Ray would prefer this over something else. He could always take it for himself, though, and tell his friend that he didn’t get to pick, but that’d be a little too selfish. Ray could enjoy some time here, Egon thought to himself as he wrote “Raymond Stantz”' in the rectangle.

As he finished the z, he nearly drove the pen off the page as you let out a noise of delight. When he looked up again, he was met with your smiling face. “That means you’re gonna be with me! And a bunch of little kids! For a whole evening!” You took the paper back before Egon could contest, scrawling his name down in the last available place. He watched your wicked expression as you slid him another paper, one with the date and address. “You can help me while I look for something old and out of print. Hope you’re a good babysitter.”

Community service was more than an inconvenience, he thought, folding the sheet and stuffing it in his pocket while Ray happily finished up renewing what he had out.

Ray was, undoubtedly, bouncing off of the metaphorical walls as they made their way down to the closed off block the fair took place. Egon was happy for him, he really was, as his friend talked his ears off about the volumes and editions that aren’t available anywhere else anymore he’d be able to talk about with patrons. So excited, that he had yet to give Egon a chance to mention what his responsibility for the evening would be. Maybe it was for the best, as Egon adjusted the collar of his shirt for the seventh time since they left. It would be a warm night, so he figured just a dress shirt and a light coat would suffice. Would a sweater scare the kids? How old were they? He let his eyes close, somewhat dreading the few hours ahead of him.

Ray stopped them at a crosswalk, checking the light. “I just realized- I never asked what you’re doing there.” Egon bit his tongue as they were clear to cross.

“Babysitting,” he confessed, a little exasperated after keeping it in for so long. Ray looked at him with a wide expression, a bit disbelieving as he brought his eyes back to the sidewalk ahead of them.

Ray couldn’t resist the need to look at his friend again. “You’re good with kids?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he answered honestly.

Ray looked sympathetic as they reached the entryway, more and more people joining them on the reserved street. “We could switch! If that’s not your thing,” he offered. Egon shook his head, remembering the “volunteer” pins Ray picked up from the library office leading up to the event, passing one to the man.

“Don’t worry. Have fun,” he pinned it to the pocket of his shirt. Ray protested some, eventually settling on apologizing profusely as they waited in line to get in. When they did, it was almost like its own ecosystem. The area was nearly separated from the rest of the city with the amount of tents and booths lining the far edges of the worn grass and pavement, warm colors giving the space a mystifying effect. Egon took a breath in, taking a moment to get to the comforting part of the experience as there were just so many people there. Lots of cheer, lots of noise as Ray eventually had to depart, reaching his assigned tent while he radiated joy in the presence of fellow enthusiasts.

While he made his way through the path, he passed a man sleeping peacefully on a blanket underneath a tent, a girl reclining on his back as she read to herself. There was an elderly woman with an infant tied to her back as she bought picture books, and he caught sight of two young men holding hands under a table while they sold novels. There was a strange energy going around, he thought to himself. He tried hard to name it, but he could only fall flat in his nomenclature. As he walked, a voice called out to him from the edge of a booth.

It was you, waving him over. Only, you weren’t alone; you had at least 4 little children leading you around. The tallest was still fairly young looking, if not for her awkward height, long brown hair in two loose ponytails while she stood in a shirt that was too big on her. There was a boy next to her, clearly a handful of years younger, standing in a hockey jersey as his fingers threatened to enter his nose, shadowed by a girl around the same age in a decadent pink dress, all frills and bows up to the ribbons holding up her short blonde hair. All of them were connected by a brightly colored walking rope with a ring for each, save for a little baby sitting content in a wagon you pushed as the contraption was tied to the front to make an easy train.

“Okay guys, this is Mr. Spengler. He’s a friend.” You address the children, all watching him with wide and curious eyes. “This is Rebecca, Ryan, Amelie, and Nico,” you went down the line in age order. Rebecca gave him a small wave, and he returned it, stiffly. Ryan spoke up, pointing high up at the tall man’s head.

“My daddy says guys with long hair are draft-dodgers.” Egon could hear you sigh.

“Educational deferment,” he couldn’t help but correct the child, who looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. Before he could say anything else, you cut both boys off.

“That’s not a nice thing to say, Ry. Now-” You instructed them over to the grass, where many people were sitting under the shade created by the proximity of the tents and overhangs. “I’ll be two seconds, just over there. Stay with Mr. Spengler. Can you help me, Becca?”

Said girl nodded, and she followed you. It was just Egon and the 3 kids now, Ryan electing to sit on the grass while Amelie leaned over into the wagon, playing with Nico. They were wary of Egon at first- and he didn’t even know where to start. Meeting children was different from adults, they just did whatever, whenever. He realized how odd he must’ve looked, a grown man awkwardly standing over a few toddlers entertaining each other, and he silently wished you’d be back quickly. As they got a little bored with themselves, all 3 of them took to staring at him with round, large eyes as they huddled around the wagon. He kept his eyes on where you disappeared, wishing even harder.

Wishes must work fast, because you reemerged with Rebecca, holding small cups of something, as well as spoons. You had all the kids sit, and, as Egon stayed standing so as to not have to sit on the ground, you silently took off your jacket and laid it out across the grass, and he thanked you quietly. Rebecca did the same for Amelie, with a blanket from the wagon instead. The cups were distributed, and even Egon got one- vanilla ice cream upon further inspection.

“Didn’t know what you liked,” you apologized, pulling Nico into your lap. “Sorry for leaving like that. This is the only way I can get them to listen to me later,” you glanced over at Amelie and Ryan stretched out across the grass, enjoying themselves.

“It’s alright,” Egon looked on as Rebecca leaned against you as she ate, watching a group of kids on the path. He spoke low, still disoriented by the quickness of the situation he was put in. “And their parents..?”

You brought a bit of the dessert to the baby’s mouth, miniature hands trying to do it for himself. From what Egon could tell, he was on the tail end a year old. “I’ve known them since they were born.” Ryan got distracted, ice cream pouring off his spoon and onto the side of his hand. “Their parents were my professors- they put this whole thing together. But it gets so busy,” you wiped Nico’s chin, “that they can’t really run an event with a toddler on their hip.”

Egon nodded, and in turn you spoke low, leaning towards him slightly. “They really want them to get into books. But nothing’s really worked. Ryan’s gonna be five, and he’s still pretty behind.” He watched on as the little boy gnawed on his plastic spoon, staring at Amelie as she kept eating. “Typical reading trouble for a kindergartner, but he noticed how ahead his classmates were. Now he’s too embarrassed to give it another shot.” It almost reminded him of himself, accustomed to experimentation and documentation, rather than retention and comprehension. But, a certain college course really turned him on his head, didn’t it?

“Embarrassment is a normal milestone in development,” Egon challenged you.

“Yeah? Even when he’s crying and screaming at the library?” Ryan toddled over to you then, holding out sticky hands.

You helped him clean up, white napkins over small white fingers. “What book are you gonna look for, Ry?” You asked, still holding his hands. Ryan squirmed a bit, frowning.

He broke free, hands to his shoulders as he avoided your question, twisting around. “None,” Ryan mumbled with a shy smile as he looked up and away from you. You shook your head, holding his tiny hands again.

“I promised your dad I’d get you something you liked.” Ryan shuffled his feet, eyes now on the grass. “C’mon, tell Mr. Spengler what we read about bears the other day,” you coaxed him, before Ryan gave up, leaning his weight onto you as Nico babbled into the fabric of the shirt draping over his face. You gave up, letting him recline on your shoulders.

Egon collected Ryans discarded pot of dessert, putting it inside his own quietly. “Bears are a keystone species,” he uttered off-handedly. Ryan looked at him once with wondering eyes, then hiding his face in your hair when Egon raised his head.

“He doesn’t know what that means,” you comforted Nico as he babbled. Amelie appeared at your feet, warily handing Egon her empty cup. As she clumsily placed it in the stack, arm outstretched like he was alien, you got her attention. “What book are you gonna get?” She pouted at the question, whining a bit.

“I don’t want one,” she announced, heading back to her blanket and pulling a doll out the wagon. Egon could hear your disappointment as the little girl took to playing with the princess rather than look for something to read.

You leaned into him, again, and he leaned in your direction as he curiously watched her brush her toy’s hair. “Turning five in a few months. Her mom’s a music professor. But her stepmom doesn’t think girls should be learning anything important. Hence,” you pointed up and down at the cloying decoration of her ensemble, Egon’s eyes widening slightly as he just noticed the bows on her socks, the large ribbon across her waist and tied at her back.

He nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowed. “Ostentatious.”

“O-s-t-e-n-t-a-t-i-o-u-s,” a voice sounded from your other side. Rebecca absentmindedly braided the ends of her hair, before letting them loose again.

Egon was fairly impressed as you brought her closer to you. “Eleven as of last week. She’s a great speller, and would be even better if she stopped caring about what other girls in her grade did and picked up a book.”

Rebecca groaned as you scrutinized her, combing her hands through her long, frizzing hair. “Cindy Mulfield is dropping out when we get to highschool. She’s gonna run away and become a singer.” Nico reached over, toying with the older girl’s sleeve. He was very tactile, Egon thought.

“That’s great for Cindy. But you’re on the honor roll.” Rebecca rolled her eyes, before you handed Nico over to a confused Egon, rising with Ryan hanging off your back. “I bought your love with ice cream- now it’s time to learn stuff. Let’s look for your book, Ryan.” You resolved, herding them back to the wagon as they reluctantly obeyed. Egon stiffly held the toddler in his arms, who kicked his legs back and forth as he was suspended in the air. He gingerly lowered him into the wagon as the other children unenthusiastically took their section of the tether.

You were all a parade, Rebecca leading the caravan through a winding path of vivid canopies, each advertising a different service or genre of literature. Egon walked by your side as you pushed the wagon, Nico hanging off the edge. He couldn’t help but wonder how you got so comfortable with such little children. Not to mention- juggling all of your other academic responsibilities. He had to admit, your ability to multitask was admirable, when it wasn’t irking him.

All was relatively fine, until Ryan started to bother Amelie. He kept on teasing her, poking and prodding the girl and ignoring your warnings- until she let out a shrill cry, Egon’s eyes widening at a thick hunk of dirt smeared into the back of her doll’s thick hair. Amelie stopped in her tracks, cheeks red and damp from her bawling as she brought her hands to her face . Children were loud, Egon’s under eye twitched. He felt dumb at your side, but not in the way he did when you were in lectures together. Should he say something? Your face was unreadable, at least from his perspective. Ryan looked apologetic when she burst into tears, feebly attempting to clean up his fault, failing as Amelie leaned over the wagon, Nico grabbing at the ornate detailing of her dress.

“I don’t want him here anymore!” She pointed to the boy, sniffling. You were surprisingly calm while the last of tears fell from Amelie’s eyes and onto Nico’s head.

“He can’t go anywhere,” you tried to reason with her. Rebecca fidgeted with her split ends.

Amelie looked conflicted, palms drying her cheeks. She didn’t say anything, instead making her way over to Egon and dragging him between her and Ryan. His head swung between the little girl and you, her tiny hand dwarfed in his large one while she dragged him along. Egon was not one to be dragged, especially not by children. He looked to you for release- maybe a little say in the matter, but you simply shrugged, smiling smugly. Damn you.

And so the procession kept on, Egon just short of doubled over to accommodate the 4 feet little lady steering him along, disregarding the tether that kept all the children together. Soon enough she was at his side instead, nearly white blonde hair bouncing as they silently walked, hand in hand. He had to admit, when she calmed down, she was an awfully endearing little girl- regardless of her dress, fit for a porcelain statue. As she stood close to his leg, miniature fingers curled over his own, he felt some sort of pang near his heart. The strange energy was back, loud as a buzz yet soft as a whisper.

Inside a mellowly lit tent labeled “nature”, Amelie still hasn’t let go. Egon hums, looking at all the titles and thinking back to his brother. Elon’s one of the few biologists Egon knew personally, every manuscript or picture book about the natural world reminding him of his twin. While you held Ryan up to properly talk to the seller, he had his head hidden in your shoulder. This boy really was shy, refusing to open his mouth.

“C’mon, Ry,” you tried coaxing him, “he’s here to help.” The child wouldn’t budge, eyes watering as he went languid in your arms. You let him down, smiling apologetically to the vendor. Rebecca must’ve taken note of his disquietude, perspective as she’s proven, gently guiding Amelie to help her look in his place, Nico in tow. You were at Egon’s side now, arms crossed as you watched over Ryan- painting an almost filmesque scene

He could feel your frustration. “He hasn’t cried, yet,” Egon offered.

“Lucky me.” The little boy ran his fingers over the edge of the green tablecloth. “He’s a smart kid. I know he is. He loves this stuff, really. He’s just too scared of ‘getting it wrong’.” Egon hummed lowly. He couldn’t help but think of Elon for the second time in a few minutes. His carbon copy was confident, witty, and incredibly passionate about his preferred science. He was also, evidently, extremely persistent, prospering as an incredible academic but a fairly poor mathematician. Their parents bluntly told him to pick a different niche if he couldn’t handle the arithmetic demanded of him. But- he worked hard, and didn’t let his natural setbacks stop him from doing what he liked the most. Ryan was Elon, if he listened to the voice saying that he “couldn’t”.

Egon silently stood next to him, flipping through a few children’s books about the forest. Ryan’s eyes had dried, discreetly peering at the covers Egon flipped through. “Do you have any siblings, Ryan?”

The boy was quiet for a moment. “A brother. But he’s old.” Egon found something that looked pretty suitable.

“I have a brother as well. He lives in California, studying brown bears.”

Egon can practically hear the glow coming off Ryan, smiling internally to himself. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s his job. He follows them around and learns how humans affect their homes- in the woods.” Ryan stood on the edge of his toes, trying to read the book in Egon’s hand. The Child’s Guide to North American Bears”. Age appropriate word count, educational pictures- this would do fine.

Ryan chewed his nail, obviously interested beyond his shy nature. “How’d he do it?”

“Reading as much as he could to know as much as he could.” Egon tilted the open text to the boy, eyes bright as he took in the pictures and words speaking to him on the page. He looked conflicted, brought down at the realization that books held the door open for his future dreams. “He read to get into school, he read to get a job- he never stopped.” Ryan frowned.

“I’m not good.” Ryan mumbles, barely audible, but holding so much weight. Egon dropped his normally hygienic inhibitions, now on one knee and eye level with the anxious child in front of him.

“It’s not a matter of being good. It’s trying, and knowing you’ll get better. You can be a biologist, too. But you have to start now.” Ryan only nodded, eventually smiling.

Egon held an open page out, pointing to a small passage. “Here, try this. Only a sentence.”

He hesitated, glancing up and back down at the words. As soon as he did, his face started to shine again. “Brown bears are one of America’s smartest animals.” Ryan took the book from Egon’s hands without a second thought, quickly scanning every note, fact, and passage.

Egon was satisfied. That’s one child down, he thought, corralling the boy to the register as he spouted off more facts enthusiastically. He found you settled at his side, eyes full of something he couldn’t place.

“What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing, Mister Rogers.” After happily handing the vendor a bill, you hoisted Ryan into the wagon with Nico as he kept on reading, nose buried in the pages.

Egon back at Amelie’s side, you march on, trying to find a general kids section for her in hopes of finding a suitable princess story. Any princess story, you stressed. Ryan was even reading to Nico, who lazily took to laying on the fabric floor of the chariot he was being pushed around in, disinterested.

Rebecca started to tease the younger girl, not once looking over her shoulder. “Are you gonna get put in a dungeon?” Amelie crossed her arms.

“No,” she announced defensively.

“Are you gonna get a suit of armor and fight for New York like Joan of Arc?” Amelie was turning a bit red.

The toddler spoke before you could calm her down. “No! Princesses get saved by princes and they get married!” To Egon, this seemed like it must’ve been a pretty common spiel, as Rebecca tried to provoke her again before you put your foot down.

“See?” You whispered to him while she hugged her doll tighter. She was, again, a cute kid, but this was turning out to be a nasty phase. Simple psychology- a budding complex brought up during development manifested by the teachings of her mother and the women around her. It didn’t seem very fair- the poor girl wasn’t given a chance to see what kind of person she wanted to be yet, and now she could barely recognize her own name in writing.

Rebecca slowed, looking around. “I think we went too far.” She pointed to a few signs displaying sheet music and liberatos rather than works of fiction. Egon could hear you click your tongue, ready to reroute your little group until Rebecca strayed, eyes fixed on something wooden and on display. Naturally, the other children followed, crowding around the stand.

You let Nico teethe on you as you both peered over the kids. It was an antique viola, still in working condition. Egon was impressed by its craftsmanship, noting the delicate carvings that blossomed across the bout.

“Cool,” your charges seem to say in unison.

Rebecca haphazardly lifts it by the fingerboard, making Egon cringe. “Play it,” she holds it out to you.

You lift your free hand in defense, looking at her incredulously. “Who said I know how?”

The near-teenager shrugs, ready to put it back. Amelie reaches up, flexing and unflexing her fingers, cheering “Give me! Give me!” She obliges, passing over the bow as well. Amelie slugs it back and forth, producing a sound that would make the dead cover their ears. As you get her to stop, Egon worries for the integrity of the strings. They could’ve snapped and hit her, poor thing.

“Any chance you play violin?” Egon takes the instrument from you carefully.

“Viola.” How old was this? He plucked a string or two- it was relatively in tune, if his ears were up to speed. He thought back to any pieces he knew by heart. Senfter was always a nice time. Finding his bearings, messing around with a few bow positions, he found his way back to one of her sonata’s- very smooth, very German. He can almost see his mother behind his eyelids, in front of him with a cane for when he forgot his key signature.

Egon wasn’t expecting to play the whole thing- no kid can sit through nine minutes of classical music. When he let his eyes open in the middle of a decrescendo, you and all the children were watching him in awe, waiting to applaud. He felt himself sport a rare blush, ready to stop then and there until you spoke up.

“Keep going. Didn’t know you had an artistic bone in your body, Mr. Spengler.” He let himself continue, bow gliding across the strings as he (impressively) managed to multitask.

“Funny. I was raised with cello, viola, harp…my brother took the fun stuff- piano, flute, clarinet. I would’ve opted for the gurdy, or even the theremin.” He let out a vibrato note. “But mother said no.”

“Well, you play very beautifully. I wasn’t expecting this from Mr. Facts-and-Truths.”

“You’d be surprised. I’ve been praised for my dancing, too.”

“No way.”

Amelie ran up to him, clinging to his leg, large eyes kept on the instrument against his shoulder. “You made that yourself? The song?” That was as far as her vocabulary was willing to take her as she watched him change positions.

“It was written a long time ago by a lady named Johanna. She wasn’t much older than you when she started learning to read music.” Egon could picture the gears turning in her developing mind as she looked between him and a piece of sheet music on display.

“A girl made it?” Egon did his best to nod while the bow graced the corner of his face. Amelie smiled the widest she had all evening, running up to you a few feet away. “A girl made it! Did you hear?” For the first time tonight, she let her feet really hit the dirt, leaving dark brown all over her satin flats.

“I heard,” you laugh, as she bounces a bit, racing over to the vendor of music and song books, vividly exclaiming that she wants to be like her mom and “joe hannah” and learn to read the dots on the page to make pretty sounds. As the older man, just as enthusiastically, shows her to the children’s books, Egon finishes the sonata.

“It…kinda counts as reading, right?” You ask, watching as she sorts through thin volumes. Egon rubs where the chin rest was absentmindedly.

“Small victories. There are studies confirming the cognitive benefits of learning an instrument at a young age.” As he said this, she came running back, a large book with music for an even larger instrument. The tuba.

You shrugged- a win was a win, and paid the small fare. Egon gently placed the viola back on its stand, there was no way he had enough cash for it, before the older woman tending the tent smiled at him kindly.

She helped him set it back, speaking softly as she did. “You look a little young to have such a big family.” Egon blinked.

"They're not-" He stammered, not sure of what to say until she apologetically waved her hands around.

Amelie called out for him, holding up a graphic in the book of a young lady with the instrument in her lap. He watched you smile down at her, and then up at him. "I didn´t mean to assume. It's just- sturdy husband, young spouse, happy kids. It's very picturesque." Egon racked his brain for a response, but you appeared at his side, then.

"Ready?" He never noticed the color of your eyes until then, catching the light. Picturesque.

There was a buzzing around him. “Almost,” he murmured.

“You both look happy,” she commented as soon as you joined the children by their wagon. He was too stumped for words, the woman called over by her own husband for something.

Before you could tackle another section, Nico started to whine and cry. You shushed him, letting him sniffle into your shirt. “He’s tired. And we are, too,” Ryan rubbed his eyes, trying to keep awake for his newfound treasure but failing, Rebecca leaning against the handle of the wagon. “The song put us to sleep”. Maybe Egon did play for too long.

Rebecca, somehow, ended up in the wagon with the remainder of the younger kids, knees to her chest as she dozed off. You lamented, trudging along and pushing the trio. Nico still couldn’t sleep- he was tired, as you explained to a confused Egon, but now too tired to actually go down. He didn’t feel like crying, rather staring at the man with owlish yet sleepily round eyes.

“I don’t suppose he’s looking for Hemmingway anytime soon?” He speaks low, a rare attempt at humor, which successfully makes you laugh, full and clear. That odd feeling was back as the festivities around you wound down, the warm glow that you seemed to bathe in getting impossibly warmer. “Shakesphere? Austen?” Your giggling grew.

“No, not for him. He’s a muppet kind of guy.” You rub a hand over his back.

“Really?”

You nod. “That’s his passion. Puppets.”

"Understandable."

There was a light breeze, blowing past the hair around his ears. "Sorry you haven't seen him do much but cry and sleep. He's pretty talkative, I guess he just wants to be pampered today." The toddler whimpered a bit at the sudden chill.

"I know, I know," you soothed him. It all felt oddly paternal, a sudden urge inside of him to run out and get medicine or a warm coat. Nico pressed his cheek against your chest, Amelie and Ryan laying against each other. "Little angels, when they’re not kicking and yelling,” you cooed.

Egon hummed. "They'll be up all night."

"That's a problem for their parents."

Right. They had parents. Who weren't you- or Egon. "I'm sure."

He takes note of the plays and novels you passed as you went on the path. Colorful and adorned covers he’d know you’d like, works and authors you’d praised endlessly in class. “You never found what you were looking for?” Egon put his hands in his pockets.

“Hm? Oh. My old and out of print book- Turn of the Screw. It’s okay, I can look some other time,” you shrugged.

The Turn of the Screw. He knew that one. “You don’t mind?”

He frowned, slightly, as you shook your head. “I’m happy as long as these guys got what they needed.”

You ended up in a large, blanketed area, where other families, or just families, rested with their young children. Books were scattered around, as mothers and fathers held their kids close to them and got well deserved downtime, a couple or two huddled around an open novel. You lay on your side as Egon took the liberty of reading to the exhausted Nico who sat back in his lap. Admittedly, he really didn’t know how to care for a child who was barely forming sentences, but it was fairly easy when they latched on to the rhythm and timbre of his voice as he read the words to Peter and Wendy.

Nico took to running his hands over the pages after a while. “Thank you. For helping me out today.” You looked into his eyes, sincerely. There wasn’t a fire behind them, like usual. He nodded.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You probably changed their lives.” Amelie twitched in her sleep. “I didn’t know you were so good with kids.”

Egon felt warm under your spotlight. “Neither did I.”

You lifted your gaze to the night sky, peeking through the faraway corner of the tent. “Well, thank you for doing my job better than I could,” you admonished him.

Egon sat up straighter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“So you agree?” You sat up in turn.

“I’m-”

“I’m joking, Mr. Spengler.” There it was. The smile that reached your eyes. He smiled- uncertain if it was voluntary or not. He was dreading this night; the crying, the germs, the sticky hands. But it was nice. The children, the tents, the books. You.

He could admire your dedication to offspring that weren’t your own, managing to treat them as such. They even looked at you, clung to you, like they were of you. It was selfless.

“Do you enjoy it?” He looked on as you brushed hair away from Ryan’s face.

You gathered what he meant, eyes still on the little boy. “Of course I do. I just hope they are, too.”

“I wouldn’t worry.” You locked eyes. You looked wonderful in this lighting.

“Very fun. I think it’s time we get back to my mom.” Rebecca was awake now, making a daisy chain in the grass. Egon could practically hear your brain making the connection before you crossed your arms.

“Very fun, Becca. Now, let’s get you your book.” You spoke to her as if she was a handful of years younger than she actually was, carefully placing a sleeping Amelie and Ryan back into the Wagon. The older girl complained, rolling over onto her back and reluctantly rising.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched her back, Egon lagging behind the two of you as Nico was now in his own arms. He was peaceful, but heavy. “I don’t need a book. I need to go home. I’m gonna miss Maude.”

“Cindy watches Maude?”

“No, but it’s on before Mary Tyler Moore.”

She trudged along ahead of you, no clear direction in mind. Egon walked on wordlessly, feeling the animosity bouncing back and forth as neither of you said anything. Even Nico seemed to have felt it, burying his head into Egon’s coat. He opened his mouth to speak, before you cut him off.

“Don’t even try. I’ve done everything, and it doesn’t work.”

Rebecca turned her head to you, almost shouting as she was a fair distance away. “Can’t I get an encyclopedia and call it a day?”

You were just short of shouting back. “No. Tell Mr. Spengler what you like to read.”

She turned to Egon this time, smiling sweetly, but facetiously. “I don’t like anything, thank you.”

He could tell she was a handful, even at 11. He didn’t risk handing you Nico, placing him in the wagon instead. “May I…?”

“Do my job? Please.”

Egon walked ahead with her, wordlessly while his hands found refuge in his pockets again. Before he could speak, Rebecca did first.

“It’s not gonna work on me.”

“I know. Because you’re not a baby.”

“Exactly.”

Silence. “Do you even know what you like to read?”

She looked at him incredulously. Ouch, lots of attitude from someone who’s only had a two-digit age for about a year. “Of course. But you’re not gonna know, because I’m not gonna tell you.”

“I know. Why not?”

Egon caught her rolling her eyes. “Because, it’s so weird and gross you’ll freak out.”

“I’m a scientist. I got my degree in weird and gross.”

Rebecca shook her head, the shadow of a smile on her face. “Not like this.”

He challenged her. “Try me.”

She stopped in her tracks, facing him. “Molds and fungus.”

He didn’t really know how it happened, but very very quickly he was leading her around the nearest tent marked with some mixture of molecular biology and ecology, adding books to her ever growing stack. “Avery is a very accomplished author. This journal’s a favorite- its about incorporating fungi into the human diet.” He added the heavy book into Rebecca’s arms. She swayed under the weight a bit, eyes wide, but this was the price to pay if she wanted to be a mycologist. It was a demanding field. Not for nothing, but he made it his bitch.

“You do this for fun?” She asked, eyes peeking over the spine of a book about moldborne sickness.

He stilled. Not an uncommon question, when he got deep into his passions. “It’s my hobby, and I enjoy it.”

“People pay you for it?”

“More or less.”

Silence, again, until he could hear her stacking more books into her arms. “Cool! I’ve been just,” she nearly dropped them, “collecting mushrooms and moldy cheese. Cindy said it's gross.”

He felt himself smiling knowingly, taking a few volumes away so he could see her face. “Cindy doesn’t know what she’s talking about. When livestock runs out, we’ll be eating chicken of the woods.”

All the children were returned to their rightful owners not long after that, slowly waking up from their naps and excitedly showing off their new books to their eternally grateful parents. You couldn’t stick around very long, having to leave Egon alone after bidding everyone a goodnight. He swung by Ray’s stand with his little cash in hand, tempted by the titles silently calling his name, painfully ignoring them as he was on a sacred mission. There was a copy of The Turn of the Screw on your desk a few mornings later, a red faced Egon too shy to hand it to you personally.

[azureseacloud]

Hidden Messages

Ghost (band)

Part 4

Dewdrop x Reader

Words: 2,727

Warnings: swearing

I’m back! Sorry about the delay, it’s been like almost two months 🫣

Anyway I hope you all enjoy, and as always my askbox is open so if you want to request or even just chat please do! :)

If you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know <3

Tags: @gummy-dummy

@ghoulettess

@viylikescats

You hummed absentmindedly, tapping a pen against your cheek. You were sitting at your desk, working your way through the last changes Sister Imperator had wanted you to make. You’d already sent off the plans for accomodation and venue bookings, choosing to forgo skimming over them to save time. You’d finished them last night anyway.

Cirrus was on your bed, her beautiful form lounging as she idly looked through her phone. She was stretched out, leaning her back against the headboard with one leg crossed over the other.

Another notification popped through on your phone and you looked down to see it was from Cirrus again. You sighed, throwing the phone onto the foot of the bed, away from your reach before it distracted you.

“Really, Cirrus?” You were pretty sure the ghoulette chuckled. She held up her hands in mock surrender.

“You don’t have to check it now. Just think of it as a little reward after you’ve finished your work.” By her wicked smile you knew it was going to be more videos of Dewdrop. Satan below, why had you ever told Cirrus about him?

“You are almost done, right honey?” Cirrus asked hopefully. When she’d first come in you’d been laying on your bed typing. She’d joined you, cuddling into you and rubbing calming circles into your back to the point you had almost fallen asleep. After that you had rolled away, choosing to sit at your desk to finish the last of the documents.

It was almost 10pm now and you had almost finished all of the work that you were going to do tomorrow. Which meant you would have a clear schedule to stay at practice for the whole day, if you wanted to.

“I’ve got a few more things left, then I’ll be done.” Cirrus looked pleased at that. You knew she was waiting for you to join her. It wasn’t unusual for the ghoulette to sleep with you on the nights you didn’t spend in the ghoul quarters. You also had a feeling this had something to do with Dewdrop stealing you from her arms last night.

Cirrus had already filled you in on what had happened during the second half of the rehearsal. Dew had apparently been even more hyper after his interaction with you, to the point that Copia had needed to tell him off numerous times, apparently more than he usually did.

You still couldn’t believe it, and you could already feel yourself starting to hope. What if he did like you—what if Cirrus was right?

Even though you knew you should probably kill that hope until you had solid evidence, you didn’t have the heart to. It had been so long since you’d felt this way about someone.

Your mind kept wandering to how his hands had felt on your body, the warmth that radiated from him, the way he’d called you dearest in that honey-smooth tone. You were going to see him again tomorrow—and if Cirrus was right then he would be showing off for you.

You were well aware of the types of moves that Dew normally employed—having seen more than enough videos. But that was completely different to seeing it in person, let alone as his targeted audience.

You’d been to rituals hosted at the abbey, but only a few. You’d ended up at the very back for both of them, not wanting to fight the sisters for a closer space. Even with the limited view, you’d still been able to watch and admire the ghouls as they performed. Papa had been excellent as well—but your eyes had been elsewhere.

Namely on the lead guitarist. Dew’s energy had been breathtaking, the way he threw himself into each song, drawing the attention of the crowd and feeding off it. He knew exactly what to do to make the siblings scream. You’d wanted to be apart of that front row so badly—wanted to have his full attention on you as he played.

It seemed you were going to get the wish, if Cirrus was to be believed. It left a small flutter of nerves every time you thought of it.

Cirrus sat up, her head turning toward the door. You watched carefully—you’d picked up on some of the ghoul’s behaviours, Cirrus’s especially. By the way she tilted her head, you could tell that she heard something or someone nearby.

An amused smile slipped onto her lips as she watched the door.

You waved a hand and her masked face turned to you. “Who?” You mouthed, guessing that it was a ghoul that she had heard. Surely it wasn’t him…

Dew, she mouthed back, blowing you a teasing kiss.

Of course it was.

Your head snapped over to the door as it opened, revealing the fire ghoul, who hadn’t even bothered to knock. That was typical Dew though.

His gaze landed on you first—giving you a little nod in greeting—then flicked to Cirrus.

“Hey Dew, is everything okay?” You asked as you watched the ghoul. His hand gripped the door and he stared at the ghoulette behind you as she sent a delicate wave back at him.

“Copia needs to speak with Cirrus,” he answered, leaning on the doorway in a way that had you staring.

“What does Papa need to speak to me about?” Cirrus sounded uninterested.

Dewdrop shrugged. “Go find out.”

“Tell him I’m busy. It can wait until tomorrow.” Cirrus nodded over at you as you tore your eyes off the fire ghoul.

“He said it’s urgent, Cirrus.” Dew’s gaze flipped to you, his voice taking on a smoother tone. “Don’t worry, I can keep them company.”

“You should probably go Cirrus,” you added, trying to ignore the excited trepidation at the thought of spending more time alone with Dewdrop. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Cirrus sighed, standing gracefully. She let her fingers brush lightly over the back of your neck as she walked past.

“It’s not that I’m worried about,” she said as she passed the fire ghoul, giving him a warning look.

“Is it because my company is better than yours?” Dew sounded amused, still leaning against the door.

Cirrus laughed. “Oh please. I’m the favourite, aren’t I sweetheart?” She nodded her head behind Dew as they both awaited your answer.

“I don’t have favourites,” you said hesitantly, watching Cirrus point at herself. “But if I had to choose, Cirrus is better,” you added, slyly looking at Dew. Cirrus made a heart with her hands at your response, while the fire ghoul crossed his arms, scoffing.

“Don’t have too much fun,” Cirrus said with a teasing wink to you. “And you better be finished all that work when I get back.”

You gave her a little wave as she left. Dewdrop took a step into the room, closing the door softly.

It was his first time in your room—only Cirrus and the ghoulettes had been in here, as well as Rain on one occasion. It wasn’t that you didn’t want them here—rather that you spent most of your time in the ghoul quarters that it was practically home now. This room was more of a storage place where you kept all your belongings and work-related items. You only really stayed in it when you needed a break from the chaos—which was very rarely.

Dew seemed to be taking in your room, walking around as he scanned through your items, though there weren’t that many. He lingered at the small shelf housing your favourite books, running a finger delicately across their spines.

After ensuring he wasn’t up to anything that couldn’t be classed as strangely typical ghoul behaviour, you forced your attention back to the screen.

There was one more document left and then you could call it a night, and you’d have an entirely free day tomorrow to admire the fire ghoul. It was harder than it should have been to ignore him though. It was like your eyes were drawn to him, and you had to keep fighting the urge to look back at him.

You were typing the last part of the document when you suddenly became aware of his presence behind you. You stilled, catching his reflection on the screen.

Dew placed his hands on the desk at either side of you, his arms caging you in as he leant over you. His breath touched your right shoulder as he took in the screen.

“Someone’s eager to watch me play tomorrow,” he whispered smugly. You huffed, unlocking your fingers and typing again, furiously telling yourself to calm down.

“From what Cirrus told me, you’re the one who can’t wait to show off. How many times did you get told off by Copia today?”

Dew laughed lowly, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder.

“You’ve been talking about me, dearest sibling?” he muttered, a teasing tone in his voice. “Seems you just can’t get me out of your head.”

“I’m surprised you fit through the door with that ego. Then again, you are pretty short,” you teased back, hearing a quiet hiss in response.

Dew burrowed his face against your shoulder, his hands running along your arms. The movement jostled your hands as you were typing, turning the next word into a jumble of random letters. You quickly pressed the back button, acutely aware of the way his hands glided smoothly over your skin and the weight on your shoulder.

“Do you mind?”

“You don’t smell like me anymore,” he murmured, sounding disappointed.

Ah. So that’s why Cirrus had given you a whole heap of hugs, and why she had been so eager to cuddle tonight, especially after you’d showered earlier. You wondered if it was to reinforce her claim on you, or an attempt to piss Dew off.

“Well I’m trying to type here.”

“Don’t care. This is what you get for calling me fucking short.”

You sighed dramatically, reaching a hand up to push his head away. He grabbed at your arm, pinning it to the desk with a sound of amusement.

You raised an eyebrow at his reflection on the screen.

“Really?” You flexed your trapped hand, trying to loosen his grip. “Let me go little gremlin, I’m trying to finish this work so I can go watch you practise. You know, like you so desperately want me to.”

Dew lifted his head, watching you through the reflection. He was silent for a moment as you held his gaze.

“How much longer until you’re finished?”

“About five minutes. And don’t tell me that’s too long to wait,” you added, well aware that the fire ghoul was known to be exceptionally impatient.

He huffed.

“Fine,” Dew said as he withdrew, trailing his fingers across your shoulders then your neck the way Cirrus had earlier. He lowered his mouth to your ear. “Five minutes.”

You relaxed as he threw himself on your bed, the phantom tingle of his breath on your ear lingering. Five minutes—then what? Was he wanting to sleep here tonight as well? How long was Cirrus going to take?

You mentally cursed the air ghoulette for leaving you in this situation. You hoped she would be back soon—although you were definitely enjoying Dew’s attention. Maybe he really did...

You would think about that later.

It was silent for a few minutes, the tapping of your keys the only sound. You resisted the urge to check what the ghoul was up to—once you did you knew he would try to distract you again, and you only had two more minutes.

“Has Cirrus been sending you more porn?” You startled, twisting your head to see he was holding your phone. Fuck.

“No she has not.” You tensed—you knew he shouldn’t be able to get into your phone, but you still felt a small fear curling in your stomach at the thought of him somehow seeing your conversations with Cirrus. The ones that were mostly about him.

“Then what has she been sending you?” He mocked a gasp. “Not her own videos?”

You stood, closing your laptop. It’s not like you were going to get anything else done anyway.

“Give me my phone back Dewdrop.”

He twisted around so he could see you, the balaclava under his mask slipping enough to give you a glimpse of a toothy smile.

“Make me.”

You narrowed your eyes, taking in the ghoul on your bed. He stared back at you, lifting his chin slightly in a challenge.

At that moment, the door opened, Cirrus returning from her meeting with Papa.

She glanced between the two of you, bracing her hands on her hips. You shot her a look of relief, gesturing towards Dewdrop.

“Can you help me with this?”

Dew snorted, rolling onto his stomach to face you, the phone still in his hands as he propped himself up on his elbows.

“Told you my company was better,” he said to Cirrus.

“I can see that.” The ghoulette sounded amused. “Now get out of my spot or I’ll tell Mountain it was you who broke his drums last week.”

Dew scowled back. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Cirrus tilted her head, a knowing smile breaking across her lips.

“It would be very unfortunate if Sister Imperator was to also somehow find out about what you did to that shelf of rare books in the library—“

“Fucking okay!” Dew sighed, languidly stretching before rolling reluctantly off the bed.

You watched as he stepped around the bed, wondering just how much blackmail Cirrus had on each of the ghouls. Maybe she was on to something—you made a mental note to hold on to any future information.

Dew stopped in front of you, holding out your phone. You hesitantly reached out for it, expecting a trick of some sort.

Instead, he let you take it, although he made sure to brush his fingers against yours.

“See you at rehearsals tomorrow.” He leaned in, whispering cockily. “I know you won’t be able to take your eyes off me.”

You gave him a small smirk, though your heart was racing. “We’ll see.”

He hummed in response, before Cirrus grabbed him by the arm and pushed him out of the room. She shut the door, cutting him off mid-curse.

You raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Don’t tell me you wanted him to stay,” she said, mocking disbelief with a hand to her chest. You rolled your eyes playfully.

“And if I did?” A smile ghosted your lips at the thought of Dew staying—but you also needed to actually sleep, and that wasn’t going to happen with him around.

Cirrus sighed, shaking her head. “Do you believe me now? You definitely have a chance with him.”

You felt red creeping across your cheeks. You really were starting to think that it was possible, but a part of you still held back a little. Before your thoughts could begin to drown you, Cirrus grabbed your hand and pulled you down towards the bed. You flipped your phone onto the bedside table—those videos could wait until the morning.

Cirrus pulled you in close, nuzzling into your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around her. She flicked off the light with her tail, plunging the room into darkness.

“What did Copia want?” You asked quietly as the two of you settled into a comfortable position.

“He wanted to check everything still fit for the upcoming performances, and that there weren’t any adjustments that needed to be made last minute.”

You nodded against her shoulder. That sounded like Copia—he was always remembering something he had forgotten right at the last minute. You thought fittings would have been sorted a few weeks ago.

“Annnd,” Cirrus dragged out the word, a hint of excitement in her voice, “we’re all getting capes.”

Capes? “No way. That’s going to be awesome!”

She hummed in agreement. “They look fabulous too.” You chuckled.

“I’m sure you’ll look ravishing.”

“I always do,” she purred. “Everyone else will have one too, even your little fire ghoul.”

Dewdrop with a cape? Fuck, you couldn’t wait to see that. Wait—

“He’s not my little fire ghoul.” You rolled over a little, peering at her through the darkness.

Cirrus laughed quietly, and you scowled.“He’s not.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

[queer-teens]

🌈Queer Teens

Who are we?

We are Queer Teens, an organization which seeks to create a friendly and inclusive space for queer and feminist youths to express their ideas. We are primarily based in Shanghai, China and organized by a group of high-schoolers. However, even though we are a LGBTQ+ Youth organization, we strongly encourage diversity in age and nationality (which is why we also got on Tumblr!), so please join us if you want to!

What do we do?

1. 1v1 counseling for queer teens

If you are ever in distress about your identity or lack of understanding from people around you, feel free to just send us a message and we will try to communicate with you! Our email is queerteens.cn@gmail.com. Be aware that none of us have undergone training and offer this help from an unprofessional perspective. Seek professional help if necessary. 

2. Recommend queer theory and feminism books

Members of our organization are reading as many books as we can to recommend some books we like! We will recommend books about queer theory or feminism in the future!

3. Express our own ideas!

We may regularly or irregularly post blogs about our discussions and conclusions! Feel free to comment below and start new discussions! We may also organize online conferences in the future, but that’s not decided for now. 

4. Be the bridge between Chinese queer teens and Tumblr queer teens

As we all know, the existence of the Great Firewall of China prevents Chinese queer teens from going on Tumblr and many other more inclusive online spaces. In addition, China itself is not particularly welcoming towards queer people in general, not to mention queer teens. Thus, we will bridge the gap by sharing stories and connecting pen friends (through e-mail). More details of this activity will be mentioned later!

Why Queer Teens?

According to a study conducted by Johns et al. 2019&2020, LGBTQ+ youth are more than 4 times more likely to commit suicide than their peers. The Trevor Project even estimated that at least 1 LGBTQ+ youth every 45 seconds in the U.S. alone. Teen mental health is a serious issue we should consider, not to mention the increased risk LGBTQ+ youth endure due to bullying, discrimination and lack of understanding due to their queer identity. 

I myself, one of the admins of this blog who now writes the paragraph, am a high-school non-binary lesbian currently living in China. I have found using Tumblr liberating from my rather conservative environment. China is not very accommodating towards lesbians, and it’s even worse for people questioning of their gender. When I had gone to the school counselor(luckily, our school has one) to attempt to talk over my identity issues, I was treated like child “poisoned by the woke west”. My gender dysphoria around my breasts were brushed off with “they weren’t that big to begin with” and my dislike of culturally feminine words’ use on me was also not treated with understanding. 

After that unsatisfactory experience, I want to create a platform where queer teens can share their experience and talk to each other with understanding that we share. I want a place where we can express our own ideas in an inclusive environment, and for Chinese queer teens to be able to contact openly queer teens from all around the world without the limitations of the Great Firewall of China. May Queer Teens grow to become this platform. 

What can you do?

1. Share stories of yourself

Askbox and submissions are always open. Anonymous submissions are welcome! We may translate your content to post to Chinese platforms so please inform us if you don’t want that to happen.

2. Recommend books that gave you new insight

Our members are currently reading feminism and queer theory books for future recommendation, and we greatly appreciate your opinions!

3. Express your ideas through asks or submissions

We aim to create an inclusive space for queer teens around the world, so please be polite in discussions. TERFs, homophobes and trolls will be blocked.

4. Seek help from us if you need to

The aforementioned non-binary lesbian admin usually runs this blog (Yes I am unfortunately chronically online). If you want to talk, send me a message and I will overcome my social anxiety to help you at all times. Be aware that none of us has gone through professional training and it would be better to seek professional help if needed. 

5. Join us!

If you are interested in running this blog with us together, we’re glad to make our community larger! We are still just starting up, so things may be a bit messy. Otherwise, we’ll happy to accept new participants!

[hamlets-ak]

a night on the balcony ༊*·˚

m.list ◦ askbox

synopsis: in which you and timothée go to a party during your vocation in venice

You were dancing crazily like you belonged to the music, like the music was a drug that brought you higher and higher until your heads were buzzing with pure joy. You were uncoiling ropes, with eyes on fire, unruly hair, both out of breath, covered in each other’s sweat.

Timothée gave you an impish look and then took your hand, his fingers cheekily wrapping around your palm, as he guided you through a sea of people. You looked down at his hand and then at the mischievous smile marked on his face, that not even your persistent stare was able to erase it. Your eyes fell again, slowly smiling, holding his arm to be closer to him with your free hand.

« Wait, » he pulled your hand to stop you from walking any further. You balanced your back on the wall, Timothée looking at you straight in the eyes with twitching lips that stayed half-opened. He leaned his head down an arm on the wall next to you, his curls tickling your nose. « I'm getting us drinks, » he pressed his nose against yours, your heavy breaths becoming one for a moment.

« Okay, » you gulped, eyes scanning the room around you as Timothée was lost in the crowd.

Timmy and you were on vacation in Venice, away from everyone and everything. You were both having such a great time, feeling invincible with all the freedom you had.

In the past, Timothée couldn’t really have a fun time with his girlfriends without getting captured by the paparazzi in their very personal moments. He didn’t want the same thing to happen to you, so you decided to keep things out of the public eye for as long as you could.

Finally, you found the time to be together out of the spotlight to have some moments only for yourselves in a place far away from home, and do things you wouldn't normally do in New York out of fear of getting caught.

You were going sightseeing, spending countless hours in museums just staring at paintings and statues that were staring back at your souls. You were having late night raids to the cinema that was close to the apartment you rented. One night, DUNE was screening and you begged Timothée to rewatch it on the big screen. Timothée couldn’t stop smiling the whole time, feeling extremely uncomfortable at the view of himself, his face concealed by his cap and his body deeply buried in the seat. You were walking on the cobblestone and on extremely quiet alleys that were either washed with sun or under the light of faint square streetlights, as you were eating gelato, and exchanging your cones. You were meeting with friends at their houses, having dinners, going to clubs together, getting drunk.

That was one of those nights. Your friends knew this couple that was having a party at their house and you were invited to join as well. You had both decided to get dressed, well, in the case of Timothée undress, because he just wore his jacket, torso bare, with the excuse of the weather being “too hot”. You just widened your eyes looking at him and nodded eagerly making him laugh and rub your whole face with his hand playfully.

However, when you got out of the apartment waiting for Tim to lock the door, you quickly realized that he just wanted to show off his abs after all the training for his new film. Even though you were wearing a long dress, your back was exposed and you could feel the chilly breeze hit your spine.

You didn’t have many days left in Italy but you smiled at the thought of your lovely stress-free vacation. You headed to the balcony only to realize that it was actually very narrow and right underneath your feet and the layers of concrete, was running a canal.

As your eyes gazed at the water dancing slowly in harmony, a pair of hands lightly pushed you to the front making you gasp and slightly jump. Timothée quickly turned you with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and leaned forward to kiss you. You chuckled moving your head to the side for his lips to land on your cheek.

« Got scared? », he laughed. « As if I’d ever let you fall. »

« I didn’t get scared, » you gritted your teeth holding tightly the sides of his face to look at him. He smiled warmly, slowly his gaze moving to the ground and then with a quick move he pecked your lips.

« I got our drinks, » Tim said separating from you, getting them from the inside table where he had placed them. « And Stéphane gave me something, » he fumbled in his pocket finally getting out a joint.

« Ooh, » you grinned taking a seat on the narrow balcony. He chuckled and sat across from you on the railings. « You are going to fall right into that canal and everyone tomorrow will think that I killed Timothée Chalamet, » you said.

« Oh my God, » he shook his head with a smile taking your feet on his lap to remove your heels.

« Sorry, I care, » you widened your eyes lightly tilting your head to the side.

« Sorry, I care, » he tried to imitate your voice making it a little too high-pitched causing you to almost spit your drink. Timothée looked at you with an impish smile, the one he always gave you after doing something incredibly funny - according to him. You lightly kicked him on his belly. He gasped squeezing your legs for revenge but finally brought them close to his mouth to kiss them.

« I hate you, you always make fun of me, » you pouted your lips sadly.

« Oh, come on, » Tim smiled at you. « You can’t stay mad at me. »

« I can try, » you clenched your jaw to stop smiling.

« You can try? », Tim asked playfully, as he let your legs down and sat next to you. He pulled one arm around your shoulder bringing you closer to kiss your forehead, as your lips landed on his chest.

« I’m going to miss this, » you said. Tim’s lips separated and looked down as your fingers followed the line of his jaw, to his neck, to his chest, pulling his jacket to the side. You leaned down to place kisses on top of his soft skin.

« These were the best days of my life, » he pulled your hair out of your face, behind your ears.

« Mine too, » you breathed out getting your drink back and taking another sip.

« It’s fucking ridiculous, » he mumbled after a long pause. « I wish people could just mind their own damn business. I can’t do that, » Tim held your hand intertwining your fingers. « I can’t do that, » he kissed your lips. « Or that, » he moved to your neck.

You took a long breath, your eyes moving up in the night sky at the stars that seemed like gems scattered around the black veil. His hand cupped the left side of your face pulling the hair behind your ear, his thumb moving alongside your jawline, as he kissed you deeply.

You felt his tongue lightly licking your lips making you chuckle against his mouth. He smiled back, as his curls fell on your forehead almost covering your eyes.

He slowly pulled back and finished his drink before leaving his jacket to the side. You were staring at him. You had seen his body so many times, yet you were always looking at his porcelain, sculptured, skin as if you were gazing at a statue of an angel and had to pray.

He took out of his pocket the joint and placed it between his lips while searching for a lighter. You leaned down and took it from his mouth to place it on yours. He glanced at you once and smiled.

« Got it, » Tim said trying to light the joint for you.

You breathed in slowly and then released a cloud out. You smiled rubbing your eyes once and then passing it to him.

« Oh my God, you hear that? », he suddenly widened his eyes slowly moving his head to the beat. Without much thinking, you got his jacket and put it on, his smell slipping onto your body. You could feel the joint working as you pulled your hair out of the jacket, hearing Timothée’s voice in the background singing along to the rhythm. « It’s time to make your mind up, aight // To wake your mind up, aight // Ai-aight, we-we aight, aight // We, we, we ai-aight. »

You chuckled watching Timmy vibing with eyes closed, his shoulders and his head swinging smoothly like air running around trees.

You closed your eyes too.

[happyhauntt]

la vie en rose — sirius black.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: it's just a regular tuesday in july until an escaped convict appears in your kitchen. oh, and he happens to be your ex.

─── pairing: sirius black x reader.

─── warnings: set in prisoner of azkaban. mentions of death (canon characters.) swearing. there will probably be a part 2 at some point.

─── word count: 1.8k.

     IT IS THE SECOND TUESDAY IN THE MONTH OF JULY, and you have a bad feeling.

     It comes with no warning, not heralded by a black mood or a grey, rainy sky, no creeping sensation lingering like a ghost at your back, causing the hair on your neck to stand on end.

     The sun is shining high in the sky. Residents of the little village huddle together at tables in the beer garden, tucked beneath huge umbrellas charmed to prevent sunburn. The summer holidays started a week ago, so there are no students milling about; only families you have known since birth, grizzled faces and smiling ones, long beards tied back in the heat, witches who have swapped out their usual pointed hats for wide-brimmed ones.

     It is hot and bright, someone has set the communal barbecue to work grilling burgers; there are drinks to be had, someone is calling for a round of firewhiskey shots, and all-in-all, it is the sort of day you dream of when you think of summer at the Three Broomsticks.

     There is no reason at all to have a bad feeling, and yet...

     It came over you like a wave the moment you woke up. Your room had already been almost unbearably warm, light spilling through the crack in the curtains, and a distant, suspicious buzzing that you suspected must be a bug that had come in through the open window in the night, but you'd had no time to dwell on it.

     The feeling had crashed into you, dark and sickly. It had stayed, even through a chilly shower and a round of French toast for breakfast, settling over you like a blanket made of stone. It was heavy, and you hated it.

     You hadn't felt this way in years.

     Aunt Ros had noted it the moment you got into work, sneaking through the back door with a face like thunder. If there is anything anyone knows about you, it is this ━ you have a concerningly happy disposition. In spite of everything you endured in your youth, or perhaps because of it, you’ve been known to flutter about the pub as if you’re living on a cloud, able to draw a smile out of even the grumpiest patron.

     Your past is a bleak stain on your life, and it is something you know you’ll never be able to scrub clean. Nor would you want to. No matter the sins of the people you once loved, or the graves where you’ve laid the remains of your heart, you cannot erase them. It would be such an injustice.

     The world is a shitty enough place, anyway, but that doesn’t mean you have to be.

     Today, though, it seems the world has got its grubby hands all over you, because it feels utterly impossible to shift this mood. Aunt Ros had frowned at you the moment you stepped into the back room. She’d tutted before you’d even had the chance to hang your bag on the hook, squinting over the thick frame of her glasses.

     “Did a gnome manage to get into your greenhouse again, or is somebody dead?”

     You’d huffed at her. “Neither.” You hadn’t had a stray gnome in your greenhouse for two years, and the perimeter spell you’d put on it would fry the little bastards if they dared to try. And as far as you’re aware, nobody is dead. Nobody new, anyway.

     Your heart had twinged a little, the way it always does when you think of your old friends.

     “Haven’t read the paper this morning, yet, then?” Aunt Ros had looked away from you, her voice taking on a peculiarly high pitch. She’d begun to fuss with a stack of unwashed glasses from the night before, drawing out her wand to cast a spell to start the washing-up.

    You’d paused. Alarm bells began to ring in your mind. “What’s happened, Aunt Ros?”

     “Better see for yourself, love.”

     You’d skirted around her and headed into the office. A copy of today’s Daily Prophet had laid open on her desk. The usual mess of paperwork had been shoved aside, and the headline had glared up at you in stark black and white.

     SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN!

     The floor had suddenly felt horribly unsteady beneath your feet. Your hand darted out to grip the edge of the desk, and you’d found yourself thanking every deity you could name that you’d come into the pub through the back door today.

     You’re certain every single one of the patrons huddled in the next room wouldn’t hesitate to stare at you. Or worse, want to talk about it.

     As if you have anything left to say that hasn’t already been said a hundred times over.

     Your ex-fiance’s mugshot graces the front page. It’s a recent one, clearly, and you’d swallow back the bile that rises in your throat at the sight of him.

     “You should go home, love.” Aunt Ros had followed you into the office. “Take the day off.”

     There’d been little point in arguing. Madam Rosmerta’s stubbornness is unrivalled, she’d been the landlady of the Three Broomsticks for at least a decade now, and besides, there’s very little to say. Her gaze had been dark and filled with pity, but an edge of vitriol had crept in when she glanced at Sirius Black’s picture.

     Her feelings about your ex are clear. Exceedingly so. You’re the only one who ever believed his innocence, and everyone knows that.

     So you’d folded up the newspaper and tucked it beneath your arm, retrieved your bag from the hook and retreated through the back door without argument. Now you keep your head down as you weave through Hogsmeade’s narrow streets on the way back to your little cottage. The sun beats down against the back of your neck. You swear you can hear people whispering as you pass by.

     The sight of your garden, with its neat little rows of marigolds and pink roses and tufts of lavender waving in the warm breeze, offers more relief than you thought was possible.

     Flowers have always had that effect on you. Even during the darkest days of the war, even when the aftermath of it had seemed so impossibly bleak, sinking your hands into cool pots of soil had eased your aching soul.

     There’s just something about the life of it all. How, even in the depths of winter, you know that spring will come again. You know the buds will bloom anew. You know that, every year, dead things come back to life.

     Upon reaching the garden gate, with its ever-creaking hinge and rusting iron handle, you cannot help but pause. The front door catches your eye, but for once it isn’t the pretty blue paint you notice, or the bright hanging baskets of geraniums on either side of the door.

     The door is hanging slightly ajar. The paint is chipped around the broken lock, which was certainly not broken when you left for work an hour ago.

     Not again.

     You thought you’d experienced the last of the break-ins years ago. They used to be a regular thing, back when the war first ended. So-called friends of the Potters wielding their righteousness like a blade, even though you’d barely spoken two words to these people at school. Even though not a single one of them could name Lily’s favourite colour, or recalled the name of James’ owl.

     Hypocrites, all of them. Drunk on power and freedom, the freedom that your friends had sacrificed themselves to gain.

     They would break in and curse you, hating you for defending Sirius so staunchly, but how could you not? How could you ever live with yourself if you hadn’t?

     You’d known him. Known Sirius as well as your own mind. Trusted him with your life, your heart, and how could anyone claim he’d done it? How could anyone believe it?

     The aurors had been no help at all. You were an irritation to them, with your constant campaigning for more evidence, for a fair trial, for anything. You were lucky to get them even to file a report about the break-ins, let alone investigate. That’s part of why you had to move, at least in the beginning.

     Living in the shadow of the school hadn’t done you any good, either. All those memories.

     All those ghosts.

     You draw your wand and push the door open, stepping cautiously over the threshold. You’d been a lot softer back then, sweeter than honey and freshly-bruised by the world.

     That sweetness is still inside you. In every smile and chiming laugh, in the way you carry yourself, in the petals pressed against your fingers and the love you hold for the people you’ve lost. It’s still there, undeniably.

     But these days, you’ve got a little more sting, too.

     “If you’re not supposed to be here, I’m going to give you five seconds to leave through the back door!” Your warning carries through the corridors of your seemingly empty house, and as the seconds pass, the tension in your shoulders starts to ease, but then━

     A scuffling noise at the back of the house. Near the kitchen, you think. A clattering sound, as if somebody dropped something.

     You don’t hesitate for a moment longer.

     Wand held tight in your grip, you charge through to the kitchen, a jinx settled on the tip of your tongue as you round the corner, but the sight you find causes your feet to come screeching to a halt in the doorway.

     There’s a man in the middle of your kitchen.

     Now this alone wouldn’t be so alarming, if you had a brother or a boyfriend or if, perhaps, Remus had bothered to reply to any of your letters in the last decade-or-so. but none of those things are true.

     And this man, this man you recognise.

     The years have changed him. He’s more than a decade older than last you saw him, though aged immeasurably by his time in captivity, with dark hair hanging in limp, bedraggled strands just above his shoulders. Ragged prison garb sits loosely on his frame, torn at the edges and smeared with dirt in places.

     There’s a manic look in his eye. Bright and stormy and mad, which is so familiar that your heart stumbles inside your chest the way it did when you were young. He looks just like he did at seventeen and McGonagall would catch them in the kitchens after curfew.

     That boyish innocence paired with the haunted look in his eyes is like a punch to the gut.

     A dish lies in shattered pieces on your kitchen floor, and it takes longer than you’d like for your brain to kick back into gear, but when it does, all you can manage is a peculiar, choked sound.

     There is an escaped convict in your kitchen, after all. Even if he happens to be your ex.

     “Sirius? What the fuck?”

[hermit-permits]

About This Blog:

Welcome to the Tumblr Hermit Permit Office! This is a gimmick blog is centered around handing out permits for different posts, such as cataloging crimes or selling virtual flowers!

It is important to understand that this blog is distinct from the Hermitcraft Hermit Permit Office and should not be held to the same standards. We do not currently employ Permit Office Enforcement (AKA POE-POE) and strive for only the best experiences while issuing permits, unlike that sister location.

Please note that your permit may include additional comments by the Permit Maker (i.e. the runner of this blog) concerning the contents or caveats of the permit.

Like many things, all permits given on this blog are in the name of good fun. No permit excludes others from posting similar content.

This post will be updated as the Permit Maker irons out the specifics of this blog! Bear in mind that this is the first gimmick blog that the Permit Maker has run, so things may be a bit bumpy as we get this show on the road.

And yes, I have a permit for this.

FAQ and taglist under the cut.

FAQ

Who runs this blog, and what are their pronouns?

Hello! I am the Permit Maker, the sole runner of this establishment of the Hermit Permit Office. You may refer to me using she/her.

What is a permit, anyway?

A hermit permit is a concept introduced in the tenth season of popular Minecraft YouTube series Hermitcraft. The owner of the permit is able to sell whatever is permitted by the permits they own. On the server, these permits are categorized into three ranks--diamond, gold, and iron--based on demand of the item permitted.

Here at the Tumblr Hermit Permit Office, things are run a little differently. Permits are still ranked from iron to diamond, though in this case it's far more subjective, based on the Permit Maker's perception of its "demand" and general vibes. At the end of the day, iron permits just tend to be more specific than diamond permits.

What do you tag each permit with?

Besides the general #hermit permits tag, each permit is tagged with its rank, whether it is part of a collective, the owner of the permit (at the time), an extremely brief summary of the permit in question (<5 words, usually), and whether the permit was requested or not.

Where do I go if I want to request a permit?

Please send all permit requests through the askbox! Requests are open at any time. Additionally, please add a link to the post you'd like reblogged if it is not pinned on your profile or if it is not a permit that is relatively unconnected to your account (e.g. selling virtual flowers). If you do not add this information, your request will be kept in the inbox until you submit a post link.

When are permits posted, and what is your time zone?

The time zone of the Tumblr Hermit Permit Office is EST/EDT. Please assume all times given are in this time zone. Permits are posted every day at 10 AM and 3 PM.

Why are you so inactive?

The Permit Maker is only one person, and running this blog can sometimes take a toll on her mental health. She will sometimes go dormant whenever submissions run out, so do not fret if this happens.

Tags Used:

#hermit permits for permits given. All permits will be tagged with their category, owner, and rank.

#not a permit for posts that are not giving a permit.

#answered for asks.

#requested for requested permits.

#sister location for anything pertaining to the other Hermitblr Permit Office, @permitoffice.

#nsfw for nsfw permits.

Tags will be updated as needed.

[uhitsum]

Gaining Update

Hey chubbies! I've got a few big updates, so i've decided to condense them into a pinned post.

1. Gaining Goals

A few weeks ago, I detailed my plan to lose some weight over Spring and Summer. After further reflection, and talking it over with a friend, I've decided against this plan. I don't want to get into specifics, but my motives behind it weren't coming from a good place.

Over the next few months, I instead intend to take gaining at a slower pace. I'm very busy in Spring and Summer, and because I'm saving up to move out to college in Fall, I won't be able to spend much money on food for a while.

2. Donations / Sponsored Stuffings

Since I won't be able to affore much food, I've decided to open a Paypal account for donations. If you want to stuff me up, feel free to send some money to paypal.me/sillybearcreature! Feel free to attach a request to your donation, though please understand that I will only do what I'm comfortable with.

Opening donations is my happy compromise to the idea of something like Patreon. I want to keep my blog free, but if you'd like to support me in my journey, you now have a way to do so!

3. Community Interaction

Going forward, I would like to allow y'all to have more involvement on this page. Some of you have messaged me, and I'm always grateful for the time and attention you offer me, it's made this blog and gaining journey so much more fun! My askbox is also open, for anyone who has any questions, suggestions, or requests.

I've also been working on some more long-form blog posts, focused on discussions and sharing my thoughts. While this is slightly different from the flow of belly pics and calories, I hope they'll find an audience here nonetheless.