#associations i had no idea my brain had even made

[cherriesandcharms]

.

[bookishdiplodocus]

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

(Even when life beats you down)

Look, I’m a mom, I have ADHD, I’m a spoonie. To say that I don’t have heaps of energy to spare and I struggle with consistency is an understatement. For years, I tried to write consistently, but I couldn’t manage to keep up with habits I built and deadlines I set.

So fuck neurodivergent guides on building habits, fuck “eat the frog first”, fuck “it’s all in the grind”, and fuck “you just need time management”—here is how I manage to write often and a lot.

Focus on having fun, not on the outcome

This was the groundwork I had to lay before I could even start my streak. At an online writing conference, someone said: “If you push yourself and meet your goals, and you publish your book, but you haven’t enjoyed the process… What’s the point?” and hoo boy, that question hit me like a truck.

I was so caught up in the narrative of “You’ve got to show up for what’s important” and “Push through if you really want to get it done”. For a few years, I used to read all these productivity books about grinding your way to success, and along the way I started using the same language as they did. And I notice a lot of you do so, too.

But your brain doesn’t like to grind. No-one’s brain does, and especially no neurodivergent brain. If having to write gives you stress or if you put pressure on yourself for not writing (enough), your brain’s going to say: “Huh. Writing gives us stress, we’re going to try to avoid it in the future.”

So before I could even try to write regularly, I needed to teach my brain once again that writing is fun. I switched from countable goals like words or time to non-countable goals like “fun” and “flow”.

Rewire my brain: writing is fun and I’m good at it

I used everything I knew about neuroscience, psychology, and social sciences. These are some of the things I did before and during a writing session. Usually not all at once, and after a while I didn’t need these strategies anymore, although I sometimes go back to them when necessary.

I journalled all the negative thoughts I had around writing and try to reason them away, using arguments I knew in my heart were true. (The last part is the crux.) Imagine being supportive to a writer friend with crippling insecurities, only the friend is you.

Not setting any goals didn’t work for me—I still nurtured unwanted expectations. So I did set goals, but made them non-countable, like “have fun”, “get in the flow”, or “write”. Did I write? Yes. Success! Your brain doesn’t actually care about how high the goal is, it cares about meeting whatever goal you set.

I didn’t even track how many words I wrote. Not relevant.

I set an alarm for a short time (like 10 minutes) and forbade myself to exceed that time. The idea was that if I write until I run out of mojo, my brain learns that writing drains the mojo. If I write for 10 minutes and have fun, my brain learns that writing is fun and wants to do it again.

Reinforce the fact that writing makes you happy by rewarding your brain immediately afterwards. You know what works best for you: a walk, a golden sticker, chocolate, cuddle your dog, whatever makes you happy.

I conditioned myself to associate writing with specific stimuli: that album, that smell, that tea, that place. Any stimulus can work, so pick one you like. I consciously chose several stimuli so I could switch them up, and the conditioning stays active as long as I don’t muddle it with other associations.

Use a ritual to signal to your brain that Writing Time is about to begin to get into the zone easier and faster. I guess this is a kind of conditioning as well? Meditation, music, lighting a candle… Pick your stimulus and stick with it.

Specifically for rewiring my brain, I started a new WIP that had no emotional connotations attached to it, nor any pressure to get finished or, heaven forbid, meet quality norms. I don’t think these techniques above would have worked as well if I had applied them on writing my novel.

It wasn’t until I could confidently say I enjoyed writing again, that I could start building up a consistent habit. No more pushing myself.

I lowered my definition for success

When I say that nowadays I write every day, that’s literally it. I don’t set out to write 1,000 or 500 or 10 words every day (tried it, failed to keep up with it every time)—the only marker for success when it comes to my streak is to write at least one word, even on the days when my brain goes “naaahhh”. On those days, it suffices to send myself a text with a few keywords or a snippet. It’s not “success on a technicality (derogatory)”, because most of those snippets and ideas get used in actual stories later. And if they don’t, they don’t. It’s still writing. No writing is ever wasted.

A side note on high expectations, imposter syndrome, and perfectionism

Obviously, “Setting a ridiculously low goal” isn’t something I invented. I actually got it from those productivity books, only I never got it to work. I used to tell myself: “It’s okay if I don’t write for an hour, because my goal is to write for 20 minutes and if I happen to keep going for, say, an hour, that’s a bonus.” Right? So I set the goal for 20 minutes, wrote for 35 minutes, and instead of feeling like I exceeded my goal, I felt disappointed because apparently I was still hoping for the bonus scenario to happen. I didn’t know how to set a goal so low and believe it.

I think the trick to making it work this time lies more in the groundwork of training my brain to enjoy writing again than in the fact that my daily goal is ridiculously low. I believe I’m a writer, because I prove it to myself every day. Every success I hit reinforces the idea that I’m a writer. It’s an extra ward against imposter syndrome.

Knowing that I can still come up with a few lines of dialogue on the Really Bad Days—days when I struggle to brush my teeth, the day when I had a panic attack in the supermarket, or the day my kid got hit by a car—teaches me that I can write on the mere Bad-ish Days.

The more I do it, the more I do it

The irony is that setting a ridiculously low goal almost immediately led to writing more and more often. The most difficult step is to start a new habit. After just a few weeks, I noticed that I needed less time and energy to get into the zone. I no longer needed all the strategies I listed above.

Another perk I noticed, was an increased writing speed. After just a few months of writing every day, my average speed went from 600 words per hour to 1,500 wph, regularly exceeding 2,000 wph without any loss of quality.

Talking about quality: I could see myself becoming a better writer with every passing month. Writing better dialogue, interiority, chemistry, humour, descriptions, whatever: they all improved noticeably, and I wasn’t a bad writer to begin with.

The increased speed means I get more done with the same amount of energy spent. I used to write around 2,000-5,000 words per month, some months none at all. Nowadays I effortlessly write 30,000 words per month. I didn’t set out to write more, it’s just a nice perk.

Look, I’m not saying you should write every day if it doesn’t work for you. My point is: the more often you write, the easier it will be.

No pressure

Yes, I’m still working on my novel, but I’m not racing through it. I produce two or three chapters per month, and the rest of my time goes to short stories my brain keeps projecting on the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to sleep. I might as well write them down, right?

These short stories started out as self-indulgence, and even now that I take them more seriously, they are still just for me. I don’t intend to ever publish them, no-one will ever read them, they can suck if they suck. The unintended consequence was that my short stories are some of my best writing, because there’s no pressure, it’s pure fun.

Does it make sense to spend, say, 90% of my output on stories no-one else will ever read? Wouldn’t it be better to spend all that creative energy and time on my novel? Well, yes. If you find the magic trick, let me know, because I haven’t found it yet. The short stories don’t cannibalize on the novel, because they require different mindsets. If I stopped writing the short stories, I wouldn’t produce more chapters. (I tried. Maybe in the future? Fingers crossed.)

Don’t wait for inspiration to hit

There’s a quote by Picasso: “Inspiration hits, but it has to find you working.” I strongly agree. Writing is not some mystical, muse-y gift, it’s a skill and inspiration does exist, but usually it’s brought on by doing the work. So just get started and inspiration will come to you.

Accountability and community

Having social factors in your toolbox is invaluable. I have an offline writing friend I take long walks with, I host a monthly writing club on Discord, and I have another group on Discord that holds me accountable every day. They all motivate me in different ways and it’s such a nice thing to share my successes with people who truly understand how hard it can be.

The productivity books taught me that if you want to make a big change in your life or attitude, surrounding yourself with people who already embody your ideal or your goal huuuugely helps. The fact that I have these productive people around me who also prioritize writing, makes it easier for me to stick to my own priorities.

Your toolbox

The idea is to have several techniques at your disposal to help you stay consistent. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket by focussing on just one technique. Keep all of them close, and if one stops working or doesn’t inspire you today, pivot and pick another one.

After a while, most “tools” run in the background once they are established. Things like surrounding myself with my writing friends, keeping up with my daily streak, and listening to the album I conditioned myself with don’t require any energy, and they still remain hugely beneficial.

Do you have any other techniques? I’d love to hear about them!

I hope this was useful. Happy writing!

[papercorgiworld]

Apologies and love confessions

The Slytherins guy’s are jealous because you have a date. When your date flops, they show up: to make up or make out, or both…

General story introduction and then you pick your favourite Slytherin. Or all of them, I won’t judge.

Theo, Blaise, Enzo, Draco and Mattheo.

Warning: a little bit of smut bc of Enzo and Mattheo ofc.

Not proofread, so if a sentence hurts your brain, my apologies. Let me know and safe an innocent reader.

After months of not writing, I present you… whatever this is.

You took one last look in the mirror and turned to your friends, Pansy and Hermione. “Acceptable?” You asked sheepishly. “More than acceptable.” Hermione smiled. “Hot.” Pansy bluntly stated.

It was a late Saturday afternoon as you made your way to the great hall to meet your date. A few days ago, Neal - a Ravenclaw one year older than you - had asked you out. You hadn’t talked much but all of your friends liked him and he wasn’t bad looking. As you almost reached the great hall you ran into the notorious Slytherin boys. When you spotted them you wanted to turn on your heels, but Enzo already called for you. “Y/n, you’re looking fine.” He slurred the last word a bit as he looked you up and down. Your cheeks went red as all the guys stared. “Ah, your date’s today, right?” Blaise asked nonchalantly. You nodded, getting a little nervous. “What was his name again? Dirk… Dean?” Draco asked with his usual voice filled with arrogance and annoyance. His eyebrows went up and down as he leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. “Neal. And I should be going.” You blurted. Theodore was slow to move aside and you passed him, his eyes never leaving you. As you walked away you could hear Mattheo snicker and your heart sank.

Up until recently you had gotten along with them just fine. You were Pansy’s friend and by association also theirs. Just like you were Ron and Harry’s friend because of your friendship with Hermoine. However, there was a difference. You always wanted to be liked by the Slytherin guys, or just by one. Unfortunately, ever since you mentioned you were going on a date they had collectively decided to ridicule your every move. Making you feel terribly insecure.

***

Your date flopped. Neal was a great guy. Accept for the fact that he was obviously still hung up on his ex-girlfriend. When you entered the Three Broomsticks and chose a table near a window, he told you his ex liked to sit by the window too. When you ordered drinks, Neal told you his ex didn’t like your choice of drink. When he mentioned her for a third time, you fell silent and gave him a tight lipped smile. Oh Merlin. This was the worst.

After a little over an hour you said your awkward goodbyes. You started to walk back to Hogwarts, dreading the idea of telling your friends about your date or worse all those other gossiping people finding out.

As you arrived at the courtyard the ones you wanted to avoid most were there. You tried to subtly speed walk past them. This time it was Mattheo who was first to speak. “Y/n! You’re back early.” You simply sighed and Mattheo smirked. “How long were you gone? Didn’t even last two hours.” Mattheo turned to Theodore who let out a short laugh. Pansy who sat next to Enzo shot up and started yelling. “Oi, shut it!” Your friend took your arm to guide you away from them, towards the castle. “Pay up, Blaisy-boy. Not even two hours, so I win.” You heard Riddle say and you shot one last look at them, seeing how Blaise grimaced and reached inside his pockets to pay up. You were nothing more than a joke to them.

Pansy held onto your arm while you walked towards your common room. Hermoine spotted you from afar and pushed Ron and Harry aside to get to you. “So how was i…” Hermoine’s question was cut of my Pansy aggressive signal to shut up. “So, should we hex him?” Hermoine suggested as she saw that your eyes were welling up with tears. “No, it’s not him. I mean it was a bad date. But, so what. No biggie. But those, those, those… twats! They, they are the worst!” You yell, attracting the attention of students nearby. Hermoine looks over to Pansy with a confused look. “Will hex all five of them.” Pansy said and Hermoine caught on, she knew exactly which five morons you were talking about.

You nodded and sighed. “I need a moment alone. I’m going up to the astronomy tower for some quiet time.” Your friends were understanding and you left.

Theodore

“This is my hang-out.” Theodore says, pulling you out of your train of thoughts. “This is the spot people go to when they’re sad. If this is your hang-out, then that says a lot about you.” Theo halts for a moment, feeling a little exposed by your analysis, but joins you nevertheless, his arms resting on the railing. You notice how he plays with a cigarette between his fingers. “I won’t light it. I know you don’t like it when I smoke.” You raise your eyebrows. “I also don’t like it when you ridicule me, but that’s never stopped you or your merrie band of delinquents from mocking me.” Now, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

He’s about to open his mouth and give you some lame excuse for his behavior, but you stare at him with unimpressed eyes. So, he closes his mouth and lets out a nervous laugh. He takes a step back from the railing and throws his hands up in surrender. “I’ll admit, I’ve not been on my best behavior the past week.” Now, he has your full attention. You wanna hear what he has to say. “But neither have you.” He points to you and you scoff, no longer wanting to listen. “Going on a date with… what’s his name again. Of course everyone’s laughing.” You let out a laugh of disbelief. “Unbelievable.” You sigh.

“How about you go out with me? No one will laugh.” When you didn’t immediately respond he tried to sell the idea a little. “I’ll tell Matt and the others to behave. No more mocking.” You tilt your head in amusement to his suggestion. This guy, unbelievable. “You can do that, tell them to behave?” Theo takes a step closer towards you, leaving no space between you two. “Uhu.” He absentmindedly breathes while his hand softly caresses your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And will you behave?” You ask, subtly taunting him. “I’ll be good.” He says softly and licks his lip.

“I’ll think about it.” You say taking a step and putting some distance between you two. But Theo quickly reaches for your arm, pulling you back towards him. “Don’t play with me.” As soon as you look into his eyes, his lips are on yours. The kiss is filled with longing, his thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in. Theo pushes you against the railing, never breaking the kiss. Your hand finds their way to his messy hair. The more you tug on one another and push into each other, the sloppier the kiss gets. He squeezes your ass and as a reflex you gently buck your hips into him. “Fuck.” He growls. You smile at his reaction and seize the moment to push him away.

Walking past him, you never take your eyes off the confused man. “I’m looking forward to that date.”

Blaise

“I lost a bet because of you.” Blaise says with a loud voice while he’s still on the stairs almost at the top, but still out of sight. You turn towards the stairs waiting for him to arrive. “I mean really, not even two hours.” “No.” You cross your arms in annoyance. “I mean you're annoying sometimes, but-“ You shove his shoulder. “I was not annoying! I AM never annoying. I’m a blessing to be around.” He raises his eyebrows, but you ignore him and continue your rant. “You! You on the other hand are frankly unbelievably childish!” You poke his chest, being more than a little shocked at how muscular he is, but you push that thought aside. “Betting on my misery, have you no shame!”

He spreads his arms in defense. “Well, that was Mattheo’s idea. No morals, that guy.” You raise an eyebrow in response. Just Mattheo. Think not. All of you, you’re a bunch of demon children. “You joined in.” You throw at him, like a lawyer making their case. “And lost.” Blaise says sheepishly. “Don’t be mad at me. I lost money, my day is already bad enough.” You turn on your heels, away from him. “Well what about my shitty day.”

“Ah, about that, your shitty day, I can make it better.” In a split second you’re facing him again, eyes shining with curiosity. “This better be good, Zabini.” He simply grinned. “There’s this guy, who’s been into you for months now. Incredibly hot. Sixpack and everything. Really into quidditch, a bit of a jock, but also really likes wizard chess and magic history. And has a soft side, secretly loves to watch muggle-movies. That’s some boyfriend material, uh?” You’ve been nodding along searching for the catch.

“What’s the catch, Zabini, no dude’s that good. Definitely not one that happens to have a thing for me.” He smiles as takes a step closer. “He would like to ask you out. So.. what do y’say?” You drop your head and shake no. “I’m not going out with him until you tell me what the catch is.” “Fineee, the catch is… he’s me.” You frown in confusion. “You, Blaise Zabini, want to go out with me?” A nervous and adorable smile appears on his face. “Yeah, and I would like it to last longer than two hours.” You give his shoulder a little push. “Depends, are you going to talk about your ex the entire time?” “What? That’s how Dirk ruined your date? What a git.” His name was Neal, but whatever. I got a new and better date.

Enzo

Enzo has his back against the railing. His eyes trace your face. “Didn’t go well did it?” Your eyes meet his and he sees your forehead wrinkle at his stupid question. “Well, look on the bright side. You’re back on the market.” You shift yourself so you’re leaning against the railing with your side and facing Enzo. “I was never off the market. I went on one date.” He also shifted so he’s facing you. “Yeah, you’re right. I was overreacting. I shouldn’t have worried so much.” You look confused at him, but he doesn’t immediately explain. “Why were you worried?”

“Well, uhm, you know, maybe you would’ve liked him.” He tried his best to sound casual, but you could tell he was a little nervous. You took a small step towards him. “Why would that be a bad thing?” He huffed like the answer was obvious. “Because it’s wrong to ask out a girl who's dating.” You frown. “You’ve lost me, Enzo, I don’t follow.”

“Wait, wait. This will clear it up.” He closes the space between you two and cups your cheek. What followed was the softest kiss ever. After a moment you both opened your eyes, but didn’t move away from each other. “See, I couldn’t have done that if you were dating Neal.” You nodded. “I follow.” You brushed your lips over his. A cheeky smile covered his face. “You know, if you’re interested… there are a lot of things we can do now that it’s just you and me.” “Care to give an example.”

“My pleasure.” Is all he says before his hands find their way to your hips lifting you up. Your legs tangle around him as he pushes you against a wall. The cold stone makes you arch into him. His mouth nips on the flesh of your neck. “You and I should go on a date.” Enzo breathes in between kisses. “You two need to find a room.” You're both startled by Neville’s sudden appearance. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Enzo says, looking at you with lust. “Mine or yours?” You ask as you lick your bottom lip.

Draco

You sighed, letting the view and silence calm you. Suddenly you hear footsteps and when you look up Draco’s walking towards you with his usual flair. “What a tool, that Neal-guy. Taking you to the Three Broomsticks.” You roll your eyes and look away from him. “You should’ve known, a guy like him is no good.” Before he opens his mouth again you whip your head around towards him, eyes ready to kill. “He’s no good? Neal’s not the problem. You are! You’re no good, with you mocking and ridiculing. You’ve been acting like a total ass the last few days! So get lost, Malfoy!”

Draco remains quiet for a moment. The frown on his face grows as he realizes his jealousy might have taken the upper hand these past few days. Falling back in his normal composure, his hands reach for the cold railing as he comes to stand next to you. “I just didn’t think it was a good idea. You, going out with him. You need someone who buys you a dress and takes you to a fancy place.” When you look up at him in confusion, he continues staring in front of him. “I think you deserve better.” You huff, indulging his lame excuse for his behavior. “Know any guy like that?” You blurt out thinking back to your miserable date.

Draco inspects the rings on his fingers as he searches for the courage to say what he so badly wanted to say these last couple of days. “Me.” He says so quietly you almost didn’t hear, but you did and you look up at him with wide eyes. Where is this going? “I would like to take you somewhere fancy. Spoil you.” You let out a laugh and he immediately snaps at you. “No, need to laugh. A simple ‘no thanks’ would have sufficed.” You press your lips together and take a step towards him. The scowl on his face falls when your hand reaches for his tie, gently playing with it. “I think I’m going to take you up on that offer, Malfoy.” Your face inches towards him and his lips brush yours.

The kiss immediately becomes more passionate and his hand tangles in your hair holding you in place. His other hand snakes to the small of your back pulling you close. You whimper softly at the feeling of your bodies against one another. This gives him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss even more. You break apart to catch your breath, but you stay close. “You were jealous, weren’t you?” Draco scoffs. “Not. It’s simply a matter of principle. Classy women belong with classy men.” You roll your eyes. “Draco, kiss more, talk less.” He huffs in annoyance, but obliges.

Mattheo

“I told you so.” Mattheo’s voice sang as he approached you. You didn’t turn around, instead you just rolled your eyes. “That guy just wasn’t for you. Don’t be so upset about it.” You shook your head. What’s he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be laughing behind your back with friends? When you stayed quiet Mattheo got worried and his tone softened. “He didn’t hurt you or anything? ‘Caus I’ll deal with him. He’ll never bother you again.” Okay that’s it, Riddle. You angrily grab onto the railing you were leaning on before turning around fuming. “He didn’t hurt me. He was just boring. But you on the other hand, you hurt me with your constant mockery. So why don’t you punch yourself in the face and stop bothering me.” Mattheo looked away from you for a moment, making you think he actually felt bad. But when he looked back up, he was back to being his cocky self. “Can’t punch this pretty face.” He said, pointing at himself, grinning.

You turned away from him, hoping that he would leave. You couldn’t see it but his face fell again, really feeling bad about hurting you with his stupid jokes. “I just knew he wasn’t the guy for you.” No reaction from you. “Look, we can split my win from the bet with Blaise.” You let your head fall, looking at him from the corner of your eyes. The audacity. He came to stand next to you and also rested his arms on the railing. “I know, I can be an ass sometimes. So, just tell me, love, how do I make this right.” Your eyes meet his, you’re surprised by his gesture. “I guess it’s alright. I’m a forgiving soul.” He turns away from the view, towards you and lays a hand on the small of your back. “No, don’t be forgiving. I’ll do anything to make this right.”

He uses his body language to make it clear that he’s willing to do anything to make it up to you, shuffling closer, leaning into you and licking his lips suggestively. “Are you really trying to seduce me into forgiving you?” You ask not believing that that’s the best he can come up with. “Well no, love, I’m going to fuck you into forgiving me.” This man. Who does he think he is… well, the dark lord’ son, but still. Unbelievable. Mattheo falls to his knees, his hands moving from your back, sliding over your ass to your legs. He looks up at you with soft eyes before gently pushing your skirt up. This man… should be my future husband. Mattheo places soft kisses on your thight, slowly getting closer to your panties.

You close your eyes and let out a soft moan as he gently tugs down your panties. “If we get caught up here. I’m never going to forgive you.” He places a featherlight kiss between your legs and you instinctively reach for his curls. “Are you sure? Because I think I’m really excelling at apologizing, don’t you think so, love?” Damn you, Riddle. You’re good, and you know it.

[impish-baby]

hello hello!! it is i, 📼 anon!! in your ghost caregiver writing, i saw you mentioned a possible haunted doll at the bottom of it, and it got my brain turning on how a haunted doll could be a caregiver and not a playmate, but then it clicked!! what if the doll isn't haunted by a child, but you think it's haunted by a child (at first). The doll is actually haunted by an adult who was in someway a guardian of a child, whether they have been a mom, a dad, a significantly older sibling that took in the younger one after something happened to their parents, etc etc. The doll was owned by their child/sibling/charge, and so their strong familial bond caused doll!caregiver to possess their charges favorite soft toy after their passing; so they could always be with them! But sadly, their charge grew older and packed the doll away. doll!caregiver couldn't reach them at that point, until years later when they were taken out of storage; they thought that they could see their charge again, but they just got donated to a thrift store with other knickknacks that their charge deem unnecessary to keep around :( And that's how dol!caregiver got into your hands! you popped by a small thriftstore while walking the town, and browsed around, eventually getting to an endcap near the back of store labeled "UNIQUE AND VINTAGE ITEMS", and there sat doll!caregiver! They'd most likely be a rubberfaced but softbodied doll, maybe a rainbow brite or a strawberry shortcake; something heavily associated with young girls from a while ago, but not too long ago, because that's why you picked the doll up in the first place! It reminded you of your childhood in some way, or maybe you were interested in older toys in general. Regardless, you brought them home, and almost immediately paranormal activity began happening. It was small things, like if you lost your keys, you'd turn around and find them on a very obvious spot you were sure you'd checked multiple times, or going to sleep with your TV on and waking up with it turned off. Little stuff like that, which made you look towards the little doll you'd brought home right before the activity began. You were a bit weary at first, but ran your memory back and deemed them harmless. You assumed it was haunted by a child, so you started to try and include it in things. You'd carry them around the house, you'd bundle them up in their own blanket at night, you even got them some little toys from the same thriftstore for them to play with! But that was all in vain, because the doll is haunted by an adult, an adult who's decided that you're their new charge. Whether or not they'd view you as a little sibling, a child, or something entirely different is up in the air, But they do care very much about you! They find it adorable that you try to take care of them- silly thing! they're the one who's supposed to take care of you! You're unaware of the spirit in the doll being an adult, and they're unaware that you think they're a child's spirit. They'll eventually do bigger stuff, like leave out milk and cookies when you get back from going out, or if you fall asleep in a chair or on the couch, you'll wake up to being tucked into your bed. doll!caregiver wouldn't want you getting a crick in your neck! + i didn't touch much on the yandere aspects of this idea, but i fear i may have yapped too much :( your writing is just very inspiring and I can't help but make an entire novel about the ideas u spur on,,, have a good day/night/whatever!! -📼 anon

Ahhh, this is so so good!!! I keep rereading it over and over, you did such a fantastic job with the concept!!

I'd forgotten, people are kind - Haunted doll caregiver x reader - 🧸

You take the utmost care with your vintage toys, carefully giving them baths and trying to give them the love they must have had from whoever owned them originally. It's a labor of love, repairing any tears and touching up paint to the best of your ability, but it's worth it. The newest addition to your collection definitely needed some repairs, face cracked and faded with a body that definitely expirenced some rough play throughout the years.

Once you're finished, you're proud to say it looks almost good as new! Delicately dressed back up, the doll is now ready to be tucked into bed beside you with a few of your other plushies.

Although, when you wake up the next day every single one has fallen to the floor, the doll being the only one left on the bed. You have to apologize to them for the tubble they took, setting the plushies back onto the bed in a way that you hope makes sure there's no more accidents.

However, it becomes a nightly occurrence. That's not the only strange thing happening either. Lights flicker on and off, doors slam, disembodied footsteps follow you, everything points you to the conclusion that your doll is very much haunted. The fact both saddens and makes you relieved in a way. It must be a child's spirit, but at least they won't be collecting dust in a stuffy old thrift store anymore..

They end up with a dedicated corner in your room, filled with toys you'd think they'd like, careful not to include any stuffies or other dolls. It's actually fun setting them up with a little tea party. They seem happier too! Notes crudley scribbled in crayon start appearing, touching even if they were unsettling at first.

The ghost is strangely fixated on how well you take care of yourself, almost scolding you for not eating three meals a day. The next morning, you wake up to your favorite cereal already poured with cartoons playing on the TV.

Mathew thinks you're just the cutest. You're so much like his little sister it's uncanny, but you won't abandon him like she did. He's sure of it. He had resigned himself to rotting away before you found him. You're his savoir, and Mathew will do all he can to give all your care back tenfold.

It's a little funny watching you talk to him like a child, but he supposes that's what it must seem like to you.

You've stopped paying so much attention to your other toys at least, thank goodness. Mathew feels a bit silly for being so upset with the fact that you supplied your love to them the same way, but he deserves it more. It hurts when you aren't looking at him, it makes him scared.

You're trying to color with him now, rambling on from one thing to another. He can't help but mess with you a little, only adding to his page when you aren't looking. But by the end of the night, there are two coloring pages proudly hung up at the fridge.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

TILL THE WORLD ENDS- L. HOWLETT

Pairing: Mob Associate! Logan x Mob Associate! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Logan has always seemed to have his eye on you, more than any other of his fellow co-workers. The sulking man was no more than a brooding mystery to you-until he steals you away from some men who get a little too close for comfort. Mission... failed?

Warnings: Logan being possesive, a little controlling, pet names, swearing, mention of drugs, drinking and sexual implications, teasing etc

Authors Note: hi! is this going to be a series? no idea! i think it will be... i love the idea of logan and y/n being in a little mob, crime ganster thingy together. this is enemies to lovers ;) also sorry for the spam of content, i just really like writing for logan hehe

"i can't take it, take it, take no more- never felt like, felt like this before, come on get me on the floor- DJ what you, what you waiting for?"- till the world ends, britney spears

“You’re hurting me.” you whined as Logan gripped your arm tightly, tugging you down a darkened hallway, the bright lights and loud, thumping music seeming to fade, as if someone had turned the volume all the way down.

His grip slightly loosened , but his pace never faltered. He glared at anyone who looked in your general direction, pulling you back into a quiet alcove.

“Why’d you do that?” you frowned, staring up into his darkened eyes that surveyed your body, as if he were looking for marks or slashes.

This mission wasn't supposed to be dangerous.

The men you worked with, and against were- yes, rather dangerous. But tonight? Your mission was simply to distract.

Be ‘eye- candy’ as Charles had told you, before the mob had split from the dingy office, the rest of the men leaving as quick as they arrived- except for Logan. You noticed he lingered by the doorway just a little longer, remaining in the shadows while you talked to Charles.

Logan, Scott and Hank would keep an eye out for Magneto, slipping into his office to grab the documents Charles needed to take down his whole operation, and get the money back that belonged to him.

You were supposed to distract any member of his crew.

Simple enough.

You had plenty of club experience, and the  fact you were still young and fun made dancing that much more easier. A sharp whistle escaped Hank's lips as you stepped out of your bunker room, eyes sweeping you down to take in your little mini skirt and black thigh high boots.

Logan, on the other hand- looked like he was going to start fuming.

“What? I’m supposed to distract.” you snickered, strutting past the group of men that followed every wish of your hips as you walked to the pack of motorcycles that waited for you.

Logan still hadn't let go of you just yet.

His eyes had been on you all night, watching you like a hawk from the balcony of the nightclub. It made your stomach twist in knots of confusion. Why he seemed to hunt you down- you didn't know.

He was quiet, stony and cold. He rarely showed emotion (except towards you, Hank had insisted, even though you didn't see it). And tonight it felt like the stakes had been raised.

You had eyed down a group of Magnetos men, a cat on the prowl as you drew them in with your eyes and your hips that swayed to the beat of the music. You had found yourself leaned against the chest of a man, as he grinded on you, holding your hips tightly.

White powder had found itself dusted around his nostrils, something herby smoking from the other man as they talked to you in low voices.

Trying to tempt you.

But before they could get very far, a firm grip had grabbed you, tugging you off the dance floor.

“Because they were getting too handsy.”

“Why do you care? It was my job. And you could’ve just fucked up the whole mission, thinking with your dick and not your brain.” you snorted, slightly tipsy from the shots you couldn't avoid taking under Magentos mens watch.

To them, you were just an innocent, ditsy party girl who fed off any attention a man would give you.

“We’ve got the documents, and we’re leaving.” he growled. You tried not to stare at his lips as he wet them, tongue darting out slightly.

“But the party’s just getting started! Don’t you wanna dance Mr. Howlett?” you asked teasingly, pushing him just that much further.

“Charles would kill you, and then me.”

“What, so now a girl can't dance? I did my job and I did it well. You’re not my boyfriend and neither is he, so why do you two give a shit?” you snapped, tugging your arm back out of his warm grasp.

He rolled his eyes, head turning to stare down a stranger that was just trying to go to the restroom.

“I give a shit if my enemy's men have their hands on you kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

He looked you up and down, eyes lingering a little too long on your cleavage that popped out of your corset top, his eyes seeming to darken.

“No shit. So quit acting like one, and let's go. I'm supposed to look after you.”

“Says who?”

“Says Charles.”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “I don't need to be babied by him.”

“Well he's our boss, so I do what he says. We’re leaving. Hank and Scott are already almost back to the shop.”

You pursed your lips, clenching your thighs at the sight of him. He towered over you, annoyance and anger rolling off him in waves. You liked this whole pushing his buttons thing. You got a little thrill out of seeing how far you could go.

“Well I want to go dance. There are men over there, just begging to get a taste of me. I'm sure you could join them.” you raised an eyebrow, slipping around him to head back down the hallway towards the deep purple and blue lights.

“Don't you dare.” he growled.

“Awh Howlett are you jealous? How cute. Good thing you’re not the boss of me.”

You turned your back on him for no more than a split second, barely getting a stride in before his hand gripped your middle, spinning you around and flipping you up over his shoulder.

“THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU-” you scrambled, getting nowhere as he gripped your thighs harshly, turning on his heel to walk to the back exit. Whistling to himself, he shook his head at an alarmed passerby.

“She's drunk, I’m taking her home. Kids these days.” he smirked, and you struggled again to escape his grasp- failing.

The cool air hit your skin like a slap in the face as he shoved open the back door- the shot no longer protecting you from the chillness of the night. It didn't help that you barely had anything to cover you- and you haven't drank enough to be too drunk to care.

“Fine, if you're gonna be that way- I’ll just drive myself.” you snarled as you shimmed from his grasp- as he finally loosened his grip enough for you to escape. You headed towards your bike that stood propped up in the alleyway. You fought a shiver as a rush of wind brushed over you again, folding your arms tighter across yourself to try and barricade your exposed skin.

“Don't be stupid.” he stated, arm reached out- leather jacket in hand.

You turned, to simply stare at him, and the offering he gave you. You barely knew this man. Yet here he was, bossing you around and giving you his jacket as if he was yours.

It made your head hurt, to try and attempt his logic. “I can drive myself.”

“I'm sure you can. But youre not. We’ll get it in the morning.” he nodded to your bike, leather jacket still in hand.

He refused to let you win, and you were too tired to fight with him any longer. Plus, Charles was probably wondering where the fuck you two were, considering Hank and Scott would be back already, missing half the crew.

You took a breath, hesitantly reaching for the jacket. It was large, much too big for you, but it was warm as you slipped it on. It smelled like pine, smoke and whisky, and you couldn't help but breathe in the scent of well… him.

“I’m driving myself.”

“Do you really want me to pick you up again? You gonna stop acting like a lil brat?” he huffed, clearly growing tired of your antics. As if he hadn't been tired of them all night.

Oh well.

“Who do you think you are?!”

He sighed, hanging his head in disappointment. “Get on the back of the bike, kid. Dont fuck around, or you’ll find out.”

“Was that a threat, Mr.Howlett?”

He stared at you, large muscles flexing as he tried to hold himself back- from what, you didn't know.

His fuse was short. You liked to burn it out.

And you planned to do it the rest of the way home.

[agatharkn3ss]

Episodes and story predictions (spoilers!)

My restless brain has been on another quest.

Full theory explanation and lots of plot side-notes included below, but the short of it - I think the episodes order is going to be something like this (including previous ones for completion):

Ep. 1 - Westview: Agnes of Westview Ep. 2 - Westview: Setting up the journey Ep. 3 - The Road: Water trial - Jen (blue road) Ep. 4 - The Road: Fire trial - Alice (orange road) Ep. 5 - The Road: Spirit trial - Agatha (purple road) Ep. 6 - Westview: Teen backstory Ep. 7 - The Road: Air trial - Lilia (yellow road) Ep. 8 - The Road: Earth trial - Rio (green road) Ep. 9 - The Grand Finale (Agatha all Alone?)

BACKGROUND ON THE SYMBOLISM First of all, thank you to the production team for their incredible attention to detail. It is clear they have done a lot of research and put a lot of thought into symbolism and telling the story from the visual point of view. This is what makes theorising so much fun!

The whole show seems to revolve around the Wicca religion (also known as "The Craft" - I see you Teen!) that uses the pentacle (5-pointed star inside a circle) and typically worships Triple Moon aka Triple Goddess aka Hekate (Maiden, Mother, Crone) and Horned God (could be Marvel Mephisto). The magic circle uses 5 elements - Fire, Water, Earth, Air and Spirit. Together they are believed to be the root of all matter. Each element has a set of values associated with them, often also colours. While the colours are not always coded in the same way, I found that this (totally Agatha-unrelated) graphic below fits so well with the show's imagery.

The moon phases also play a big role in here. There are 8 lunar stages, but only 5 elements, so it will be interesting to see how the show continues to link these two strands (so far we've had Full moon for Water trial and Waxing for Fire). Moon phases are also linked with the stages of life - I won't go into full analysis but check out @shutupineedtothink post who beautifully explained possible connections with our witches.

I only wonder whether the full moon in the first trial was maybe mistaken and it was New moon instead? So that we are just moving through the first 5 phases of the moon? After all, it was Teen who identified it - although he was correct about it being the Water phase.

Episode 3: Water Trial - Jen - Blue - Full Moon Colour: we already saw that as the events unfolded, the light took on the blue tint, because of the water outside. Jen's own nightmare was all in blue. And the road (leaves, roots, mushrooms) leading to the trial was all blue. Story: Jen being associated with Water elements makes sense. Healing, Expression, Peace and Compassion fit really well with her role as a midwife and influencer (did you all realise that it was the midwife work that Agatha referred to when she explained why she spared Jen and her powers because it was "good work that matters" - a nod to Agatha appreciating maternal values). I don't think we will see much more of Jen's backstory - at least not as a dedicated episode, but only through bits of conversations like by the campfire. It feels like Jen's struggles were to do with a mental block and I think Agatha's pep talk was the one that made Jen realise her real power and, though she might not realise it yet, she might be regaining her magic as she starts believing in herself again. Plus I like the idea of not giving an evil man too much of a screen time because it's not his story. Trial exit: oven... so into the fire (as next trial)

Episode 4: Fire Trial - Alice - Orange- Waxing Moon Colour: red/orange tints were so much more obvious in this trial and the road to trial was orange. Even Alice's hair have some red/orange streaks. And her nightmare in ep.3 had some orange tint to it. Story: Alice also fits so well with the fire element values. Passion, Inspiration, Intuition, Creation, Protection - all of these align with her role as an ex-cop, but also her emotional journey as she thinks herself responsible for everything. Then there is the nod to creation when she overcomes the curse with the aid of a song. She is also (except for Teen) the youngest of them all (Maiden). When she was playing, there were flickers of orange magic between her fingers. So I think she's had magical powers all along but just didn't know about it, because she didn't believe in it. Her Road wish was to break the curse, not to get powers. Trial exit: piano... so into the soul (as next trial)?

Episode 5: Spirit Trial - Agatha - Purple - Half Moon? Colour: post-fire trial the road is purple - the leaves as well as fluorescent mushrooms etc. The scenes look dark and it's hard to see if they have purple tint. Agatha's nightmare in ep.3 was very dark too though. Story: This is the 80s sleep over episode (judging from the episode 5 font). Spirit values are the Soul, the Devine, the Mystery. While it's true these kind of also remind me of Rio, I think it's fair to say that Agatha is a total mystery, with all those many layers and masks that she wears. She is also the soul of the coven and the guide of the trials so far. She might have lied and not have walked the Road before (although I begin to change my mind on that), but she definitely leads the coven. It was her pep talk who guided Jen to the solution. And it was her who figured out Lorna's protection spell and guided Alice to play the song. As the ballad says "(...) we carry on, Spirit as our guide" (for a long time I thought it would be the spirit of the dead guiding them). So in this episode we see Agatha's spirit becoming possessed. So the Road is not just testing Agatha, but the whole coven - see how they manage when their Spirit is not available to guide them - and I don't think it ends well. I believe this is the episode where Alice realises she has magical powers. But because she doesn't know how to use them yet, we might lose her. Peppered across the promos, we see images of Alice wielding her orange power - once inside the sleepover room and once when she's on a broomstick. We also get to see Agatha absorbing someone's power while wearing her 80s jersey. We also see at some point Agatha has a whisper of red/orange magic in her palm. My theory is that although the trial is Agatha's, Rio will play a significant role. After all, they are going to have ouija board that will spell "Death" was in the room with them. And one of the posters for the episode was Rio. Agatha will become possessed and everyone acts scared, and it will be Rio who talks Agatha down. I hope we will get some soft moments between them and that we see some flashbacks of their story to give it more meaning. But then maybe Agatha needs magic to return her soul. Rio can't give it to her (I wonder if they explain to the witches why), so Alice blasts possessed Agatha instead. She absorbs the magic and returns to normal. They exit the trial on broomsticks. However, I think as they are flying away, they get attacked by Salem Seven. This is where Alice tries to use her magic again, but she might be exhausted or just inexperienced and she falls off the broomstick and we don't get to see what happens with her? This is why I think Lilia from the future tries to send her the message "Alice, don't try to save Agatha!" (but it gets split in two visions). I also think we finally get to see Teen using his blue power - maybe to help defend from the Salem Seven? Then leave us all on a cliff-hanger when the other witches realise this. (This would explain why he's poster is for that episode as well - and he's dressed as Billy Maximoff Halloween costume - the Wiccan). The red moon silhouette shows only 4 witches in clear view - I think they are, from right to left: Agatha, Rio, Jen and Alice. In the far left, in the dark, it looks like Lilia is there as well. So maybe Salem Seven kidnapped Teen because he protected Agatha with his magic, and now the witches are chasing them? I think Lilia somehow ends up left behind (I'll explain in later episode).

Exit: On broomsticks - into the Air (next trial)?

Episode 6: Westview - Teen story The episode list has this one circled in red, so I wonder if it's the "odd one out". Maybe we don't get to follow the Witches on the Road, but see flashback to Teen's backstory, following his blue magic cliff-hanger from the last episode? Maybe we see his family car crash mentioned in episode 1. We see that his parents (the two "perps") maybe don't die, thanks to the air bags, but are in a coma? That's why Teen says he's 100% certain his parents are asleep (or he talks about Wanda and Vision who tucked the boys in their beds right before the end of the Hex). I wonder if the body that Agnes investigates in the woods isn't Wanda or Darkhold, as everyone thinks, but Rebecca Kaplan - Billy's mom. Anyway, Billy Kaplan is at the back of the car and dies. But then two things happen - Death appears (Rio) to collect him, but Billy Maximoff reincarnates into the body and he lives. Hence the "Near death in Westview" hint for Joe Locke's end episode credits. Rio is intrigued and sticks around, maybe finally finds Agatha who is no longer able to hide from her because she has no Darkhold. I think Billy will try to summon the Witches Road by himself - maybe he wants to find his brother Tommy, maybe he wants to bring back Wanda and Vision, or maybe he wants to get back his Kaplan parents? I hope we get introduced to the final character that's missing from the end credits!

Episode 7 - Air trial - Lilia - Yellow - Waning Moon? Colour: Lilia's nightmare in ep.3 had distinct yellow tint. We also see lots of promo material of scenes with very heavy yellow filters. Even the road is yellow-ish at some point. Story: Air values are Intuition, Knowledge, Renewal, Change - this fits well with Lilia's divination abilities, as well with her age. We know she is the oldest witch in the coven and has lived for some 450 years, through many tragedies and the many ways the women were persecuted. Lilia is also always so vocal about the negative stereotypes that surround witches - she mentions green skin, broomsticks, talking to goats. Episode 5 might already give us the broomsticks and in this trial we will actually see Agatha as the green-skinned Wicked Witch of the West, so maybe we will also have a nod to the goat talking bit? That would be funny! Anyway, in this episode we see that Lilia will be Glinda (the Good witch), Agatha will be Elphaba (the Wicked witch) and Jen looks like the Evil Queen from the Snow White, but in her old hag form. And even the "yellow" road would be a callback to the Wizard of Oz. So I think the trial will be about those negative stereotypes and how witches have been perceived. We know Lilia doesn't like having to predict all those tragedies and feels deeply for all the victims. So what if her tarot trial will be about her trying to predict something good because it's something she was never able to do? Or maybe about her trying to use her powers to manipulate the cards to change the prediction into a good outcome? Or - trying to reverse a tragedy that happened in the past. It's interesting that the card she holds in the promo poster is The Tower. The card stands for "sudden, disruptive revelation" - kind of like Lilia's 'blips', and the trial seems in a tower-like room. There will be swords sticking out of the ceiling, threatening to fall down. We also know Salem Seven make their appearance again. So I think Lilia tarot reading will be about sending all those messages to the coven in the past (check my other post to explain the detail) and to send herself the list of the witches name so she writes them down for Agatha. When she succeeds, the timer (sand glass) gets turn upside down, and everyone in the room gets inverted as well - so they are flying in the air? That could mean that the Salem Seven gets impaled on the swords... but eek, I hope Lilia doesn't share the same fate... I didn't see any other characters in the air though. There is also a rumour that we will get another version of the Witches Road ballad - this time focusing on Lilia, so we will hopefully see them using Patti's full potential.

Back to the rest of the coven... I think after the broomstick flight they get separated. Lilia gets to the tower/castle first as she was left behind. That's why we see scenes with only Agatha, Teen and Jen on the Road (yellow filter) and they somehow circle back to the start, where Agatha falls over a pair of shoes they left at the beginning. Alice and Rio are not there - maybe because Alice died and Rio is taking her to the underworld. Or maybe they just separated, fingers crossed. We also see Agatha and Teen looking at a castle in the distance - that could be the castle that Lilia is in, so that's how they rejoin her.

Trial exit: the ground - so that next trial is earth?

Episode 8: Earth trial - Rio - Green - New Moon? Colour: green? There are a few scenes with dark green filter but not much else has been revealed Story: Earth values are Fertility, Wealth, Abundance, Strength and Wisdom. I hope we get to see how Rio is connected to that. The trial itself is the one where we see Agatha and Teen inside a morgue. This ties in well with both Earth and Death - lots of buried bodies! So sometimes I think maybe Rio isn't Lady Death after all, but her powers make her connected to the dead bodies, maybe to bring life? Agatha has her hands on Teen's head, so I wonder if she's trying to finally get rid of his sigil. They somehow pass the trial - which they believe to be the last one. Maybe the trial room gets flooded with soil at the end, and they climb their way through it - back up to the surface in Westview - maybe we will find out that everyone else who "died" on the Road has actually just climbed back to Westview. But maybe Agatha doesn't get out that way and still has to find the exit. At some point she gets angry because she still doesn't have her powers back even though she passed her Spirit trial (she screams "I want my prize!"). Maybe she realises it's the hair locket (or the symbol behind it) that stops her from regaining her powers and she needs to sacrifice it? Can't really deduce huge amount about this episode yet, other than we see Rio in her full chaotic self. She blows a kiss to someone as well (Agatha?). I think this is going to be a big episode, where Rio's true intentions are finally shown.

Episode 9 - The Grand Finale I draw blank on that one. I don't want to guess how they tie it all those strands together and how they show the impact of the Road on the witches lives. But there is that thought that keeps eating at me - in ep.1 Agnes says "If there is one thing we can agree on is that these cases are always about the place. The specific small town, the history of it, the secrets buried beneath it. That's where the answers lie." I think this is important and there is some big foreshadowing going on in there. Because yes exactly - why did Vision choose Westview of all places for their forever home? (Was it even Vision who chose it or was Wanda just made to believe that? The reason she knew about the plot was that someone dropped a file in her car) And after the events, the traumatised people still choose to live there. And Mrs Hart mentioned she would've expected to see "remnants of a failed public transit system" under Westview. I mean, would such a small town need it? I think there is something going on with Westview itself, maybe there will be a big reveal about this Mephisto at the end?

But that essay will be for another time. For now, I think I need to give my brain some rest. What does everyone think? Have I missed anything or are the elements that don't quite line up with the above theories? I would love to know! Thanks to getting this far!

[howlsofbloodhounds]

hello howl! do you have any favorite hcs of killer that you or someone else created? do yap if there's a lot, my brain is deprived of killer🥺

Alright, this are mostly about Stage 2 because he’s on my mind. Feel free to add on with yalls own killer hcs.

1. That Killer has ADHD. Probably a stereotype born from fanon killer’s personality, but I like it if it’s done well. (Which i rarely see, but that has been changing recently!)

2. That killer is some degree of blind or in general has a hard time seeing. Makes me think his other senses would be a lot better than his sight—especially his vision worsens depending on what Stage he’s in.

3. That he and Chara did pinky wears and the pink swears were sacred—not capable of being broken or the other has the right to kill or torture the snitch however they want. (My HC.) (Alexa play secret)

4. That Chara gave Killer Asriel’s half of the heart locket/golden locket, the one that said “bffs forever.” Especially if Killer has come to associate it with control, and it’s the only way to gain control over a Killer who has been stuck in Stage 4.

5. That his SOUL is a record player of all his victims dying, fearful, hurt, painted, angry, hateful and frantic words. Or at least Killer thinks it is—as he constantly hears them in his head whenever he attempts to resist killing or hurting anyone in Stage 1, and the constant flood of internal degradation is overwhelming enough to trigger Stage 4. The last part seems be somewhat canon, but the record player isn’t.

6. Cannibal Killer, started by me, holds a little place in my heart.

7. Cathearted and Angelkin Killer. Love it. Angelkin was @justanidiotartist’s idea.

8. Princess Killer. As in there is a timeline where he and Chara overthrew Asgore’s rule and became the royals of the Underground for a time.

9. That a part of Killer’s conditioning and training was being taught royal etiquette by Chara. It was framed and hidden under the disguise of learning something new, and a game— a way to keep Killer entertained and avoid boredom, therefore keeping him stable while implementing further rules and structure—but of course it had its typical violence and the use of Resets was often if Killer ever made a mistake or forgot a single thing.

He was taught to hold himself and carry himself as “something more,” above the others in the Underground, but never above Chara and not as real as anyone else.

His spine is always straight, trying to maintain a composed demeanor even when leaning into his silly behavior and extroverted mask. He eats his food in a very specific practiced manner without conscious thought, using his hands and utensils in a specific way.

He only eats when the “Queen” (Chara, Nightmare) eats, and stops when they stop—regardless of if he’s finished or not. Sarcastic, overly exaggerated bowing and signs of deference towards Nightmare—“Your Majesty,” “Your Highness,” in a deadpan, sarcastic manner.

And this one’s a bit more canon, but he copies and mimics Chara’s ways of speaking in a formal manner— such as how he says “greetings” instead of “hello” or “hey.” Often more obvious when addressing those he views higher and above him, or when stressed.

Maintaining old habits of perfectionism and cleanliness despite appearing outwardly apathetic, as if he doesn’t really know why he does it, he just does. His spaces are to be ordered and clean, all gear and weapons done in a certain way, and it’s probably more than once he’s corrected the others gang members postures and manners of eating or speaking.

One thing Chara never managed to make him stop doing was putting his hands on the table. He did that then and he’ll keep doing it. (Somewhat canon. Bro always has his hands on the table.)

10. Killer has the same fascination with the number 9 that Chara does. My HC.

11. Killer with schizoid personality tendencies. My HC. (Bit more complicated than that.)

12. Killer is subconsciously drawn to heart imagery—especially upside down hearts. He will often absentmindedly trace them on his bones/carve them, or draw on paper. It calms down his body. Especially after having failed some type of mission—both when killing or refusing to kill.

13. He stims. They’re small and not noticeable if you aren’t looking, easily dismissed as something else, but he stims. My HC. (I like to think his whole clasping hands over the soul/chest in prayer gesture is a happy stim and a nervous one. And also finger guns.)

14. He is a romantic. But only in his own head and fantasies.

15. Golden flower tea..yum.

16. He treats his weapons and animals better than he treats actual people or himself.

17. Stage 2 will blatantly ignore you if you try to call him Sans. (Somewhat canon.)

18. Stage 2 is mostly apathetic and indifferent but also distrustful of children. My Hc.

19. Chara and Killer’s relationship has been through just about any type of dynamic you can think of. Creator/creation, parent/child (both have played this role), teacher/mentee, enemies, friends, partners. Anything but equals.

20. He is actually very good at knife tricks. Will only fail when he wants to cut himself on purpose, or wants to make someone laugh.

21. Actually a pretty good caretaker, at least physically. Mentally and emotionally tending to a patient needs some work.

22. GNC fashionita.

23. Believes having no needs will make him invulnerable and free.

24. That a more humanized Killer would have long black hair he styles in many different ways. Also that he has a hooked nose and still doesn’t look entirely human.

25. The idea that he gives himself something like tattoos that remind him of Color in his Good Ending. Gradient flaming heart rainbows like Jinx’s blue cloud tattoos. My HC.

26. Catlike behaviors. Yeah. Including being very petty and causing problems for no obvious reasons.

27. Various forms or presentations of pet or age regression depending on the Stage.

28. Hates feeling too exposed physically. ✨ body issues ✨

29. Would’ve thrown the comfort plushie Color gave to him for when he’s Stage 1 away if it the plushie didn’t have an excellent texture. (Is the reasoning he gives.)

30. Acts of service. Just come to him instinctively. Very parentified eldest daughter coded I think.

[1arkspur-aconitum]

THE BLIND LEADING THE BLIND (s.r.)

IN WHICH: Spencer shows up late to work wearing glasses for the first time…

PAIRING: Season 3!Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: fluff

CONTENT: pining, oblivious idiots in love, swearing, Emily being a little meddler

WORD COUNT: 3.7 (this was meant to be only 1k…whoops…)

PUBLISHED: 03/10/24

‘OH MY GOD.’

It’s the best I can do. It is the only thing I can think as Spencer Reid steps through the glass doors into the bullpen.

It’s one of those rare days where Spencer arrives later than me—later than the rest of the team, in fact—and I’m already sitting at my desk when he walks in. A cup of coffee from the Paper Cup (arguably the best coffee in Virginia, bite me Derek Morgan) steams away beside a half-eaten blueberry muffin, the crumbs of which litter the crossword before me. It’s partially completed, but I have yet to finish this specific paper’s puzzle without the genius’ help—I swear it’s almost as if they designed it for him. I’ve even marked little stars next to the ones I’m intending to ask Spencer.

Or, at least, the questions I was intending to ask Spencer. I may not ever get the opportunity to because I think he has decided to kill me this morning.

Spencer Reid steps into the bullpen dressed in brown slacks (as usual) and a striped shirt tucked into said slacks (also normal), but that’s where the familiarity ends.

He’s not wearing a tie which is very bizarre. In fact, the top buttons of his shirt are undone as if he’s rushed out of the door. From this distance I can see the contours of his throat.

We once had a surprisingly in-depth conversation about why ties are more commonly associated with men (due to the inherent power and authority we attach to them) and Spencer said that he tried to always wear one because it made people take him more seriously. I distinctly remember it because it made me kind of sad. The idea that people didn’t take him seriously bothered me more than I’d care to admit.

It’s not the tardiness, nor the lack of a tie, that wipes every thought from my brain, though. It’s not even the way he has pushed his hair away from his face like he’s some kind of Disney prince—though that on any other day would have done something similar to hitting the delete key on a computer.

No, it’s the damn glasses.

Spencer Reid has the audacity to be wearing a pair of horn rimmed glasses.

They’re perched on his nose as if they belong there, which—judging by the way they make his face distort when he turns to greet Derek—they do. I don’t know what it is specifically, but seeing him in glasses makes my stomach drop out of my feet, through several floors of the Quantico building, and deep into the ground.

Obviously Spencer is smart. Anyone who has the luxury of meeting him can tell you as such. It’s not as if he hides it, mister three PhDs and counting. But…but the glasses just do something extra, highlight that aspect of him, and I’ve always been a sucker for intelligence.

I genuinely didn’t think he could get prettier.

‘Shut your mouth, you’ll start drooling.’ Emily sidles up to my desk, thankfully keeping her voice low. I jump embarrassingly and manage to drag my eyes away from where Spencer is deep in discussion with Derek about something Derek doesn’t appear to want to talk about. Astrophysics? The flight path of bumblebees? If I was in Derek’s place, I would be hanging off of Spencer’s every word. ‘Honestly, could you be any more transparent?’

‘I…I’m not transparent!’ I say, but it does take me a second to work out what she’s saying. I take a distracting sip of my coffee, trying to ignore how the light slicks off of the frames as Spencer nods vigorously. A small strand of hair falls into his face and he brushes it away carelessly. ‘Maybe—maybe I was just…admiring the make, or something.’

‘I’m not stupid.’ Emily scoffs, knocking me with the back of her hand. She seems as if she is enjoying this way too much. There’s a sardonic gleam in her eye as she raises an eyebrow. I glower up at her over the rim of my coffee, imagining how it would feel to toss it in her face—anything to get that smug look off of it. ‘You can barely form a sentence.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I turn my nose up at her haughtily. I feel very much the petulant child denying having broken into the biscuit jar even when their mouth is covered in crumbs. ‘See? A perfect sentence.’

‘You’re not fooling anyone.’ Emily feels the need to tell me, eyes flickering between me and Spencer. I make a conscious effort not to look at him. It’s harder than I thought it would be. I wedge my foot underneath one of the spokes of my chair, forcing it to stay directed towards Emily. She grins as if she can sense my inner discord. ‘Y’know, for a profiler, you’re not very good at being discreet.’

‘I’m always discreet.’ The lie tastes bitter in my mouth and I follow it up with a sip of coffee. I don’t know where to look, what to do with myself, so I decide to focus on Emily. She’s wearing a new pair of trousers that have an embellishment up the side, a few beads shining in the sunlight streaming into the office. I wonder if she’ll let me borrow them…

‘I beg to differ.’ Emily perches herself on Spencer’s desk, crossing her legs. The tiny beads glitter like a mirrorball. This is fun for her. She likes making me squirm, and my respect for Emily is declining with every moment she holds me under this particular microscope. Part of me wonders if Emily truly is a sadist. ‘Come on, just admit it.’

‘I refer you to my previous statement,’ I swing my chair around even more to face her, firmly putting my back to where I assume Spencer and Derek are still talking. God, please don’t overhear this. What would I even say if he did? ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Sure.’ She laughs brightly, not believing me for a second—to be fair to her, I don’t even believe myself. I really should get better at lying to my coworkers. It’s frustrating that, to be a profiler, you have to be inherently astute. I’ve always been a relatively open book, which makes this whole situation worse. I have no doubt that my every thought is plastered there for her to dissect. ‘I can’t blame you, you know. I mean, it is very…different. If you’re into that kinda thing, which I think you are—’

‘Please stop.’ I say. My fingers tangle into my hair as I lean forwards, the points of my elbows bruising the soft flesh above my knee.

I hate this feeling. Being so exposed, so vulnerable, being seen like this has never been something I’ve enjoyed. Maybe it is something to do with my childhood, but I never like to think about that too hard. What it comes down to is that I can tease people incessantly, but when the tables have flipped? I hate it. I wonder what that says about me..

‘Just ask him out.’ Emily’s voice is softer now, less ribbed with merciless humour. I look up at her with a disgusted expression–as if that would ever happen. Spencer is my colleague, my friend. There’s no way I’m putting myself out there like that, and she should know that already. She sighs. ‘Seriously. What’s the worst that could happen?’

Uh, everything? He could say no. I could seriously embarrass myself–a habit I have a tendency to do. I could vomit on his new shoes. In fact, Spencer probably doesn’t even like me in that way–thinking about it, I have no idea if Spencer’s even attracted to anyone. He’s never spoken about dates like Derek does, nor mentioned exes. When we talk about our first kisses, he stays silent. Whenever the topic deviates towards something unsuitable for work, Spencer noticeably stays out of it. Maybe he’s just not into anything like that.

That thought hollows out the pit of my stomach for a second.

‘If I answer that, then you’ll just think that I know what you’re talking about.’ I sense her words for the trap that they are. What a sneaky bitch. I narrow my eyes at her and Emily’s eyebrow twitches imperceptibly. A tell. Ever since we met, Emily has had a thing about trying to trick me into confessing my secrets at any opportunity she can get. I think she thinks it’s more fun if she doesn’t ask the question straight up. ‘So no. I’m not going to deign that with a response.’

‘You’re impossible.’ Emily groans. She tries to kick my chair with a free foot, but misses by a mile. Sucker. Like the child I am, I stick my tongue out at her. ‘Come on, you have no idea how painful it is to watch you pining–’

‘You think watching me pine is painful?’ I retort, propping my chin up on my elbow. It’s only when the words are out of my mouth that I realise I may have given a little bit too much away. Emily’s eyes light up with a familiar glee. My cheeks heat and I scowl. ‘Besides, I was merely observing.’

‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey.’ Emily practically purrs, a mischievous glint in her eye that I decidedly do not like. She pushes off of Spencer’s desk, her fingers trailing along the edge as she meanders to her own. As she does so, her lips curve into a knowing smirk. She mutters something under her breath that is just loud enough for me to catch the hint of amusement.

‘Care to share?’ The words are out of my mouth before I realise that I probably won’t want to hear what she has to say. Yet another one of Emily’s verbal pitfalls—I can’t be expected to spot all of them after-all. Sometimes I think talking to Emily is like navigating a field of bear traps.

‘Oh, nothing—just that you two are more similar than you realise.’ Her voice drips with feigned innocence. She chuckles as she sits herself down, opening a stack of files on her desk with a flourish, effectively ending the conversation and leaving me in a whirlwind of my own thoughts.

More similar than I realise? What on Earth does she mean by that? I know we’re both considered smart—we’re both doctors, we work in the same field, we’re around the same age. Admittedly, I’m not as smart as he is, but everyone can say that. There’s always been something different about Spencer.. He has always been a cut above the rest, a standard no one else can possibly hope to achieve. How could I ever compare myself to that?

I turn my seat around and allow myself a brief glance over to where Spencer and Derek are still standing. Spencer is still talking animatedly, hands gesturing in the space between them. Don’t even get me started on his hands because we could be here for literal hours. A doctoral thesis is 60,000–80,000 words. I reckon I could write that much purely on his hands.

Derek is currently looking at him with a fond, if slightly exasperated expression, having succumbed to his fate of listening to whatever it is Spencer is rambling about. They’re a strange pair but there’s no doubting the love they share between them. It’s honestly so endearing.

My gaze drifts from the pair of them to Spencer. With the glasses, it’s different somehow. The lenses magnify his eyes, making them larger, more expressive. I can see the rapid movement as he processes whatever Derek is saying in response to his rambling, I can watch the slight furrow of his brow as he formulates a response. The more I inspect him, the harder it is for me to work out why I like them so much. Perhaps it’s because he seems…softer, somehow. Less intimidating and more approachable.

More human.

Then it hits me.

The glasses are a vulnerability. They’re an admission that the perfect Spencer Reid is anything but, that, as much as his mind is as sharp as a blade, his eyesight is not. For some reason, that makes him even more attractive to me. Though, to be fair, there’s not much that would make him less attractive to me.

I tear my eyes away, a familiar heat rippling up the back of my neck. I can’t believe I’m having thoughts like this about my coworker. It’s unprofessional, impolite, and definitely dangerous. But I can’t seem to stop myself.

Every time I see him in those glasses, the more I think about what it would be like to kiss him with them on. Would he take them off, or would I? Or, maybe, he leaves them on as I wrap my hands around the back of his neck, pulling him down towards me. They wouldn’t get in the way if we were careful…

For God’s sake.

I try to focus on my crossword but the words swim before my eyes. All I can see is Spencer’s face with those damn glasses, and the annoyingly infuriating way that they make his eyes sparkle. Perhaps Emily is right–perhaps I am as transparent as a window. This whole thing is stupid. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts, but it’s not like I can defenestrate them very easily.

Just as I am contemplating burying myself under several feet of damp earth, effectively giving up on the day entirely, Spencer and Derek seem as if they finish their conversation. Derek claps Spencer on the shoulder as the pair of them start to make their way towards us. I do my best to look busy, scribbling down a word on my puzzle that I am 99% sure isn’t correct. My heart hammers in my chest.

Jesus Christ, get your shit together, girl. It’s just an awkward, tall, lanky man. He’s not Hugh Grant. Or James Marsters. He’s just Spencer.

I don’t know if that sentiment makes it better or worse.

‘Morning, June.’ Spencer’s gentle, warm voice drags me out of my shame spiral. When I look up, he’s standing next to his desk, hands clasped in front of him as he peers down at me through those fucking glasses.

I plaster as much of a genuine smile on my face as possible. ‘Morning, Spencer. You’re looking very dashing today.’

Dashing? What the hell was that? Who says that? If I could make a time machine and return back to a few seconds earlier, I would. But, alas, I simply have to wait and see how Spencer responds.

His lips quirk upwards in a shy smile. ‘Really? Thank you. You, uh, you look rather…rather lovely yourself.’

‘Oh, uh, thanks, Spence.’ I mentally kick myself for sounding so flustered, looking anywhere but directly at him. I don’t think I look ‘rather lovely’ today–I’m wearing brown denim flares and a shirt, nothing too fancy. I try to regain some composure. This is so unlike me that it scares me. ‘So, new glasses?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he says, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. My eyes trace a vein that vanishes under the cuff. ‘I ran out of contacts and didn’t have time to go to the opticians. I don’t really like them, though, they kind of get in the way.’

‘Really?’ I try not to sound too surprised and/or offended, but I don’t think it worked very well. The next words I say are pumped with honesty. ‘I think they look good on you. Actually, they really suit you.’

‘Do you genuinely think so?’ He sounds as if he doesn’t believe me, but the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. I nod, mouth suddenly very dry. Spencer sits on the edge of his desk where Emily had been moments before, crossing his long legs at the ankle. The odd socks (pink on the left, neon green on the right) make me smile. ‘I always think they make me look…well, nerdy. Derek agrees.’

I can’t not laugh a little at that, taking a sip of my coffee as I work out how to say what I want to without seriously offending him.

‘Spencer, sweetheart, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you are the epitome of nerdy without the glasses. And–and that’s not a bad thing in the slightest. It’s part of what I like about you.’

‘Oh.’ Spencer turns a furious shade of red, eyes dropping like a stone to stare intently at the floor. I immediately regret the words, but have to play it off as if I don’t. Sweetheart is a new term of endearment and one I didn’t intend to use, but it slipped out. I lean back in my seat, angle my head…do I backtrack? Do I apologise? I’m about to do as such when I see it. A tiny smile. Spencer’s next words are just loud enough for me to hear. ‘Well, thank you.’

‘That’s okay.’ I grin, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to put on a picture of nonchalance. If Emily is to be believed, he can see right through it, but it makes me feel better. I need to say something–anything–else before the silence gets too loud. ‘I actually didn’t know you wore contacts, let alone glasses.’

‘Yeah, I just find contacts easier–did you know that Leonardo da Vinci was the one who was first credited with coming up with the idea of contact lenses in 1508? It wasn’t created in his time, of course, but he was the one who first posited the idea of altering corneal power.’ Spencer’s hands gesture in the space between us as he endearingly rambles on about the creation of contact lenses. It’s sweet, and I let him talk for a while, using this opportunity to watch him. He’s just so pretty that it’s hard to focus. ‘And modern day lenses, the silicone ones, weren’t made until 1998.’

‘Wow, that’s kinda cool.’ I hum, taking a sip of my now almost-cold coffee. ‘I don’t know, I had you pegged as the kind of guy who doesn’t like putting his finger in his eye.’

‘What?’ Spencer chuckles, raising an eyebrow. He pushes his glasses up again and my heart stammers. ‘How could you possibly know that about someone?’

‘Spencer, you’re a known germaphobe. You don’t even shake hands.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want someone else to put my lenses in,’ Spencer physically shudders at this idea. ‘But if I do it, it’s just my germs.’

‘I suppose that makes sense. If you had a twin, though, would you let them do it? Or someone with super clean hands? What about if you broke your hands and your glasses, and needed someone else to put them in for you?’ I rattle off question after question, knowing I really should stop talking, but it’s as if there’s a torrent of words I cannot control. ‘I mean, there are plenty of, of situations where you may need someone to…to put your contacts in…’

What the fuck am I on about? Oh God, this isn’t happening to me…I never thought I would be so swayed by a pretty face.

‘You’re a strange one.’ Spencer says, after a beat, and his voice is playful. He leans backwards and braces himself on the desk. ‘I don’t know, it depends. I mean, I wouldn’t let Derek do it, but…’

‘I wouldn’t let Derek do it for me, and I don’t even wear contacts.’ I laugh, tilting my head to the side and giving him a cheeky grin. He returns it, and for a moment, we just look at each other. The world narrows, as it always does, to just me and him. There’s a familiar warmth in my stomach that has always been intoxicating.

‘I’d let you put my contacts in.’ Spencer says the words as if they had been building up behind his lips. Pink stains the tops of his cheekbones. It might be a trick of the light, but I’m pretty sure that his gaze flickers down to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning back to my eyes. My breath hitches and I have to look away.

‘Really? I don’t know if I should be flattered or kind of grossed out.’ Another sentence I regret saying, but what does one say to something like that?

Spencer laughs, but it sounds kind of forced. ‘Well, let us hope that it will never come to that. But, if it does, don’t let any of the others do it. Lord knows where their hands have been.’

I laugh too, but before I can say anything more, Hotch’s voice booms across the bullpen. He’s calling Spencer to his office, and the tranquil spell between us is shattered.

Spencer jumps, startled, and clears his throat. He pushes his glasses further up his nose and stands up. He offers me a muttered ‘sorry’ as he walks away, speeding out of the bullpen of desks and heading towards Hotch. I watch him go reluctantly, only looking away when he vanishes inside and the door closes behind him.

The groan I let out is loud enough to make Derek look up, but I bury my head in my hands before any of them can jump on me whilst I’m vulnerable. What the fuck was that? I’m not usually one to get flustered when faced with a pretty man, and usually I’m pretty confident around Spencer. Evidently there’s something about the glasses that turns me into a blathering school girl. It’s so stupid that I have no choice but to get a grip.

When I look up from my hands, determined to not let Spencer’s new eyewear affect me, Emily is watching me with a bemused expression. She must have heard the entire interaction.

‘Smooth, June. Real smooth.’ She says from over her coffee mug, the steam coiling around her like she’s some demon. The devious grin on her face doesn’t help that mental image.

I simply flip her off and return to my crossword.

Nosy bitch.

THANK YOU FOR READING! I CAN’T DECIDE IF I LIKE THIS OR NOT BUT FIGURED WHY NOT? MORE SPENCER REID FICS ON THE WAY!

[yuri-is-online]

...so you just threw this beautiful idea of Fyuuture kid, and left me with a brainrot? Especially after you answered one ask with i quote "he loves his parent so much and was really fighting it to keep it together when he saw them alive again" end of the quote. WHAT DO YOU MEAN AGAIN? WHAT? HOW?

ask 1 and ask 2

Oh 👉👈? I wasn't expecting to get an ask about this au ever again actually, but I am so glad you did, I like it a lot. I mentioned Fire Emblem Awakening in the first ask I got about it but for those of you who haven't played the game, the plot features the children of your army traveling back in time to try and prevent the end of the world. That's more or less what happened in the fyuuture kid au, at least in my first draft... I always end up associating the "future kid meets their parents" trope with either FE: Awakening or I guess Golden Sun? Which I think is the name of the jrpg where something similar happens idk I just like there being a reason for the kid to need to meet their parents.

In my original draft of the au, Yuu was told by Crowley there was no way home for them, so they settled down with Yutu's father and started building a life together. This turned out to not be true, as the Magical Marshall's office began investigating the overblots that happened while Yuu was in school and came to the conclusion Yuu had something to do with them; so they were secretly arrested, cursed to forget everything about Twisted Wonderland, and sent home. The curse was meant to trigger every time Yuu vaguely remembered their time in the otherworld, with the idea their brain would prevent them from thinking about it after a while. They would have justified it, if anyone had been there to ask, by saying Yuu wouldn't know they were missing anything and would be able to live a happy life. When Yutu was born that made that outcome impossible, but the Marshal's office didn't think to check if Yuu was pregnant...

Shortly after they did that though strange things started happening. Monster attacks got more frequent, blot levels started rising, not to extremes immediately but still enough to be concerning. Reports of a strange, abyssal magic using beast, started pouring in to S.T.Y.X. suspiciously close to Grim's description. While Yuu was busy trying to put their life back together in their world, Twisted Wonderland slowly began to fall apart drowning under an ink colored sky. The overblot phantoms they fought come back and begin hunting in their respective homelands, and rumor has it they can turn certain mages into their thralls...

The curse slowly eats away at Yuu's brain, every time they see something that reminds them of their friends, their time at NRC, every time Yutu does something that would make them think about how much he takes after his dad, they feel a great deal of physical pain and temporarily lose the ability to function. It's killing them, and no doctor or specialist can figure out the cause, so Yutu just has to sit there and watch his parent slowly die and not be able to do anything about it. I was uncertain of where exactly I wanted Yuu to die in the story, but it always was around when Yutu gets isekaid to NRC, either before and he had to leave them behind or after when they both get to go home finally! But Yuu doesn't completely make it, they're able to have one moment of peace with their son and Professor Crewel before passing on.

Yutu's dad changes depending on who you want it to be of course, as does whether they met before he and his friends decided to go back in time to prevent this version of the future from ever happening, but his feelings about Yuu never changes. Yutu really admires his parent, he did even before he learned about them facing down overblots! They were really close and the more he learned about their curse, the more responsible he felt for their death. He's very determined to keep Yuu alive and safe in Twisted Wonderland in this timeline, even if it costs him his life.

His opinion on his dad really changes depending on who it is and what he learns about them. Like can you imagine learning your dad was known for being obsessed with teeth and no he had no intention of being a dentist? Clown behavior 💀💀💀 His friends were all ocs I made but never really developed... I do remember that one was a younger sibling of Kalim's (who could be his aunt if you like Kalim and absolutely embraces that role), her retainer, Crewel's son who also sees himself as Yutu's uncle (the feeling isn't mutual) because he is old enough to sort of remember Yuu and thinks of them as a sibling, and a random oc I based off of the kid from Up for no reason other than I like the movie. They also came back in time, but only Yutu ended up in the right place, just like fire emblem awakening.

idk I should probably do something with it. like writing the reactions for the other dorms...

[notroosterbradshaw]

My Father's Eyes - prologue

about: Bradley comes to terms with growing up without a father to guide him while quickly adapting to become one himself… to a child who wants nothing more than not to have him in her life.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, angst, fluff, smut [...probably]. no posting schedule.

You slipped your phone carefully into your backpack, cursing low. It hadn't stopped blowing up since you took the opportunity to unwind a little with a few after-work drinks. You were generally an automatic no, so giving the affirmative to a question perennially asked just to be polite was met with more confusion than excitement - you weren't sure how it made you feel. Your social skills felt like they were severely lacking (not to mention the pop culture references you were behind on unless it was, of course, Taylor Swift)... You simply weren't social anymore. 

You mostly tolerated your work associates, they were all friendly, smart, and considerate, but come Friday, you were on your time and couldn't wait to get home to start your weekend. You had wine, pizza and TV to catch up on and it would be perfect. Basic in its simplicity and you didn't care what anyone else thought.

"One more drink," your co-workers begged. 

"Let loose, we never get to hang out aside from work," they added.

And while you were having a pretty good night, you had other reasons to be home - 

But the revelry was about to end as hoots and hollers of patrons in the bar overcame a raucous Friday night crew as a group of sailors walked in. Grand in their whites, gleaming, broad grins, covers and sunglasses in the dim, overcrowded room. Your eyes scanned each one like they always did when moments like this materialised. 

Your heart rate elevated, and the hairs on your arm pricked up. Hands clammy - 

The warning signals in your brain were firing louder than an air raid siren. That face you never expected to see again among that crowd, and it was more handsome than you could even recall.

Bradley Bradshaw. Your first... everything. Young and dumb, you fell head over heels for that boy with his head in the clouds and that impish grin. He who dreamed big, much bigger than you ever could imagine.

Tall, broad, tanned, unassuming. He was surreal, it felt like a dream how he’d just returned your life without warning. This wasn’t his hometown, so you knew he was here for work. A nightmare occurred even as you rose from your place at the small cocktail table and started making your apologies for the drink just placed before you, reaching eagerly for your bag and other random belongings you’d whipped out. 

That you had to get home, "Oh, look at the time - " that you had to go - 

You had to just get the hell out of The Hard Deck. You knew better, even if the time to now had been on your side in previous ventures to the joint. 

The crowd swarmed them, and you took your opportunity to try and get out without being noticed. You knew Bradley had no idea you would be there. The beautiful man was immediately surrounded by striking women all vying for his attention, and although he appeared to enjoy it, he was keeping them all at bay. You could see that from your safe distance.

But that last tequila had done you in and you had to get to the bathroom before you got into the Uber - while you weren't feeling the effects of the alcohol, you felt could be ill at any moment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hissed to yourself, slamming the cubicle door after you, the safety of the bathroom gave you small comfort but it relieved the feeling of someone standing on your chest in any way. 

Sitting, you had no choice but to overhear the gossip of the sudden arrival of the newly decorated squad who had just entered the place, sending the bar into a tizzy.

“ - Hangman is blonder - " 

" - suave Coyote was - "

"I don't know how Natasha can be around such sexy men all the time."

"Come on, she's as talented, and dear god, she as hot as them. Don't discount her rank because of some guys. I’m sure she deals with pissing contests 24/7.”

You silently cheered for the last person's comment, whoever this Natasha was. Good for her. 

But no mention of Bradley. 

"It's like the Navy put together the sexiest aviators they had - " this person was also right. They always grandstanded like they were in movies. And tonight, even Bradley.

Flushing, you pulled yourself together and made a hasty exit strategy in your brain as you furiously washed and dried your hands. The closest door from the bathroom was also the furthest from the pool table and you were in luck as you heard the roar and the familiar opening keys to Jerry Lee Lewis' Whole Lot of Shakin' Going On.

Come on over, baby, whole lotta shakin' goin' on, Yes, I said come on over, baby, baby, you can't go wrong...

And abruptly, you were young, dumb and 21 again. Falling for this schtick then and, by God, his voice deeper than it was and you could swear, better. Sexier. Older. Bolder. Not your shy, quiet reserved college boy on his summer vacation in San Diego... but look at you now, falling for this schtick again. The way he could sway people on full display as the crowd and his friends/teammates, how were you to know, tumbled over each other at the grubby old piano you’d never seen touched to now to spread the revelry with him.

"My old man listened to this album so much when I was a kid," Bradley said quietly, delicately handing the cover to you as he wandered over to the old turntable he'd mentioned was also his father's and you watched him intently. He could make you listen to white noise or nails on a blackboard and you’d be enthralled with it. "I don't have too much of his stuff," he explained, considerate as he dropped the pin on the record tenderly. "But this song," he laughed quietly as Great Balls of Fire filled his small room of the share house he stayed at that school break. "We sang this song a lot as a family. Please don’t hold it against me, I’m very aware Lewis was a fuckin’ creep of a dude,” and you couldn’t resist your smile as he offered you his hand and danced with him. 

And how often that summer that hand lead you down a garden path of trouble. 

You probably hadn't listened to Jerry Lee Lewis since it reminded you too much of him. And of course, the artist was controversial at best, just like Bradley said but you’d never, ever forgotten the words.

And as you headed towards the door, the need to see Bradley Bradshaw just one more time overwhelmed you. His jacket stripped and sleeves of his crisp, white shirt rolled to his thick golden forearms, the collar on his shirt strained around the thick ropes of muscles of his neck and throat as his cheeks pinked in the hot room. 

Aviators sliding down his strong nose in the exhilaration of being the centre of attention. He was thriving off it. 

He was as handsome as the day you met him. The way he captured your attention as he retrieved the football that landed near your beach bag that fateful day. His soft voice of apology as his buddies teased him down play. He apologised on their behalf and asked if he could make it up to you   The way he handled the room funny to you, your once shy, quiet boy now commanding the group at the bar, singing with him, vying for his attention... singing to just get that small piece of his time. 

Home soon kiddo. Hope you had a good night with Amelia, you texted quickly.

As the song ended and the place erupted again in enraptured applause, you slinked out as more sailors slipped in and took in a deep breath, the humid beach air filling your lungs and you called for the quickest car to get you home safely... to safety. 

"Hey," you heard the voice behind you. You were so fucking close to the car... so close to escaping without a trace... but just like the old days, his voice warming you to your bones. But you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, even as he gently took your wrist and guided your body towards his. "Holy shit," you heard the small flutter of laughter in a bubble against his lips. “It is you.” He was clearly as shocked as you were. 

The softness in his rough rasp. It had haunted the better part of the last 14, 15 or so years. Dreams, nightmares. 

You were so close to breaking free of the bar without him seeing you - but that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. In his quiet calm, he was always watching. 

...bringing yourself to raise your eyes to him was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. To his warm, humoured honey ones, his grin just melted you like it always had. So much about him had changed, the moustache you were perplexed about. Some faint scars marred his handsome face that you didn’t recall but they certainly didn’t look new (even if new to you). They gave him a light ruggedness, maturing him. But you could only compare him to the senior in college, eagerly awaiting his acceptance into the Naval Academy. 

And he was big. Taller, broader, stronger. BIG. 

And white certainly was his shade. He chewed his lower lip, and you were reminded of the charming boy who left you all those years ago. The man now before you who didn’t even know he had changed the course of your life.

"Hello, Bradley," you finally said, and he stood to height, the recognition in your voice as you tried to keep his gaze. His tongue tracked his upper lip and he finally smiled, not the smug arrogance on display as he and his team ponied in earlier, but the sweet genuineness that was simply Bradley. 

"Hi," he swallowed. "Been a long time," he reckoned. 

"Yeah," you agreed. 

"Looks like time has been good to you," he said, low, appreciatively.

And you laughed as he visibly relaxed, the flirt enough to break you. You weren't sure if he was trying anything, but the air was finally making it to your lungs. 

"You still livin' around here?" 

You gave a soft nod. "Yeah." 

"I'm just in town a few days," he admitted as you nodded. "I - my team and I - were just promoted. Lieutenant Commander."

"This why you're all dressed up - or were?"

"My whites?" he asked.

"I saw you come in."

"And yet you tried to sneak out before you said hi," he teased.

"I'm sorry," you admitted. "But congrats on your promotion. Kind of a big deal?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Kind of." 

Hearing the knocks on the glass, his attention was demanded back inside. Relief swept through you as he shooed them away with a swift flick of the bird and they howled inside but left him to his devices.

"How about coffee this weekend? It would be great to catch up," Bradley pressed. "Find out what you've been up to. Husband, family, work. All that stuff."

"Ha," your voice faltered. "I'm pretty sure it's nowhere near as exciting as yours," you forced a laugh, and he really didn't seem to take the hint. His pout at your near rejection only seemed to spur him on further.

"One coffee and I'll get back on the boat and be out of your life forever," his lips quirked, and you remembered how you felt when he made that face without the moustache. He could get away with a lot then, just like he was getting away with it now. "Look... here's my number," he urged, holding out this hand as you sighed and unlocked your phone to enter the digits. You saw how he'd saved it.

Bradley Bradshaw (a big deal?). You had to laugh as he winked, relieved for the smile that crossed your features but you weren't sure if he was offended or not when you didn't offer yours in reply. 

"Kind of a big deal," you confirmed with a giggle, those nerves bubbling under the surface rapidly now. He shrugged, the cheekiness of the boy you knew still evident in the man before you.

"Text me if you wanna catch up. I wanna hear about what you've been up to since graduation all those years ago. I fly back to Virginia Tuesday."

"Fleeting."

"Very much," he agreed. Sighing (with relief, but Bradley would never catch that), your Uber was right before you. He moved around you to open the passenger door. "Been a long time..."

"Longer than you know," you admitted, slipping into the car and he carefully closed the door behind you as the driver recalled your address and you left Bradley Bradshaw for what you hoped was the last time. 

Your fingers itched to delete his number, but all you had to do was get through the next few days without the temptation to text him and it would be fine. 

Life would go on and he's sail off into the sunset again like he promised.

Home ten or so minutes later, you made a beeline for upstairs. The bedroom door closed and silent from the other side. You pushed your way in quietly, the room dark, and you sat on the side of the bed, your hands drifting to the mess of dirty dark blonde curls splayed across your daughter's pillow as she read on her phone with her earphones on.

"Hi, sweetheart," you whispered, gently pushing back a tendril on your daughter's forehead. "Bedtime?" you suggested as she shrugged. Ahh, teens. You kissed her forehead before standing and leaving her room, your beautiful girl protected under the snuggly covers. 

You didn't know how you were going to tell her that you saw her father tonight. After all these years and radio silence, doing what you could to protect her from the hurt you knew you'd caused by keeping this very real secret from Bradley. 

"Shit," you muttered, wandering the hallway to your bedroom, your nerves shot, hot tears threatening and everything you'd done so well protecting to now... about to shatter into a million pieces with the return of Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw.

masterlist.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[nomlioart]

I'm sorry...

Hi... I wasn't active because I was healing from everything that happened to me and I was trying to stay safe. I still am. I only come for a short while now, because before I was scared to say anything even though I really wanted to.

Some of you may have heard of the drama with MatchaBunns from twitter, some may not. I don't want to go into great detail about what happened since I don't want to go back to it, I want to forget about it and never go back to it. In short, the previously mentioned person was accused of grooming. And I, naive and thoughtless, defended them, being tricked and manipulated by them, which made me think that there was no grooming. I was trying to defend my no longer friend. Now just thinking about how I didn't realize what grooming really was makes me nauseous. I wanted to help them because I thought that what they were saying was credible, I wanted to trust them. It turned out, however, that I had been defending the wrong person all this time. I feel sick and disgusting of it. They just made my trust issues grow stronger so much. If some friends hadn't reached out to me and convinced me that these actions were seriously wrong, I would have never realized it and been living a lie all the time, convincing myself that the lie was truth.

I want to seriously apologize with all my heart for everything I said, for all my lies, for all the stupid things I did, for just being in touch with Matcha. I don't wanna be like this. I never wanted to be like this. I just wanted to make friends, I always had problems making friends because of my fear and back then I finally felt wanted and appreciated. I just wanted to help, but it only led to a bigger disaster. I'm scared of Matcha. And most of all I seriously wanted to apologize to the victim of all this, who I will leave anonymous. If you're seeing this, you didn't deserve any of this. I don't expect any forgiveness, but I want you to know, all of you, that I seriously mean it, I want you to believe me that I'm really.. really sorry, for all the harm I've done helping them. I am no longer associated with Matcha since April and I made sure I blocked them on all social media I am on. In fact, I myself wanted to break off contact with Matcha since February because I was starting to feel uncomfortable in their company, but I didn't do it because I thought others would turn away from me, thinking that it would be a bad decision. Now I think I could've done it much earlier. Since then I'm not and won't be involved in any dramas anymore and I'll be less active in communities. These last few months it was really tragic for me because of this situation, I had panic attacks many times, I cried every day non-stop, I had four attempts... So far I am getting help, trying not to go back to it and be a better person. I really wanna change, I don't want to be in contact with people who may have a bad influence on me anymore. I'm still young, stupid, naive.. But I still have brains, I should be better than this.

I still have no idea if I'll ever come back here, it may be that I will come back but it may also be that I won't come back at all. My main goal was to say sorry for everything...

However, I am certain of my decision to never return to Twitter, it was a comfort place for me but after a while I realized that it's horrendous. Most of the people there are toxic heartless beings who hurt others.

I will understand if most people don't want to know me now, I don't blame them, quite the opposite, but those who still want to stay, thank you. Thank you so much. You are all important to me, at first I posted and did my art mainly for myself, but seeing how many people support me and love seeing my work, it only lifted my spirits and I did it for you too. I never felt like I would go this far... It was all thanks to you. I love you. And thank you for reading.

nomlio

[shadowqueenjude]

Ok this idea is so funny to me so I just had to write it lmaooo

Eris strolled the rich forest air behind his father's house. He despised everything about this place. It reeked of blood. Blood from Beron's torture of each of his sons, blood from the executions that had occurred here, including Eris's brother's lover. Every time he was forced to be here, he desired to leave. Unfortunately, he had to be prepared for a meeting in twenty minutes.

Just then, he noticed a shadow moving on the ground not twenty paces from him; the shadows were unaccompanied by any visible being and were too large to be a little critter. Eris chuckled to himself. He had been wondering when the Night Court thugs would be coming to melt his brain for what he'd seen the cursebreaker do. Perhaps they'd gone to all his brothers first; arrogant fools that most of them were, they had probably not even expected the attack. Or perhaps even they had seen him coming; it is not as if he is subtle.

Did he truly believe no one could see him? Despite his magic rendering him perfect for such a position, he was one of the most pathetic spies he had ever seen. Nearly everyone knew he was a shadowsinger, so nearly everyone knew to look for him.

Eris decided to have some fun with the poor bastard. He wandered across his gardens, and sure enough, the shadows followed him. Come on, little bat. At least try to be subtle. Such a concept was foreign to Illyrians, alas. Well, bad for them. Good for Eris.

He rounded the corner before he winnowed a few feet forward, ducking in the bushes and biding his time for the shadow to approach. He noticed the shadows pivot this way and that, as though they were looking for something. Swallowing his laugh, Eris winnowed behind the shadows, wrapping an arm securely around where he guessed his waist was. There was a grunt and a curse as the shadows fought, but Eris only squeezed him tighter, letting the heat that lay beneath his veins rise to the surface, burning him ever so slightly. The male yelped, and his true form appeared. Eris whipped out his dagger and pressed it to his throat.

"Hello, Shadowsinger," Eris purred.

The prince of Autumn held Azriel against his surprisingly well-built chest, blade pressing into his neck, heat curling off his body. Warm- these gods-damned Autumn Court males were so fucking warm. Lucien had been the same way when Azriel had carried him from Winter to Night. That ember smell stuck to him like natural fucking cologne too. And their dressing style-effortless.

Azriel had been invisible, hidden by his shadows. He had no idea how Eris had caught him, but his breaths were shallow as Eris's lips came close to his ear. "Now, what could you possibly be doing here, shadowsinger? Come to see if the rumors about Autumn Court males are true, hm?"

Not expecting the innuendo, Azriel couldn't control the blush that spread across his face. Eris laughed against his neck. "So easily flustered, little bat. Worry not, I know exactly why you're here. But you see, I'm rather attached to my memories, so I think I'll be keeping them."

Azriel couldn't even speak with the knife at his throat. "No words, shadowsinger?" Eris's tone was somehow mocking and seductive at the same time. He dug his knife in a little bit deeper, drawing blood. Then he lightly ran a finger through the line of blood he'd made. Goosebumps traveled down Azriel's body.

Then Eris pulled away the knife. "Speak."

Azriel snarled and tried to break away again, and Eris tsked, returning the blade to his throat. "Tut tut, little bat. This only works if you cooperate with me. Now I need you to swear that you will not come and try to wipe my memory again, nor will you attempt to murder me, else maim me in any capacity. You will lie to your High Lord and anyone else you associate with that you successfully wiped my memory. Do you understand me?" He pulled the knife away just so. "Yes," Azriel muttered reluctantly. "Swear it," Eris murmured. Azriel's mouth didn't move.

"Swear it," Eris repeated, his voice radiating with authority. Azriel found his mouth opening subconsciously, and before he knew it, he had replied, "Yes. I swear it." Azriel and Eris both watched as new whorls of deepest blue grew on his cheek. A matching pale gold one formed on Eris's cheek, just visible upon his pale skin.

Abruptly, Eris shoved Azriel to the ground before him, and just as Azriel got to his knees, Eris pointed a sword at him. Azriel longed to punch the smirk off of his arrogant face. "No violence for you today, Illyrian brute," Eris crooned. "I know that must be so upsetting to you."

"Bastard," Azriel snapped. "Wife-abusing bastard."

Eris snorted. "Are you talking about Mor, little bat? Surely you have brain enough to understand why I left Mor outside of Autumn rather than risk saving her?"

"Because you're a coward," Azriel growled. Eris only let out a musical laugh. "Says you, shadowsinger, who lurks in the dark, hiding behind your own dark reflection. I have not come here to explain myself to Rhysand's dogs; no, I'm keeping you around for one purpose: to send a message." Azriel glared at him. "No."

Eris bent towards Azriel, and Azriel could not breathe as his warm fingers traced the new tattoo upon his cheek. "You don't have a choice, little bat. My territory, my rules. And you're bound to me by a bargain forever. Besides, I think your lord will be interested in what I have to offer."

This close to Beron's eldest son, he could see the resemblance to Lucien: the flaming red hair, naturally, but also the shape of their eyes, their lips. The dimples when they smirk. Their eyebrows. While Lucien was a handsome man with some ruggedness to him, Eris was...well he was unbelievably pretty. There was no other way to describe it. And he hated that he found Eris so attractive.

"What do you want?" Azriel hissed, letting loathing simmer in his eyes. Azriel could feel the heat of Eris's mouth against his lips as he replied, "The same thing I've wanted for the past four centuries, shadowsinger. I want my crown."

[etheries1015]

Dear writer whose writings I love,

HEYYO. IT'S ME AGAIN. (I sent the Lilia using u as a stress relief you ask heheheha!!)

SO LIKE IMAGINE THIS (unrequited love that is actually requited love!)

You're on a "date" with Lilia to the gardens. (You wish)

And then you get to the Gardina section of the flowers and show it to him, knowing fully of what it means. (You hope, yet also don't hope he gets what's you're trying to say)

[FUN FACT: Gardenias are elegant and fragrant flowers that have long been associated with love, romance, and admiration. They are often used to express a secret or hidden love, as their sweet scent and delicate petals can be seen as a symbol of devotion and affection that is not openly expressed. The gardenia’s white or pale yellow petals are said to represent the purity and sincerity of a love that is kept hidden, while the intoxicating fragrance symbolizes the passion and intensity of the feelings that are being concealed. Gardenias are also often associated with mystery and secrecy, making them the perfect flower to symbolize a love that is kept hidden from the rest of the world. They have been used in literature and poetry for centuries to represent the hidden desires and passions of characters who cannot express their feelings openly]

SO

SSSOOOOOOO

This can go SO. MANY. WAYS.

He doesn't know and does nothing. This ends up in you making a poem about Gardina flowers to him, and he does something after that, taking the hint. (Good ending! With proposal and stuff and hehe fluff!! I love fluff)

He knows and asks you directly. (PLS GIVE THIS A GOOD ENDING. IDK HOW TO CONTINUE)

My brain is now fried again. Please expand. I will request every time my brain power suddenly shoots up. Goodbye, and see you again next time.

-🦇

Hello lovely! Yes yes, you actually revealed yourself to me after I answered that ask! Heuheu. No need to be anon! However, if that it what you prefer, I shall not convince you otherwise <3

ANYWAYS I have ALWAYS loved the notion of flowers having meanings and their beautiful poems that come in toe with their vibrant petals. It's truly a wonderful thing, I really wanna study them more. Fun fact! My favorite flower is a peony! I have a tattoo on my shoulder of a peony! ...in slue with an entire sleeve of random flowers, my tattoo artist just made up. Maybe the other arm I'll use for more structural floral... sorry for the tangent DHKFJSLDjf I love flowers. Thank you for this ask heuehueheue

Ahhhhhhh the idea of going out to a garden with Lilia...

I actually like to have this little headcannon that since Malleus is so interested in flowers and gardening, that perhaps he got that from Lilia. Flowers are our friends, after all! And what's better than making an entire garden of little friends to nourish? Along with creating a beautiful garden of roses, Malleus had delved deep into the world of floral poetry and representation.

You grab onto Lilias hand and pull him towards the back of ramshackle to show off the garden you and Malleus had placed together. Malleus was truly your wing man during this entire thing, he had vast knowledge about flowers and knew just the ones to plant In one large romantic gesture for the old fae. Malleus had landed you books and helped you study their different meanings, even taking time out of gargoyle studies club to dedicate gardening your surprise for Lilia.

"What has gotten you so eager, little bat?" Lilia chuckled, "Must truly be grand if you're so worked up like this!" You couldn't hide your excitement or giddiness as you headed towards the gate leading to the garden, a large black intricately designed gate in that perfectly suited the chicness of the dorm. Upon opening the gates, it revealed a large grandiose garden full of flowers of all sorts. Lilia's eyes widened as well as a toothy grin climbing onto his features, raising an impressed eyebrow.

"So this is what you and Malleus have been working so hard on?" He inquired, stepping forward and taking a look around, "I must say, it's rather an impressive feat! The sheer size is almost enough to rival Malleus's own rose garden back at the castle." You smiled brightly at him and skipped over to a particular patch you were proud of; Gardenias.

"These are Gardenias!" You pursed your lips as you bent over and grabbed something you had prepped before hand, taking hold of a neatly wrapped bouquet of gardenias and with a trembling hand pushing them in the arms of the fae. Lilia started slightly and took a gentle sniff of the flowers taking in their creamy sweet scent that reminded him of coconuts and peach. "They...they're for you!" You smiled.

"Oh they're lovely," Lilia said, "I presume you and Malleus are particularly proud of these ones! They bloomed wonderfully. I shall put them in my room!...oh, but I suppose they will need sunlight. Perhaps keeping them in Silvers care may be better..." You felt your heart drop and smile twitch ever so slightly. Pursing your lips you let out a dry nervous chuckle, tilting your head in awkwardness.

"I..Uh," You bit down your bottom lip, "Well, they were for you," You let out a breathy laugh.

"Of course! However I'm worried they may wilt in my care and you worked so hard! Hmm. Oh! I could put them in the lounge, so that everyone can see yours and Malleus's hard work!" You couldn't even bother to explain to him you were the one to nurture these flowers on your own upon Malleu's recommendation. He swore that Lilia would understand the meaning...it was common for fae folk to be knowledgeable on the world of flowers. Either Malleus Lied to you, which was unlikely, or Lilia was a part of the percentage that truly hadn't a clue.

You began to sweat bullets. Throughout this entire exchange, you weren't certain he understood your intentions. Or... was he purposefully deflecting the fact you had mainly meant this as a surprise for him? Was he thinking you were simply making excuses to hang out with Malleus? Or was he just that oblivious? It was rather distressing, for you already had an inkling that Lilia had not returned your feelings, and this only solidified your worries.

You began to wilt like a flower without water, your energy dying and your smiles becoming fake. You tried a few more times to hand him flowers, such as a singular rose (symbolizing love at first sight, a "one and only" in which the person you gift you give your heart to.) He insisted on taking a few more to decorate the lounge with.

This plan was failing terribly.

Finally, you let out a loud groan of frustration, pulling out a sheet of paper from your pocket with a burst of confidence and embarrassment. Your face took on a bright shade of red, pushing the letter into his chest. Lilia struggled to catch it with his hands full of flowers, eyes wide in bewilderment at this sudden display you put on. He stared in shock and confusion, unable to get a word out before you bolted out of the garden and to the dorm.

"Read that later!" You cried out.

"W-wait- what is-" He attempted to catch your attention, yet you were already out of view, leaving the fae utterly confused standing in the middle of the garden with arms full of flowers.

You threw yourself onto your bed and grasped your pillow, curling into a ball and groaning into it.

"eh? What's up with you?" Grim asked, "And what's this piece of paper?"

You sat up in a rush with wide eyes, staring at a piece of paper that you seemingly dropped from your person. You grabbed hold of it and took a look. It was the second page of the letter you had given Lilia... and undeniably the most important part. The first page detailed the history of flowers and how they have significance to them

the second page was the meanings of the flowers and why you chose them for the fae.

It was your confession.

You had forgotten to hand it to him in your flustered state.

You screamed into the pillow.

~ At Diasomnia ~

Lilia sat in the dorm lounge, reading over the page you had given him.

"Hmm...I knew flowers had meanings, but this letter seems unfinished. This is simply prefacing the history of flowers and that they hold meaning with a simple poem at the end, but the definitions they mentioned would be on the second page seem to be missing..." Lilia rubbed his head in confusion turning the paper around to find some sort of indication of continuation, Malleus walking in on the fae. Malleus flashed a mischievous smile.

"How did the visit to the garden go?" He inquired, "You seem confused rather than elated as I thought you would be..did something go ary?" He pointed out. Lilia shrugged and looked back at the tall draconic fae, tilting his head.

"I thought it was going well, (y/n) even handed me a bunch of flowers to bring back, along with this letter..." Lilia took a gander at the vase full of Gardenias and glanced back down at the letter in which stated every flower has a significant meaning.

"Malleus, could you tell me what Gardenias mean? I believe (y/n) meant to explain it to me, but the second half of this letter is missing." Malleus raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you would know?" Malleus furrowed his eyebrows, grabbing hold of the letter and skimming through its contents.

"Of course not. I like flowers of course, but I never took the time to truly study them as you did. I haven't a clue about definitions and things of the sort." The color seemed to drain from Malleus's face at realizing his mistake, before making his way to the gardenias and gently touching a petal from its bloom. He took a deep breath before giving a detailed explanation of their meaning: Passion, love romance, secrecy... Malleus explained the flower was to express a secret love that the prefect held for Lilia. Something that clearly went way over the old man's head.

Lilias's jaw was dropped to the ground, before quickly disappearing in a fog of green smoke.

He had to get the other half of that letter.

[brotherwtf]

I've a hc for omegaverse Clegan. Gale is an omega but is very smart and manipulative. John being the Alpha naturally should be having dominance over him but is very submissive when it comes to Gale. One of his friends(Curt maybe) they're like "You're an Alpha Bucky! You can't let an Omega toss you around like that" and he makes up his mind to tell Gale that he had enough of his games. Later when he meets Gale in barracks, he tries to say something but is coaxed by his sweet sent and he knows Gale is doing it on purpose. He meets his big blue eyes and look up through his lashes and pouty lips and John is like "Dammit!" And is immediately on his knees before Gale even speaks. Gale just smiles knowing he has complete control over his big bad alpha 😈

anon did you just crawl into my brain and pull these ideas out? because this is EXACTLY WHAT I NEED RIGHT NOW

----

Gale always knew he was irresistible to the alphas around him. He had a sickly sweet scent, one that clogged their brain and made them smile so prettily, bending to his whim with just the smallest smile.

He purposefully wore revealing clothing around other alphas, showing off his waist and his ass so that they couldn't possibly resist scenting and marking him up.

It worked especially well with John. John who seemed like he never had the comfort of an omega in his life, smiled big and bright and was perfectly cocky. His scent immediately made Gale feel loopy, brought a warmth into his room that he hadn't seen from an alpha in a long time.

Gale knew from that moment that he was going to make John his.

It wasn't very hard, John seemed to fold at the attention of any omega, but he still had to work for it a little bit.

After long days on the base, Gale would purposefully make his scent sweeter so John would stay in, would urge him to crawl into the nest of sheets he made just so he could smell the thick and heady scent of an alpha. He would bat his eyelashes just so, bite his lip until it was swollen and plump, all so John would bend to his whim.

And it worked, John was bewitched, mind, body and soul by the sweetness that was Gale.

John was so willing to please his omega, wanted nothing more than for him to be happy and sated, craved that sweet sweet smell that was associated with a Gale that was content. This often meant having his knot or his cock available whenever Gale wanted it, which was often.

John didn't complain, he honestly liked being readily available for Gale whenever he needed him, couldn't complain because he felt good when Gale used him, too. It was only when Curt started asking questions that Gale started to see some doubt in Gale.

It wasn't normal, this dynamic between them. Alphas were supposed to be the ones in control, domineering over their omega and forcing them to do what they wanted, not the other way around.

So when Curt notices how readily John bends to Gale's commands, alarm bells instantly go off in his head. This wasn't normal, omegas weren't supposed to be this controlling.

He tried to bring it up to John a couple of times in passing, would point at omegas and off-handedly mention how good and submissive they were, man how he wished he had an omega like that, and hey? how's your omega doing? And John just says he's good, he treats him well, and Curt's just so confused.

Even after he tries to subtly push that John and Gales relationship wasn't normal, John wasn't catching the bait. So one day, he just goes outright and says it.

"It's not normal! An omega, pushing an alpha around? Bucky, you gotta say something. Put him in his place!" Curt says and it makes John think.

It wasn't normal, what was going on between him and Gale. He didn't see any other alphas get so easily pushed around by their omegas, didn't see them fall so easily to their whim. So he decides he's going to say something to Gale, to try and make their dynamic more normal.

Once John's back in the dorms, he can already smell Gale's scent, something more sickeningly sweet than usual. It makes John's heady, but he holds his ground, goes up to Gale and stands firm.

"Gale, I'm thinking that you're taking too much control for an omega. I am your alpha, your mate, I feel like I should have more control here," John says, and it almost looks like Gale believes him.

Gale's definitely shocked, mouth slightly agape as he looks John up and down. But then his face splits into a coy smile, and the room gets somehow sweeter.

"Really? Am I being too controlling? I'm sorry darling, I swear I'll stop, forgive me?" Gale says, looking up through his lashes and John knows, he just fucking knows that Gales controlling him.

He wants to fight back, wants to tell Gale to fuck off, but Gales sat on the bed, spreading his legs and beckoning for John to crawl between them, and who is Gale to deny his omega?

[r-is-typing]

fears, flying, and facts | s.r

summary: in which spencer spews random facts; one helpful and one... not so helpful

request: hi, are you still taking requests? if you are, can you write something with spencer comforting the reader because she has a fear of heights?

requested by: @midnightreids

pairing: spencer reid x reader

category: fluff

content warnings: little bit of anxiety in the beginning, resolves quickly! word count: >500

"Not a fan of flying?" The voice of Spencer Reid made the girl jump, as if she wasn't shaky enough due to the ongoing turbulence. "Uh, just a bit." She tried to laugh to hide how scared she was, but who was she kidding? She was in an enclosed space, 30,000 feet in the air with a bunch of profilers.

There was no hiding her undeniable fear of flying.

"You know, it's not bad. There's less to worry about flying than there is driving." The girl looked up at him in curiosity, urging him to continue. "I mean, what we really need to worry about are microbursts - a sudden downburst of air associated with thunderstorm. But a small aircraft like this, if we hit one of those at the wrong altitude," he stops, mimicking an explosion with his fist and mouth, making Y/N tighten her seatbelt more than it already was, practically squeezing her stomach against her ribs.

"Alright, I think she gets it." Derek pats Spencer on the back, and Reid moves his eye contact from Derek to Y/N, now noticing how scared she looked.

"Oh, gosh, uh, I'm so sorry. Usually my facts don't scare you that bad." He joked. "Spence, it's okay. Usually your facts aren't about things I'm deathly afraid of." She jokes back, cracking a light smile. "Why don't you tell me something else?" Spencer lights up at this, thanking the universe he finally got a chance to spew some random fact that had been stored up in his genius brain for who knows how long.

"The praying mantis can kill and eat a multitude of creatures but the most interesting fact is that oftentimes the female mantis engages in sexual cannibalism, meaning she’ll bite off the head of her mate once copulation is complete, sometimes even during intercourse, actually."

Y/N looked at the man in disbelief. "Huh. I had no idea, that's... strangely interesting." She laughs softly. "I guess I know I can always count on you for weird facts, huh?" Spencer nodded excitedly, thankful someone actually wanted to hear him talk about the random things his brain stores.

So, that's what he did. He spent the rest of the flight from Virginia to California telling Y/N random facts to keep her distracted from her surroundings.

r is typing... thank you so much for the request! i could really only write a blurb about this certain scenario, but i'm really happy with how it turned out! r is signing off...

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[becoming-less-than]

Master told me I needed to make a post about how I feel when we are done with a training session. Our sessions are a lot of conditioning through association of pleasure with the things Master wants me to internalize. Lots of hypno gifs filled with the best most humiliating and most degrading debaucheries that make me soo aroused and needy, truths he wants me to repeat and internalize until they become second nature and irrefutable. We opted for this kind of training because conventional hypnosis is hard for me my Autistic ADHD dyslexic brain gets easily distracted, or starts correcting grammar, meter, syntax and diction, or the voice of the tist just grates and I tend not to be able to relax into trance. Regardless Master has opted to undermine my current self with pleasure through edging and controlled orgasms. I initially thought this would be mostly ineffective, that it wouldn’t achieve desired results but I am more than able to admit when I am wrong.

Our third such session caused me to drop into a headspace I don’t think I have ever experienced before that time. It was like trying to think through honey. My thoughts felt slow and seemed to stick together in a way that made articulating them very hard. I felt spacey and spaced out like I had disassociated but instead of boredom or distraction being the trigger it was pleasure. Just kind like lost in this syrupy sweet haze of pleasure and contentment that slowed everything down in a way that not even the best drugs or hours of meditation have ever achieved. I was trying to provide feedback on the session so Master could more effectively continue to brainwash me and that analytical process did seem to cause the feeling to burn away quite a bit more quickly than it might have otherwise, but threads of it lingered for over an hour in various corners of my mind.

It was during our fourth session, and my second drop into the warm comforting embrace that he broke my sexual orientation. That he made me accept the reality that I crave cock. Ache to serve cock. To suck cock. To be fucked by cock. And the haze felt even better I struggled to articulate thoughts into sentences, to find words for discrete ideas, to remember what I’d done that day other than edge for Master because he told me to; to repeat the truths he spoke into being within me; and to cum because he commanded me. That sweet honeyed haze lasted until I fell asleep that night almost two hours later.

I awoke with the sticky gossamer of it wrapped around my mind the next morning. It urged me to let go and fall back tried to tempt me into seeking it back out and surrender. I managed to hold off long enough to complete essential tasks,but when they were done, I begged Master to let me edge and he graced me with my fifth session. One that left me appreciably dumb and slow and spacey and blissed for several hours before my next commitment during my day. However, when that commitment ended Master gave me a 6th session I was utterly unprepared for and hadn’t expected.

It left me broken in the wake of it feeling like my head was abuzz with the pleasure of obedience, of pleasing my Master, of being his dumb bimbo cow slut. I literally couldn’t remember the words I was looking for when Master asked me to describe the feeling. I told him “I feel like my head is full of buzzing insects, the cute ones, that are good for the environment and plants, that make honey… bees” it took me nearly 3 minutes to remember the word “bees” and that small humiliation was in and of itself arousing but drove home to me just what an impact this work I am doing with Master is having on me. Things linger longer after each session, I crave them more in between, and I fall deeper, get dumber, and better understand the bliss of service and obedience with each one; they are changing me and I love it!!!

Thank you Master for your time and effort in making me your pleasing dumb bimbo cow. I hope this meets your expectations; and that that success means I’ve been a good girl. Moo! 🖤