#even if most of the songs that mention birds that i listen to are not happy

[finchsthoughts]

Songs that mention birds my beloved

[elbiotipo]

I can't do a more deep opinion on this orca thing because yeah one can say "go orcas!", it feels good, doesn't it?...

but in fact those must be very scattered cases that won't change the fact that the current situation is that ocean transport is noisy, it's everywhere, and it must be driving these very, very sensitive animals crazy. Before motors, a whale could listen to what was happening in South Africa from the Argentine coast. Now their range of communication must have dropped to only a few kilometers: moreover, all the noise must be insane. There have been studies saying that even things like lawnmowers can make permanent ear damage to small rodents, and birds have had to adapt to city noises (their songs changed to a more "natural" pattern during the pandemic lockdowns) So I can't imagine what such things must be doing to the minds of orcas, one of the animals with the most complex and intelligent behavior registered outside of primates, and extremely sensitive to sound. Can we even understand what they're going through right now.

And this is not to mention the widespread whale (baleen whales, not orcas) hunting that decimated their populations to an absurd degree. All the world is currently going through a beyond worrying trend of defaunation, but whales were particulary hurt. There were 250.000 (estimated) blue whales before whaling, and they were decimated to less than 2000. Even today, with strict conservation measures, there's around 10-25k blue whales, and that's one species. Let that sink in.

Is there a solution to this, besides returning to the age of sail and banning ocean explotation? I don't know, there might be. I hope there is.

When I read about orcas, about their behavior, about their pods with their own almost cultural quirks and even dialects, so much we don't know about them, I only remember Arthur C. Clarke, when he spoke about blue whales: “We do not know the true nature of the entities we are destroying”

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。—will i ever bring you peace? | gojo satoru

wc: 1.4k

summary: gojo can’t give you a quiet life. no matter what. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns are used, hurt/comfort, jealous!gojo, more of gojo��s internal thoughts, mentions of an oc, gojo deserves all the luvin!!

a/n: split this into two parts: the first half (the prev part), lighter and more central to reader’s perspective, while the second half (this one), darker, and more central to gojo’s perspective. best read after ‘so this is what it means to be in love’ because there are some references made! reading the other parts, while not necessary, will add more to the experience (some references are made)! song i listened to while writing this was peace by taylor swift! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love 3.5a. this feeling inside of me— <- you are here -> +04. take my time (i'll spend it all on you)

“Would you ever want a quiet life?” 

The pond below you ripples as the koi fish swims away. 

You turn to face Gojo, hands hanging over the bridge railing, remnants of soft youth in his cheeks at 24. 

“I’d say it’s pretty quiet right now.” he answers, signature teasing lilt to his tone. He gestures around him, focusing your attention to how tranquil it is right now—sun beaming and the sound of nature in birds chirping and water trickling.

You roll your eyes; it’s always the distractions and non-answers with him. 

The silence between you is the product of years spent getting closer to reach this point; a silence of knowing that gives Gojo the space and time to reveal things on his own. 

“You already know my answer to that.” he says after a while, looking back down to the pond beneath you. 

And you do—with his small smile, almost resigned. There’s no point thinking about it. Just like when you’d asked him about love. It’s just not meant for him. 

“Would you?” he throws the question back at you, turning to you when he asks it. 

It’s a silly thing, to let hope like this bloom; you both know it’s well past that point now, too deep into chasing his vision for the future of jujutsu society—but it’s free to dream, right?

“I would, I think. Some peace from all this.” 

.

.

.

Gojo’s starting to hate that sinking feeling in his stomach lately—knots twisting before they burst into fits of pop! pop! popping!

It’s uncomfortable and annoying, seemingly getting worse the more he sits in these political meetings with you and ‘Kazuo’—or whoever this politican is, pulling your seat for you and making you laugh; the gentleman etiquette. He even lets you call him by his first name. 

There’s a slight tic to Gojo’s brow as he sits across you, leaning on the back of his chair with his arms crossed and leg propped up on the other. Obviously, you’re just being nice, nodding and smiling as you listen to Kazuo run through the document for this meeting beside you. 

But it still makes Gojo ache. 

He hasn’t been to many of these meetings, but he’s gathered enough to know what kind of guy this Kazuo is: well-dressed, good smile, good teeth–all things he has himself–but also, a gentleman, good-natured and hardworking, kind and gentle, and most of all at peace. Rumor has it that he’s looking to settle down soon, away from the politics to a nearby town just on the outskirts of the city—not too far but also not too close.

Seeing you smiling with him now just brings it back, that conversation you had years ago at 24 gnawing at him. 

“Would you ever want a quiet life?” you had asked, and when he threw it back to you—

“I would, I think. Some peace from all this.” 

It aches.

.

Gojo waits for you at the end of the meeting, watching as you and Kazuo continue to exchange pleasantries. He knows there isn’t anything to it, but there’s that knot in his stomach again, pop! pop! popping! and it worsens when he hears the secretaries gush about how you and Kazuo look so compatible, perfect—fit to get married. 

How disrespectful to your relationship, Gojo thinks. 

He huffs, quiet enough not to cause a scene but loud enough for you to hear him—to know that he isn’t in the mood for any of this. And in the perfect way you’ve synced yourself to him all these years, you smoothly transition into giving Kazuo your well wishes, accepting his handshake as your eyes meet with Gojo’s for him to do the same. 

When you both step out of the room, you make sure to hold his hand tightly, surely, in all the loving ways, but he grips back only lightly, leaving a small space–that infinity–between your palms on the way back home today. 

.

When Gojo thinks about it, it isn’t even because he’s lacking. He’s worked hard and continues to do so everyday, treating you well, loving you in the ways you deserve. 

But will it truly ever be enough? 

How can it be when you deserve more, so much more than this life you’ve been chained to since you were young?

Jujutsu society has been so rough to the both of you, that he thinks you, out of all people, deserve at the very least, some peace. Now that his vision is turning into a reality, maybe you can take a step back and afford a little more leniency. 

A good life, with a good partner, who will love you in peace. 

Someone like Kazuo.

Not him.

The thought is unusual; Gojo’s never really been one to feel insecure, but he thinks that, when you love someone this much, you’ll always want the best for them, even when you realize that the best might not be synonymous to being yours. 

Gojo can’t give you a quiet life. 

No matter what. 

Who he is is so intrinsically linked to this society and the direction it's taking that it’ll follow him wherever he goes.

He sinks deeper into his pillow. 

“You okay?” you come out of the bathroom, dressed in the matching pajama set you both got a few weeks ago—his, buried somewhere in the mishmash of your laundry clothes.

The thought sears itself into his mind, how your lives now are so intertwined.

He doesn’t answer. 

How can he ever let this go?

It aches. Again. 

The bed dips as you get into it, lifting up the comforter to snuggle into him. His back is facing you, unmoving, but your heart beats against the warmth pressed to your chest. 

You hope he feels it, how it’s for him. 

“Wanna let me in your head a little?” you wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling your nose at the nape of his neck. You use the same body wash but Gojo has always retained a scent that is distinctly his own—a bit sweet like the strawberries he loves eating and something close to baby powder, as unassuming as it may be. 

His breath hitches before he starts fiddling with your fingers resting on his waist. He’s biting his lips, you know. 

“Do you still want a quiet life?” he mumbles, almost a whisper. You wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t so pressed up against him. 

You’re confused, a little shocked, but mostly confused because where did this come from?

Gojo holds his breath, waiting for your answer. He can’t turn to look at you when you do, afraid that what he’ll find—what you’ll want, won’t be something he can give you. 

“Doesn’t sound too bad, I guess.” you answer, lips tickling his skin. He can’t release his breath; it’s the answer he’s been dreading. 

There’s silence, a stretch that feels too long but only spans a few seconds. His mind plays an endless loop; the single thought that that isn’t the life he can give you.

Should he break up with you?

How is he supposed to tell—

“I like this life now better though, with you.” you squeeze him tighter, kissing the side of his neck that you can reach. 

He stiffens in your hold, but you can feel the thrums of his heartbeat. It comes slowly, but he releases the breath he was holding before relaxing a bit, something you hope is from relief.  

“You sure?” he asks, trying to sound teasing, but you hear through it. Of course you do.

“You’ll be stuck with me forever, you know.” 

You can swear he sniffled. 

“Doesn't sound too bad to me.” 

He shifts, turning to face you, and when he sees you—

—it’s like falling in love with you again, he thinks. 

The ache is still there, but it’s different, replaced by something burning, almost bursting; the feelings he can’t contain—he wants to say it: I love you; thank you for loving me, but the words are lodged in his throat and his eyes are watering, collecting like pools of rain along his lash line before spilling. 

Gojo doesn’t cry often, but when he does, you try to kiss away every hurt, every pain, that comes with it. So there, by his eyes, are your lips, soft and tender, kissing away his tears as you cradle him to your chest, letting him hug you for however long he needs to be held like this. 

It’s relief, he wants to tell you, that you don’t have to worry; these are good tears—grateful that he gets to have you in this life because you like it better. 

But there’s no pressure, there never is with you—you’ve always been like that. You don’t question him right now, trusting that he’ll tell you all about it tomorrow like he always does. 

For now, all you want to do is hold him, quiet down all the noise in his head and keep him right by your heart, loving him close.

a/n: the first and second part wouldn’t have fit in tone if i put them in one fic, so i split them! the first part is lighter and just overall good vibes if you're up for that!

thank you notes: to niku @stellamancer for listening to me and being there when i seriously needed it writing this!! & to dilly and somi my bbgirls!! @crysugu @soumies for always cheering me on, especially during the slump!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Springtime Caresses

III. Angsty Dadstarion, but it's quite alright.

“Here, papa, here! You have to lie down right here! Don’t move!” 

Warm grass tickles the back of Astarion’s neck. With his eyes closed to the bright sun above him, he listens to his surroundings, takes in the bird song and wind dancing through the trees. The static buzz of honey bees. Children’s play. 

Life. 

He’s not asleep but pretends to be. It’s part of the game, or so he’s been told. 

“Sweet dreams, papa!” 

Most of his dreams are sweet these days, but he doesn’t mention that, just complies. 

The scents of sun-warmed soil and perfectly ripened strawberries carry a promise of summer to his nose, lulling Astarion into a twilight state of content drowsiness. Maybe he will allow himself to fall into reverie, after all. He’s tranced in worse places, and with worse company, too. 

But that was a long time ago.

Now, he enjoys ruining his silken shirts with grass stains. Fresh air filling his lungs all day long. The feeling of tiny hands weaving wildflowers into his silver curls. 

Even after all these years, this experience will never cease feeling novel to him—the warmth, the tranquillity. This deep sense of belonging.

Peace.

It’s not a sweet dream, but reality. It’s as real as the wild shrieks and laughter sweeping across the meadow. Children jumping over and around him, eager to slay this or that imaginary fiend. The hem of a skirt he mended only last night brushing against his legs. A young boy humming a song his mother sang over breakfast close to his ear. 

Astarion smiles, or tries not to, since he’s promised to be fast asleep—even when there’s a sudden tug at his hair. 

The humming stops; the laughter fades into displeased groans all around him. Astarion doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that the face eclipsing the sun above him is a much younger version of his own. 

“Careful, Miri, that hurts papa!” The boy scolds as he gently untangles his little sister’s hand from their father’s locks.

“Uh-oh!” the toddler mumbles before she helps the boy pick stray sticks from Astarion’s hair. “Bad!”  

“Yes, Miri—bad.” 

Astarion suppresses the urge to take his daughter’s clumsy hand in his and press a soothing kiss to her small fingers, telling her it’s quite alright. That no harm was done. There never is. Not here. Not with them. 

But all he has to do today is feign sleep, so he will reassure the child later when it’s his turn to braid her hair in time for bed.

“Sorry, papa,” another girl calls from near the treeline. “Miri didn’t mean to hurt you! But don’t worry, we’ll protect you from the true beast!” 

This time, Astarion cannot help the faint smile tugging at his lips. 

It’s a lovely promise, lisped through missing front teeth. And it’s true—most of the time, at least. 

These children, this family he helped create with nothing but love and devotion, distract him from the beast prowling the everlasting darkness far in the back of his mind.

Yet, sometimes, distraction alone isn’t enough… 

Astarion doesn’t like to dwell on the rare occasions when the beast eventually does find its way to him. It’s tamer now, the years have made it lazy enough, but every now and then, it will probe him. It can still sniff out the weakness he’ll never be able to shed, knows whenever he’s at his lowest. 

The beast only lunges at easy prey—it always has.

So, sometimes, when Astarion’s nights are tense with endless whining, misplaced toys and sharp words, the beast breathes down his neck, whispers in his ear.

On your back, boy, right here. Do not move. It will not hurt unless you let it. Your screams have always sounded the sweetest. Are you hurting, yet? Good, it’s because I want you to. It’s what you deserve, you insolent fool. Have you no respect for yourself? That’s why they hate you so, that’s why you’re but a pathetic little boy who’s never amounted to anything that’s why you’re nothing that’s why—

Once the older children perform their duty to scold the youngest among them, the laughter returns. Their faceless fiend is fair game again and all Astarion has to do is sleep, trust in his family’s sweet promise that holds his cure. 

Because, as exhausting as it is, he has learned to ignore the beast, become numb to its poison. It’s a thing of the past and he won’t let it taint his future. 

Astarion lets out a deep breath. He can feel himself grow tired under the little hands stroking his hair.

“No worry, papa.”

No worry, no. Not here. Not with them. Never with them…

There’s a gust of wind coming from up north. It carries the scents of sickly sweet strawberries and petrichor and, ever so slowly, Astarion can feel his mind slipping. 

He doesn’t sleep; he hasn’t in a very long time. Sleep, true sleep, is vulgar and reminds him of death. Instead, Astarion drowns in memories, but even there he’s buried six feet under today. 

There are no strawberries in this freshly dug grave, only the stink of decay. The damp wood of his coffin presses uncomfortably into his back while worms and maggots tickle his neck. Eating at him. Consuming him. 

His broken fingernails hurt as he claws at the darkness surrounding him—this deep in the ground, all shades of grey are tainted black. Sometimes he wonders if his eyes are even open, but they must be because they burn with tears and blood and dust.

There’s laughter coming from somewhere above. It’s rumbling like far-away thunder; it hasn’t reached him, yet, but the threat of it is already stunning him with fear.

He cannot speak he cannot see he cannot be he cannot—

The laughter isn’t coming from above, nor is it coming from anywhere, really. It’s residing inside his head, this vile laughter that won’t let him in on the joke. And why would it? He is nothing, is he not? All he is is blood and screams and death. Bodies piled atop his aching shoulders, weighing him down.

So why is he moving? Why is he digging through wet soil until he can see moonlight illuminating his path to…

The beast eclipses the moon and the stars shining down on him. It has stopped laughing, though its maw is stretched into an unnatural grin, revealing a pair of sharp fangs—the key to the wounds on his neck. A promise of endless misery.

He cannot stop moving towards the beast. It holds its claws out to him, stroking his hair, scratching his scalp raw. There you are, boy, always crawling back to me. My good, prodigal son—look at you! Do you know why you’re here? With me? It’s because, after all these years, you’re still mine. And you will always be.

“Astarion?”

There’s a light drizzle soaking his skin. 

Astarion opens his eyes to a sun that’s crawled past its zenith, taking the music of children’s play with it. The silence feels oppressive, just like the calm before a great storm, and all he can feel are the small, warm bodies Astarion helped create press against him. They’re curled up against his side, lying draped over his legs, clutching his arm. Weighing him down.

No.

Grounding him, always ever grounding him. 

He needs to shield his sleeping children from the rain, he thinks, but his arms are still caged somewhere between nightmare and reality. 

Fuck, how long had he been out?

Astarion inhales deeply. He just needs a moment to come to his senses.

He can smell rain-soaked cotton, crisp air and that faint scent of magic he would recognise even if he were buried deep in the ground.

Oh, of course…

“Astarion.”

He allows himself a relieved half-smile as the rain above him is coming to a sudden halt a moment later. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, my heart,” Tav says as she steps into the meadow, one eyebrow raised at the sight in front of her. “But what in the nine hells are you doing out here?”

Astarion can only watch as little droplets of rain run down the magic dome enclosing him and the children, tear drops that can never reach them now. 

“I’m a sleeping princess, or so I’ve been told. But I’m rather afraid my knights in shining armour fell asleep before they got to wake me…” 

Tav joins her family under her shield of magic, strokes the head of the child closest to her as she smiles at her husband.

“I see. May I kiss you awake instead, then?” 

“You already have, darling,” Astarion whispers. “But do it again, yes? Just to be on the safe side…?” 

His hand brushes the swell of Tav’s stomach as she’s trying to settle comfortably against him. It’s getting rather crowded—the house, life, moments like this—but there’s always room for one more, Astarion thinks.

Tav grins as she sweetly kisses her way from his cheek to his mouth, where she finally lingers. 

To Astarion, Tav’s lips taste of freedom, of nightmares swiftly broken. Of home—the best distraction he never dared to hope for. One he never wants to end.

In the distance, there’s a gentle thunder rolling towards the meadow, but that’s quite alright. Astarion knows that it can’t do any harm. Not here. Not with them.

Never with his family around him.

@seaofdaydreams , my dear, I hope you do not mind me borrowing Miri's name for this one ♡

more Dadstarion content

tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan @darlingxdragon @herautumnmorningelegance

[foodiegoogie]

wonder what's in the cards for us?

james potter x ex!reader ✮ 1.7k

summary: you live in james’ mind, rent-free, even after all these years.

cw/tags: gn!reader (no use of y/n), lovers (mentioned) to exes to (???), muggle!au, modern!au, (sorta???) angst... w/ an ending (wink wonk), and as u can probably already tell, this is from james' pov :>

note: now i also didnt know what i was doing with this one even more than the other james fic i just wrote 😭 but thats fine, ive managed to churn it out at least! so to whoever comes across this, well.. i hope you give it a chance 🫶 bcoz james is a very lovesick puppy here despite the angsty vibe LOL and also, this is yet again based on another niki song called, "facebook friends" 😋 ENJOYY !

( ♡ )

Amidst a desk full of open textbooks filled with dog-eared pages, highlighted phrases, and color-coordinated tabs lies a laptop—also opened, the screen glaring brightly within the dark confines of James Potter’s dorm room, with multiple tabs open on a browser; they consist of articles, research domains, and the like.

In front of this laptop is James Potter himself, staring right at the screen with a sullen look on his face. He has his headphones on (most likely listening to a song matching his mood), his forearms are placed onto the desk, and his chin is resting on them. It was easy to say that James was currently not having the time of his life trying to study for finals.

But then again, he was also currently not studying for finals despite being surrounded by his textbooks, along with the multiple tabs opened on his computer. No, he was staring right at an open Facebook tab, eyes darting over every single aspect of a specific profile as his fingers swiped up and down on the touchpad, scrolling through the profile.

He’s inherently aware that he should be studying, of course. Like many other college students think, the finals season was a force to be reckoned with, and it was absolutely critical that every spare time spent is for studying for the examinations. But as far as James was also aware of—he couldn’t sit still and be laser-focused on doing godforsaken tasks such as studying for his finals.

And so, here he was, scrolling mindlessly on your Facebook profile. Because, really, he tends to get into a sentimental mood whenever he studies. It’s either he’s looking at a photo album and reminiscing memories, grabbing random things displayed around his room and thinking about what they meant to him, or, you know, scrolling mindlessly on Facebook because that’s where his past connection with you is immortalized.

He doesn’t quite know how it all started—for one thing, he remembers being a highschool heartthrob, girls and boys alike falling at his feet. And if he was feeling particularly spunky, he’d entertain a few pretty birds or two. All the while, they had never meant anything to him other than an ego boost or just a mere distraction (which, he admittedly thinks now, made him a dick).

But amongst all of these flings, James remembers one differently than the others. He remembers you—you and your smile, your laugh, your ability to make him feel like he’s on top of the world, your ability to suddenly make everything good in the world only ten times better. He remembers absolutely everything about you. Both the good, and the bad.

He never tries to think of the bad, but even as he reminisces on the good times he’s had with you, it makes him feel just as sad as when he thinks of the bad times. So it’s a never-ending struggle against keeping you close in his memories whilst also being aware that it wasn’t right, it wasn’t healthy for him. Only fools have attachment issues with their highschool ex that they carry on to their college life.

Perhaps that was why it had all gone downhill for the both of you, he thought. As a young teenage boy capable of attracting attention from left and right, and regularly switching between person to person, he couldn’t handle ‘serious.’ He’d selfishly wanted you all to himself, but without the limits of commitment. Meanwhile, you wanted ‘serious.’ You wanted commitment. James was scared because he was unfamiliar with it all.

So naturally, you had drifted apart, never again boarding on the seesaw of your ‘relationship’ with each other. The one that bordered on the line between friends and lovers.

And in a petty attempt to ‘get back at you’ and forget about you wholly, James strived to disconnect you from across all his social media accounts, erasing any and every semblance of a connection between the two of you.

Well, all except Facebook.

It’s a guilty pleasure for him, checking on your Facebook profile every now and then. And each time, it comes to his surprise that he’s still even able to view your profile freely, as you hadn’t made the move to unfriend him like he expected you to. He feels lucky that he’s still able to keep up with your life despite not having to be in it anymore. But then again, you had always been kind back then; it’s one of the many other reasons why he still loves you, really.

But oh, how he wishes he was still in it.

James would never admit it aloud to anyone that even after all this time, he’s still not over you. Yet, at the same time, he doesn’t want to be over you. You were the next best thing to something he didn’t even know he was looking for at the time. He had underestimated how much of an impact your presence had made on him, regardless of how brief it was.

He misses you, so to speak.

It’s a pretty shitty feeling, to miss someone he can’t really see anymore, nor talk to or reach out to.

On some days, it’s easy to bear. College keeps him busy, his friends keep him entertained, and he’s been going out on a few dates, too - trying to find someone better than you so he can finally subdue the lingering feelings in his heart, and end this endless cycle of longing and waiting and loving.

And most nights, he’s able to sleep peacefully with dreams of a distant fantasy where he’s managed to finally find someone new, someone better. Someone else who could give him what you took back.

But on the other days and nights, James faces the harsh truths that there was simply no one better than you, and that a part of him will always long for you back in his life, right where you belonged.

And so, as he scrolls through your Facebook profile, and sees glimpses into your life nowadays, he can’t help but miss you more than he already does, unknowingly and unforgivably. Of course, he’s highly aware that shamelessly stalking you every now and then was incredibly creepy of him, yet, he can’t help it. He’s silently relieved by the fact that there appears to be no sign of you in a relationship at the moment, almost selfishly thinking, maybe I have a chance.

But he knows it’s a far stretch, knows that whatever the both of you had with each other was a thing of the past now; nothing but a fleeting memory. And now that he’s a little older and wiser than he was when he met you, James has resigned himself to the fact that he may never be with you again in the way he wants to.

He’s not afraid of ‘serious’ anymore, nor is he afraid of commitment, and he no longer blames it on his unfamiliarity with them either. Now, he wants it too.

But as always, he was late to realize it. And at the same time, you were no longer there to wait for him to.

And so, as James continues to pine after you even after all this time, he’s foolishly hoping that the two of you would cross paths again; get to know each other again, get to know him again now that he’s managed to grow into a better version of himself. He wishes that you’d met this version of him first, because maybe then, you would have stayed together.

But of course, as the harsh reality of things would have it, James is more than happy to just stay friends with you on Facebook. He’ll keep you close in his memories while silently hoping for a chance to try again. To try it all with you again.

Suddenly, he feels the desk shake from beneath him, a vibrating sensation that pulls him out of his thoughts of you. It comes from his phone, which now shows a wacky selfie of Sirius, indicating a call from him.

James stares at it for a few seconds, debating on whether he should answer his friend’s call despite the likely reason that it’s just another one of Sirius’ jests or drunk calls, or maybe even a butt dial. But he decides to welcome the distraction eventually, placing his headphones around his neck as he moved to grab the phone, pressing it to his ear.

“Hello—”

“OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR, YOU MORON! I’VE BEEN KNOCKING FOR THE PAST TEN MINUTES HERE!”

James nearly jolts out of his seat as he pulls the phone away from his ear by Sirius’ yelling. He has half a mind to yell back at him and explain that he was ‘in the middle of something,’ which led to his not noticing his friends’ knocking.

But he doesn’t find the energy to do it no matter how annoying Sirius was being. So, he sighs.

James hears the banging on his door now, and the yelling comes again from both outside his door, and the speakers on his phone. It forms an echo of Sirius’ voice demanding that he be let in, and it gives James a headache.

He calls out, “I’m coming!” in an annoyed voice, rushing to close the open tab of your Facebook profile on his laptop so he could finally open the door for his friend.

What James doesn’t notice though is that during the process of closing the tab, he’d managed to accidentally leave a like on one of your old posts. He never visits your profile again after letting Sirius come in and hang around his dorm for the remainder of the day. Thus, imagine his surprise the next day, as he opens the Facebook tab again, finding a message waiting for him, and from you.

hi james :) how are you doing?

And just like that, the inhibitions that had once held him back from indulging in his desires to try another chance with you are completely shed as James hastily typed out his response.

( ♡ )

surprise! it's an open ending ;) thanks for reading the whole thing <333 and as always, likes, replies, and reblogs are very much appreciated :] lmk what u thought abt this!!! <3

[lohotine]

(does a lil twirl) hi!!! hello!! i’ve never sent in an ask like this before, so sorry if i do something wrong o|-<! but what would be your take/your thoughts on a yandere shadow milk situation, where the reader truly starts to fight back, resist? 🤔

AN: Inspo from the song "Meant To be Yours."

Shadow Milk x Reader

Oneshot

Warnings: Yandere, toxic relationship, obsessing, manipulation, mentions of murder

-Locked Out-

"Come on doll, you're just being silly!"

A few knocks would be sounded on your door.

"I already told you. I'm not coming out until you agree to let me leave!"

Shadow Milk sighed. Surely you didn't think that something as simple as a door would be able to stop him... right? He almost found your stupidity amusing....

Oh well. Entertaining this small delusion of yours for a little while couldn't hurt.

"You know locking yourself in there kind of defeats the purpose of being able to escape, right?" He'd ask you.

...

"I don't care! I just don't want to see your stupid face. I hate you!"

And you'd keep repeating that last line over and over.

"I hate you."

He knew better than anyone that those words held no truth. They couldn't! How could you hate him when all he's been doing has been in your name?

He lived for you. He breathed for you. All of his thoughts were for you. It was all you, you, you, you, you!

You were akin to a beautiful bird. One that, if it were to ever escape, would surely be hunted down by others. That's why you needed to stay here, with him, where he could keep you safe.

Keeping you chained down was in your best intrets, even if it did strip you of your freedom... He was the only one who deserved to see you, after all.

"Listen, my doll. I love you so much. Why don't we just end this silly argument?"

His voice sounded so inciting, yet it was laced with a venom that would kill you if you ever let it in.

"No. Don't talk to me unless you're bringing me outside."

There you went again, acting all stubborn... It was a fun game at first, but it's now become a lot more troublesome.

"Open this door," he said, this time with much less leniency in his voice.

He said it in such a way that shook you to your very core. It was cold and uncaring, unlike his usual playful self.

But... you just knew you couldn't open that door. You'd basically be handing your freedom over to him.

"You know I hate it when you do these things-" a loud bang came from the other side of the door, "you always make it look like I'm the bad guy."

But you would not move. You did not open that door. You could not open that door.

"If this door isn't open in five seconds, I'm going to come in there myself."

...

What caused his personality to change so much?

"Five."

Why did it have to be you that he adored?

"Four."

Can't he just leave you alone?

"Three."

He's actually insane!

"Two."

Please go away...

"One."

....

You asked for this, Shadow Milk thought to himself. If only you had cooperated more. Maybe he wouldn't have to do these things. It really was all your fault.

He vanished into some shadows before swiftly reappearing on the other side of the door; where you were.

Ah, he just loved seeing your face full of fear.

We're you scared of him?

Good. You should be.

It's about time you realize who's really pulling the strings.

"You didn't really think escaping me would be so easy right? A simple locked door is hardly an obstacle, doll." He bent down in front of you, smiling and patting your head degradingly.

Tears would prick the corners of your glossy eyes as you realized you had lost.

"Oh, I've just had the most brilliant idea!" He leaned slightly closer to you. "You said you wanted to go outside, right?"

There wasn't a response from you, but you looked up at him ever so slightly.

"How about I bring you to a nice little village and slaughter each one of the residents in front of you?" His smile turned crazed, and there was hardly any sanity left in those eyes of his.

I mean, of course he'd never actually bring you outside. There was too much risk in something like that. He just needed to scare you a bit. Get you to submit.

You'd grab his arm and started to beg; quite pathetically at that.

"Don't-"

He just kept smiling, forcing you to your feet and dragging you around by the wrist.

"Wait! Don't do that please," You'd say in between a few sobs.

His grasp around your wrist tightened.

"Tell me you're sorry," he said.

"What-?"

"Apologize."

"I'm sorry.." your legs began to quiver and you'd take a small step away from him instinctly.

He cupped your face, bringing you closer to him. "For what?"

"For not listening."

It's strange, really. He was the one breaking you down, yet you were the one apologizing. It's scary how easy it is to get you crawling back to him.

"All right. I'll forgive you. But only because I'm so loving and understanding."

He brought your face to his, pushing his forehead against yours.

"Just know that next time I won't hesitate to kill all of them, and it'll be all your fault if I do."

《☆》 Fin

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets - Epilogue

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support throughout the story my darlings! I hope you enjoy the epilogue as well, ILYSM! ❤️

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex.

Thank you to @theskytraveler for helping me with the story and the chapter!

Series Masterlist

3 YEARS LATER

“And this flower right here is called a mock orange, any idea why?”

The cheerful babbling was the only answer you got and you felt yourself smiling wide, turning to look at her better. Camellia was the cutest baby you’d ever seen and you were pretty sure it wasn’t just because she was the most perfect combination of you and Benedict. The only person in your life that remembered you as a baby was Josie, and she swore up and down that she looked more like you than Benedict but you weren’t so sure.

“Very good!” you said. “Because it looks like an orange flower!”

Camellia clapped her hands excitedly, as if congratulating herself for guessing right, kicking her legs back and forth in her high chair, accidentally dropping one of the many pencils on the table in front of her but she didn’t even notice.

“And what about this one?”

“Fwo?”

“Flower, yes,” you said, nodding fervently and she gave you a huge grin. You went to pick her up from the chair and approached the table in the middle of the huge greenhouse.

 “This is your flower my sweet, see? Middlemist Red Camellia.”

She gasped when she heard her name. “Me!”

“Mm hm, the most beautiful and precious flower in the entire world!” you said, tickling her stomach while kissing her cheeks, making her happy giggles echo in the greenhouse. You fixed her hair, still smiling bright and took a look at the paper she was drawing on before, full of different colored squiggly lines.

“Perhaps your papa is right, you are to be a big artist,” you said as you walked to the glass door. “A painter like him hm?”

“Papa!”

“And your aunt Lottie says you will be a writer and your uncle Teddy says you’ll be a sculptor…” you said as you stepped out of the greenhouse into the huge garden, the sunlight falling upon you. You grabbed the little hat by the door and placed it upon Camellia’s head while she held onto you, playing with your necklace.

“So many ideas!” you told her as you passed by the winter garden, enjoying the chirping of the birds. A couple of butterflies flew by you, no doubt because you were very close to the butterfly garden and Camellia held her breath, pointing at the blue butterfly.

“Mama!”

“I can see that my love,” you said, pressing a kiss on her small chubby hand, and walked past the orangery. “They’re very beautiful, are they not?”

She nodded fervently, making grabby hand motions as if trying to call the butterflies to her.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” you said, still walking through the main garden. “They all think like that but do you want to know what I think?”

She nodded her head again, still listening to you very intently.

“I think you might just become the biggest botanist in the world,” you whispered. “I mean it only makes sense, no? You already know so many flowers!”

Camellia pointed at the pear tree and turned to you. “Mine? Mine?”

“Let’s get you one then,” you said with a small laugh, reaching up to grab and pick the pear off the branch. You dusted it off, then gave it to Camellia who made a happy cooing sound, trying to dig into it. You raised your head to look up at the house, a warmth spreading through you as your gaze fell upon the window of Benedict’s studio, then you turned to Camellia.

“Let’s go see papa, hm?” you asked her, then made your way to the house to enter the foyer. You hummed a song and climbed up the stairs, then put Camellia down when you entered the hallway leading to Benedict’s studio.

“Go ahead.”

“Papa?” Camellia called out, running as fast as her tiny legs allowed her, reminding you of a duck. She was still holding the pear tight in her fist, and you walked right behind her to make sure you would be able to catch her if she fell. “Papa!”

You let out a laugh as you heard Benedict’s footsteps and he stepped out of the studio, his jaw dropping as he saw her and he immediately leaned down to catch her before she could smash herself against his legs.

“Oh here’s my sweet!” he said as he hoisted her up into his arms, smothering her in kisses, making her giggle happily before he turned to you, that fond look crossing his eyes, a soft smile curling his lips.

“Hello my love.”

You smiled, and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Hello to you too,” you said, letting out a small laugh as he stole another kiss from you. “I figured you needed a break or so.”

“And you were right,” he said, winking at you before turning to Camellia. “How is she always right, do you know?”

Camellia offered him the pear she was holding and Benedict gasped.

“For me?”

“More like it was for her but she’s willing to share,” you said and Benedict grinned.

“Come on,” he nodded in the direction of the studio and walked inside with Camellia in his arms, and you followed them.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you sang in a teasing manner, pulling the hat off Camellia’s head and Benedict shot you a mischievous look.

“Mm, what am I doing?”

“You think you can turn her into an artist if she spends enough time here.”

“I can’t help if she’s naturally talented,” Benedict defended himself. “I mean have you seen her work?”

“The…the squiggly lines?”

“The squiggly lines!” Benedict nodded, rocking Camellia. “She’s a genius artist even as a one-year-old.”

“I still support my botanist theory.”

“Maybe she’ll be both?”

“As you can see my sweet, no high expectations whatsoever,” you told Camellia who was listening to both of you as if she could understand everything you were saying.

“You can be anything you want to be,” Benedict told her as she rested her head on his shoulder, yawning. “Including an artist. Just saying.”

You walked closer to the canvas to see that the background was almost done, and tilted your head.

“What’s this going to be?”

Benedict shot you a grin and pressed his lips on top of Camellia’s hair. You checked the clock on the wall, then rang the bell.

“That one is going to be her,” Benedict said, softly rocking her and you smiled.

“Aw,” you said gently, and walked to caress her soft cheek with your finger. “Did you hear that my sweet? Your own portrait?”

Camellia sucked on her thumb, her eyes closing slowly.

“Is she sleeping?” Benedict whispered and you nodded.

“She is,” you murmured, rubbing her back and turned your head when someone knocked on the door.

“Ma’am,” Paula said. “Mr. Bridgerton. Would you like me to take her for her nap?”

“That would be good Paula, thank you.”

She smiled and took Camellia from Benedict, careful not to wake her.

“I’ll be right there,” you told her and pressed a kiss on Camellia’s head before Paula walked out of the room with her. You turned to Benedict and he entwined his fingers with yours, pulling you into his arms.

“Hey,” you said as he buried his nose into your hair. “Is everything alright?”

“Mm hm, now that you’re here.”

You smiled softly and squeezed his arm. “Are you still tense about the gala?”

He heaved a sigh and you pulled back a little to look up at him.

“Ben, that painting got auctioned and sold in two minutes because everyone was outbidding each other,” you reminded him. “People are talking about you the same way you used to talk about Gordon, everyone agrees that you’re a genius artist, the whole ton—”

“Yeah but it’s different,” he mumbled. “Tonight, it’s only friends and family.”

“Shouldn’t that be comforting?”

“Technically yes but…” he trailed off and shook his head slightly. “Never mind.”

You cupped his cheek, raising your brows. “Tell me.”

“It’s easier when it’s just strangers,” he said with a small chuckle. “Museum owners and Academy directors and such. It’s different when it’s family and friends, and I’d hate it if they thought all those other people exaggerated—”

“Everyone in the Academy and countless artists and museum owners who were on the verge of a fight to get your painting, they all exaggerated?” you asked with a small smile. “All of those people at the same time?”

Benedict thought for a moment. “When you say it like that…”

You let out a laugh and stood on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his, and he heaved a sigh when you pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Tonight is going to be amazing,” you assured him. “I promise you.”

He shot you a mischievous grin, then leaned down hoisted you up into his arms, making you squeal.

“Benedict!”

“There’s no harm in starting the amazing night a bit early,” he said as he carried you to the sofa and you let out a laugh.

“Scandalous behavior!” you joked and he winked at you, then leaned in to kiss you.

                                                *

Of course the night of the gala went perfectly, as you knew it would. Both your family and Benedict’s had been so excited and were very proud of him, and you could see it melted away the last insecurity that had been gnawing at him before tonight.

His speech that he dedicated the painting -and his inspiration- to you was enough to bring tears into your eyes but you managed to hide it by burying your face into his arm, earning an “aww” from the crowd. After the speech, people scattered along in the gallery to talk to each other, and if you said so yourself, everyone seemed to be having fun. Benedict was talking to Gordon, Henry, Margery and Lucy by the corner, Anthony and Lottie looked like they were in their own world while Colin kept whispering things to Penelope’s ear, making her giggle. Eloise seemed to be in a deep conversation with Simon while Daphne watched them with a small smile, and you smiled at Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury as Teddy wheezed past you.

“Teddy don’t run!” you called out and he stopped for a moment.

“But I’m being very careful!” he assured you and returned to chasing Hyacinth and Gregory. Your aunt held up her hands, gesturing surrender as she gave him a fond look and your uncle chuckled.

“If he changes his mind about being a sculptor…”

“He can become a professional runner,” you joked and turned to Josie and Bess.

“So yes, we’re going to Paris before the season,” you told them. “Around like a month before, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Andrew will give you a list of things to bring from there, just so you know,” Bess said said and you let out a laugh.

“I’m alright with that. Wait, where is he anyway?”

Josie cleared her throat. “I think he and Felix are in the orangery—”

“The moon garden, my love,” Bess corrected her and you raised your brows, stifling a laugh.

“Of course they are,” you muttered and heard someone calling your name. You turned your head to see who it was, then made your way to Lottie and Anthony.

“Hello you two.”

“Y/N,” she said with a huge smile, still holding Anthony’s hand. “We already said goodnight to Benedict, we didn’t want to leave before saying goodnight to you.”

You tilted your head. “You’re leaving already?” you asked. “Is everything alright? Is Edmund—”

“Oh Edmund is fine!” she assured you quickly and Anthony nodded.

“He’s probably asleep already.”

“It’s just—I tire very easily nowadays,” Lottie said, making you pull your brows together. Anthony and Lottie exchanged smiles and Lottie bounced on the balls of her feet in an excited manner, making your frown deepen for a moment before the thought dawned on you and your jaw dropped.

“Are you serious?!” you whispered and Lottie giggled, nodding fervently.

“You’re the first to know,” she whispered and you let out a laugh, then pulled her into a hug.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you!”

“To both of you obviously—” you said with a laugh, then hugged Anthony as well, making him chuckle as he hugged you back.

“We haven’t told Benedict yet,” he told you as you pulled back. “You know with the gala and everything.”

“Oh he will be very happy for you!” you said and Lottie bit on her lip.

“I wish to be the one to tell him if that’s alright.”

“Absolutely!” you said, waving your hands. “Go on then, go home and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You’d better,” Lottie joked and squeezed your hand, then they both walked out of the gallery. You looked around, then took a step towards Eloise but someone touched the small of your back, making you look up.

“Well if it isn’t the genius artist,” you teased Benedict and he shot you a happy grin.

“Come with me?”

“As long as we’re not going to the moon garden because if I walk in on them again…” you muttered and he tilted his head.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said and let him pull you out of the gallery. You both passed through the foyer and he led you outside, still holding your hand.

“Ben, where are we going?” you asked with a laugh and he stopped by the main garden, moonlight falling upon you both, showering the gardens in silver. Even though it was the thousandth time you were seeing this gorgeous view, it still managed to take your breath away.

Speaking of things that managed to take your breath away…

You looked up at Benedict, his handsome face under the moonlight, your heart skipping a beat before you giggled.

“Are we sneaking out of your own gala then?”

Benedict shot you a mischievous smile, then shook his head.

“No I merely…I wanted a moment with you,” he said. “Just you.”

You bit down on your lip as he pulled you closer, his fingers stroking over your hair. Your eyes fluttered close when he brushed his lips against yours and you smiled into the kiss, grazing your nails over the nape of his neck, making him heave a sigh.

“Congratulations Mr. Bridgerton,” you whispered. “Your gala seems to be a success.”

He smiled softly, pressing his lips on your temple. “Seems to be, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

You hummed. “Is it too early to say I told you so?”

He chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

“Well then, I told you so,” you said, sticking your nose up in the air. “And you should listen to me all the time because to be honest, so far I’ve—”

“I love you,” he said, and your eyes snapped up to his, a smile warming your face. You let out a giggle and pulled him down so that you could kiss him.

“I love you too,” you whispered and entwined your fingers with his, then took a step towards the house.

“Come on,” you said. “It is your gala my love. Let’s go and enjoy it.”

The End.

[alien-til-i-stage]

so something i dont see much online is how similar hyuna and luka actually are.

When we meet Hyuna, we get introduced to how upbeat and her free spirited personality, both in how she acts and in the song.

This in particular speaks almost in entirely of freedom and the desire for it. She sings about living her life for her and “a bird set free”. As obvious from her being rebel, everything points to how she desires freedom from the aliens and control over how she lives her life. We can also see this in a comic where she says the reason she enjoys singing is because on the stage she’s the one in control.

Already from a young age, control is something she has wanted, over her own life and her performances. And for her saying this, I think its even more interesting if we look back at All In. The majority the song takes place both in a bar where Hyuna is singing or the mission both Hyuna and Mizi are doing.

We already know that Hyuna likes to sing to feel the control over the stage when she’s there but I find it interesting that, yet again, the entirety of the episode was her demonstrating her freedom and control. There were even moments with her on stage remembering Luka and Hyunwoo and continuing to frantically continue singing as if trying to run away from them.

This could mean that rather than her just singing out of enjoyment of her control, she’s on that stage for the control. Almost like she’s desperately clinging onto that feeling to remind herself that she’s not weak, to run away from her helplessness as a child. Another reason for her to be on as many missions as she was shown to be, maybe another way to prove to herself she has the control and power now, not the aliens.

we can continue to see mentions of her trying to escape her memories in the song “Drunk and Party” as she says “I don’t wanna go back, everybody listen.”

Essentially Hyuna uses her own stage as a way to regain her control as well as her missions. Which is where Luka comes in.

In the same comic where Hyuna speaks about control on the stage, we see Luka as an adult on the stage as well, most likely during the 49th season.

It looks almost like hes remembering Hyuna’s words from when they were both children, which indicates that Hyuna’s reponse effected him.

In an interview about round 5, someone asked why Luka imitated Sua, and here is the response that was given.

Its told that Luka does this, not to win, but to feel control and dominance. Unlike Hyuna, who has many ways to feel this way and demonstrates it in almost every way of her lifestyle, this is the only way for him to do so. He is literally a puppet except for when he’s on stage.

The reason for Hyuna’s response being so important to him is likely that Hyuna’s attitude about singing effected his own. In the comic, kid Luka seemed curious about Hyuna finding control on the stage, showing that at that point Luka didn’t view the stage the same, so its likely that after their talk, Luka began to view the stage as a way to control.

This is how the two of them are similar, yet opposites. They both desire control and dominance in their lives and dedicate themselves to it, yet while Hyuna lives a life where she can easily do that, she feels no need to hurt others in order to do so, rather able to choose to help them as a way to feel powerful, but Luka doesn’t have that same choice. He lives life as a puppet, with no other way for control. His only way to feel in control is on the stage, so he takes his chance to and hurts the other contestant, purposely trying to hurt them as much as possible just because he can.

I truly believe that had their situations been reversed, where Luka was instead the purpose who got to leave while Hyuna stayed behind, theres a chance they couldve had completely different lifestyles. I also believe that they also, in a way, represent each path Till could take. If he were to stay in alien stage for the next season, would he turn out like Luka, someone who hurt others to feel in control, or if he was able to run away and become a rebel would he distract himself from his pain and constantly chase after that feeling of finally being free?

idk i just really like hyuna and luka

[noparadiseinthis]

English is not my first language. Bear with me, Grammarly helps, but it doesn't work miracles

Part 1: Birds fly in different directions

Spencer Reid/Gideon's daughter!Reader

Masterlist here

Warnings: Father's death. It is pure sadness (but cute, too). You and Spencer have children. Maybe not as much Spence as you'd like. A very brief mention of suicide in a teen joke.

The "●●●" marks the shift between past and present.

Summary: When your husband Spencer woke up to a phone call in the middle of the night, you were sure it would be another case. You never expected it to be Agent Hotchner telling you that your father's body had been found.

When you were born, Stephen was 3 years old and your father was finding it increasingly difficult to balance family time with work. With a new baby in the mix, he was always tired. He had a way of compartmentalizing and not thinking about his family when he was working, but the opposite wasn't true. What he did most was blame himself and spend sleepless nights, his mind wandering between the horrors he saw in the cases and his wife, alone to look after you and your brother. That's why, every time you woke up crying in your crib, he would immediately stand up, as if he had predicted the exact time.

When he was at home, he tried to take as much weight off Jill's shoulders as possible, which included taking you into the kitchen every night, your face nestled in his neck while he hummed to you and prepared your bottle after checking to see if your diaper needed changing. Most nights, he'd manage to calm you down or take you downstairs before waking his wife, but when that didn't happen, he'd just kiss Jill and tell her to go back to sleep because he had everything under control.

"There's a Starman waiting in the sky, he's told us not to blow it 'cause he knows it's all worthwhile." he would sing/whisper in your ear during those nights, always the same song.

You were enchanted by his voice, your small hand rubbing the stubble on his face as you listened in silence so as not to miss anything, although sometimes you would let out a few small strangled sounds, far from being any recognizable words. He just laughed as quietly as he could and smiled excitedly in your direction.

"That's right, love. Soon we'll be a duet."

On this particular evening, he held you against his chest as he waltzed around the kitchen with you, singing "he told me: let the children lose it, let the children use it, let all the children boogie" to the sound of your loud laughter.

"So that's what you do when you tell me to go to bed?" The woman's voice echoed through the kitchen, causing Jason to turn abruptly, facing his laughing wife who was holding a video camera.

"Huh, excuse me?" He mumbled, looking embarrassed, as if he'd been caught committing a crime.

You looked like you were about to cry when your dance was interrupted, but then you spotted your mother and started shouting and waving your arms, calling her close.

"Please don't interrupt the show because of me," Jill said with a laugh. "How is she going to sleep after all this excitement, Jason?"

"Watch and learn, darling." He smiled openly, something almost feral in his expression as he deftly held you in one arm and tested the temperature of the bottle with the other. "I always manage."

●●●

The sharp sound of Spencer's phone ringing in the middle of the night easily lulled you out of sleep. Your husband would probably have some explanation about how this was evolution, conditioning women to wake up faster to high-pitched sounds like a baby crying.

"Spencer, pick that up," you muttered with a certain irritation, lightly shaking his shoulder.

Spencer sighed as he groped around with his eyes closed on the bedside table, trying to find his cell phone.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He whispered.

You understood why. He always apologized before going out on a case.

●●●

The ringing of the phone echoed in the peaceful kitchen in the middle of the night. The recording was interrupted as Jason closed his eyes and sighed, knowing that only one person would call him this late.

"David Rossi knows how to have terrible timing." Jill commented, failing to hide her frustration.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He whispered, looking from you to your mother, thinking of Stephen sleeping upstairs. "I'm not going."

"They need you, I understand. Just answer it." She said before leaving the kitchen.

Jason tried to ignore your confused and sleepy face as he answered the phone with an "I hope you're calling me for a drink."

On the other end of the line, Rossi snorted, "I wish. New case."

●●●

"New case?" Spencer mumbled into the phone, his voice moaning with sleep.

"Not the way you're thinking." Hotch replied, his voice tense. "Is your wife with you?"

●●●

"Give her to me and I'll put her to sleep." Jill offered, approaching her husband as he entered the living room.

"No, I... I did that." He couldn't explain why some days were harder than others, they just were.

●●●

Spencer made some strange friends in his youth. He remembers Max, one of his tutorial students at Caltech who is playing sloppily in the library chair before muttering that "some days it's better to kill yourself in bed as soon as the alarm goes off". At the time, his only response was a snorting laugh. He had never fully understood that feeling until now.

You didn't pay much attention to his conversation on the phone, but you were surprised to realize that several minutes had passed and he still hadn't gotten up to go to work. You scratched your eyes, sitting up in bed.

"Spence?"

When he looked at you, your heart squeezed. Your husband looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

●●●

"Who's the most beautiful girl in the world? That's right, it's you, baby." Jason cooed to you in the crib, delighted and frightened by the way you were now holding your bottle all by yourself. "I wanted you to be my baby forever".

With you, he tried not to think about the details of Dave's case over the phone, but his stupid brain couldn't help it. He didn't deserve a family like that. "I hope you don't hate me in the future," he whispered, his voice just a little shaky.

Once again, his singing voice put you to sleep. "Well, the clock says it's closing time, I think I'd better go now. I'd really like to stay here all night."

He kissed Stephen and Jill before leaving and these memories stayed with him through the long hours of the car journey.

"Is everything all right?" Dave asked, taking the wheel so that Gideon could get some rest.

"Sometimes they're harder to leave than others." He said, looking out of the window as he bit his lip to stop the wave of sadness.

"I imagine it is."

Three years ago, they were the same, young marrieds excited about impending fatherhood, glances exchanged between them during cases because only one could understand the other's fear that one day their families might be the victims. Now, Jason felt as if they belonged to completely different worlds.

There were walls between them, both always avoiding mention of their son's death and Rossi's subsequent divorce. Maybe that's where they went wrong; the fact is that's how they began to distance themselves, and Jason began to forget what it was like to have someone other than his wife with whom he could confide his fears without feeling guilty.

David would never judge him, but he judged himself every time he thought about venting about how Stephen was starting to test his parents' limits more and more, and then he remembered that Rossi's son would be the same age as him, and his friend would probably give anything to deal with a child's tantrum. For the rest of their lives, they were birds flying in different directions.

●●●

"Spence, what's wrong?" you asked a little startled, getting down on your knees on the bed.

He just hugged you tightly and sobbed, crying for what seemed like hours into your sweater. Wishing you could take all the pain away from his chest, you cradled him lovingly, stroking his hair and waiting for him to calm down enough to tell you what had happened.

"H-Hotch said... Hotch said..." he finally began, pulling away from your embrace so that he could look into your face. "That the police found a body."

Once again, your husband had to stop to collect himself, and you wiped away his tears in anguish and confusion.

"In your father's hut. They think it's him."

Your world stopped. And all the words seemed to fly away. No. No. No. It was some mistake. It had to be. Spencer had to force himself out of his state of anguish when he saw how you went into shock.

"Tell me it's a lie." You whispered, your voice so shaky and vulnerable that it was like a stab in his chest. You didn't wait for an answer before collapsing.

You thought of the video on your cell phone, the one whose tape you'd digitized when your father left it in the cabin before he left. That video seemed like a world ago, a world where he cradled you to his chest and sang David Bowie to you. You hardly realized you were crying. You wanted to have been his baby forever. You hated growing up.

The recording ended with the landline ringing in the early hours. You never needed your mother to explain what had happened. The alarm went off and he left. Like so many times. Like now. Forever.

"Listen to my voice, angel. Breathe with me, please."

Oh yes. You're a grown woman now, you can't be daddy's baby, as much as you'd like to be. You have babies of your own, sleeping just a few doors down.

"Why, Spencer?" You seemed to break down, crying harder than he'd ever seen you in his life.

He called you two days ago. He asked how his grandchildren were. He wanted to talk to Spencer, who was away on a case. He said he loved you. He said he'd visit for Christmas. You'd fallen asleep while he was reciting to you the names of all the birds on the West Coast. Why did you fall asleep?

●●●

As heavy-minded as he always was after a stressful case, Jason walked through town to clear his head before hitting the road to return to his family. He spotted a small toy store, with some stuffed birds in the window. He didn't even know they were made.

Almost as if he were a marionette, he was impelled to enter. There were an impressive number of species, but he knew which one was perfect as soon as he laid eyes on it. A robin. He left the store with a few dollars less and one more plush than when he entered, but it was worth it. He would spend his entire salary on toys if it made you happy.

[A/N]: This was started as soon as I finished the episode on Gideon's death today. Such a beautiful and sad episode. Every detail of it brought me to tears. It turned out that this first part was more a tribute to him than anything else. It was supposed to be a much longer one-shot, but this small part was already emotionally draining to write, so I decided to take a break and finish the rest as soon as possible. I have lots of ideas for more angst. I don't know if I liked the result very much, but I hope you had fun reading it.

The songs that Gideon sings to Reader are:

● Starman - David Bowie

● Soul Kitchen - The Doors

The title is from "Birds - Imagine Dragons"

[dxncingwithastrxnger]

1. i'm sleeping with a ghoul (Ghost!Lucifer x MC)

A/N: Hello!! This is a few days late, but I said I wanted to do Obey Me month and I'm sticking to it, damn it! So I offer you my very first story for it, as well as the first thing I've published for the om fandom that isn't Barbatos. This was actually really fun to write and I wanna thank @the-ancient-fae for giving me the prompt of 'ghost' to help me figure something out!! That simple prompt has created a whole basket of ideas in my head, so thank you, Roxy 💜 But anyways, enjoy reading!!

Pairing(s): Lucifer x MC

Prompt: Day 1 - Lucifer from @obeymetournaments's list of prompts for this month!!

Summary: The tale of someone who encountered a... different kind of ghost.

Tag(s): 18+, themes of stalking, Spectrophilia/Phasmophilia, dubious consent, non-explicit, mentions of sexual content, first person pov

Word Count: 922

Song Inspiration: Sex With A Ghost By Teddy Hyde

Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

~*~

[Author Masterlist]

[Day 1] [Day 2] [Day 3] [Day 4] [Day 5] [Day 6] [Day 7] [Day 8] [Day 9] [Day 10] [Day 11] [Day 12] [Day 13] [Day 14] [Day 15] [Day 16] [Day 17] [Day 18] [Day 19] [Day 20] [Day 21] [Day 22] [Day 23] [Day 24] [Day 25] [Day 26] [Day 27] [Day 28] [Day 29] [Day 30] [Day 31]

~*~

Anyone who’s ever lived in a haunted house before will be familiar with the usual signs. Creaking floors, footsteps down the hallway, doors opening and closing on their own, whispers in other rooms. I, myself, am familiar with all of those, but those aren’t the things I’m experiencing in my current home. I hear less whispers and more longing sighs. I see shadows creeping around the corner. Sometimes the flap of wings. The click of formal shoes. I’ve recently started finding feathers in random places throughout the house. Long, black feathers. Bigger than any bird in my neighborhood.

I can feel whenever I’m being watched. The time I seem to be watched most is when I’m sleeping. Or at least laying in my bed at night. I can even see the outline of a figure if I look into the darkness for long enough and I swear the figure has horns and wings. Do you think it sees me, too?

~*~

The ghost. It’s a man. I know what he looks like now. He’s gotten bolder, closer. Or maybe I’ve just started paying more attention?

The places I find feathers have gotten more consistent. More specific. They’re only in parts of the houses I often frequent, like the kitchen and my own bedroom. And just the other day… I was in the bathroom, had just finished a shower. It was such a cliche. I wiped off the mirror and immediately I saw him, behind me. But unlike the movies, he didn’t flicker away as soon as I saw him. Instead, he stayed. He met my eyes. It was like he wanted me to see him. And so, I did. Soft, black, feathery hair with just the tiniest piece of his bangs turned gray. Deep, mysterious red and black eyes. Four black-feathered wings that are a glorious sight to behold, almost how one would imagine angel wings. But then my eyes catch on the large, black horns curving upwards from the top of his head. That’s when I’m reminded that he is certainly no angel.

Even so, he took my breath away. And he knew it. A look of pride upon his face before I blink and he’s finally gone. It took me a moment to recover after that. But it was not because I was terrified. Nor was I upset that he was intruding upon my home. All I felt in that moment was an intense curiosity, along with excitement at the thought of finding out more.

~*~

I’m starting to think something’s wrong with me. I can’t truly be thinking like this about a ghost, can I? But I can’t help it. He’s doing it on purpose. Seducing me. There’s no other way to describe it. I see him all the time now. He’s stopped trying to hide from me. He watches me openly now, during all hours of the day. I’ve started speaking to him. He’s there to listen, so I might as well, right? And sometimes he’ll answer. With gestures or the softest of whispers. But what’s more important is what happens at night.

Once I’ve shut off all the lights and settled beneath my blankets, that’s when I’ll feel it. Fingers brushing over my skin. Sometimes gloved, sometimes bare. First, it was just soft affection. Holding my cheek or tracing my hand. Then, he’d trace down my neck and over my calves. And now, he’s trailing down my chest and up my thighs with touches that can no longer be considered simple affection. No, these touches are filled with intent. And I know something’s fucked in my head because in response, I’ve started wearing less and less clothes to bed. He’s taking it as an invitation to continue and we both know that’s exactly what it is. Even before it’s bedtime, I’m already anticipating the feel of his fingers and the pleasure his touch brings.

I think he’s waiting to take a step further because he enjoys seeing me touch myself. He gets this smirk on his face as his low chuckle fills my ear and it only adds to my overloaded senses, driving me over the edge. Sometimes during the day, I’m unable to help myself when I think too much about it. When that happens, I always make sure to be loud enough so that he’ll know exactly what I’m doing.

Even now, questioning my own mind, I can’t find a single ounce of hesitation towards any of it.

~*~

Lucifer. Lucifer. Lucifer. That is my lover’s name. He finally told me when he gave himself to me completely. I got to see him in all his glory, laid bare and without any clothing in the way. Just as he saw me the same way. And not only did he touch me without holding back, but I got to touch him as well. We were finally joined as one and that’s when I knew for certain - this is love. It must be. There’s no other emotion I could use to describe how I feel for him. And I know he loves me, too. He told me so. Told me that even when he was alive he never loved another the way he loves me.

We’ll be together forever, him and I. He’s in my bed every night and right beside me throughout the day. He takes me whenever he feels like it and I would never dream of rejecting him. All of me belongs to him now, mind, body, and soul, and I don’t want it any other way.

~*~

A/N: Please, let me know your thoughts!! Thank you for reading!!! 💜💜💜

[beanghostprincess]

Rayleigh and Buggy reunion, but Rayleigh is being over the top judgemental about everything, like idk if u are familiar with crazy ex girlfriend the TV show but Rayleigh shows up and acts exactly like Rebecca's mom does. Overcritical of his life choices and dismissive of what he perceives as excuses coming from Buggy, because he knows Buggy's true potential and is annoyed with Buggy not living up to it. He gives Crocodile a once over and goes "is that what you found to replace Shanks with" and moves on and Crocodile doesn't even have a moment to compute the way he was just insulted because Rayleigh has moved on to criticising Mihawk's cooking instead. Worst part is, this all comes from a genuine place of love and care, Rayleigh is legitimately worried sick about his baby clown son of 39 years, but he cannot express that worry without being extremely invasive about everything. Buggy isn't even responding, he just shoots ppl apologetic looks and rolls his eyes when Rayleigh isn't looking because of course he does this obviously Buggy is never good enough for him and Shanks had always been the favourite (you ask Shanks or any other Roger pirate and they will tell you that Buggy is Rayleigh's baby boy and absolute favourite with utmost confidence, too bad the emotional constipation runs in the crew). Dinner is awkward as fuck, because Rayleigh makes attempts at being easygoing but his motherhenning nature irt Buggy shines through, his conviction that Buggy would be happier with Shanks by his side is making him be overcritical of everyone in that dinner and he keeps discussing the good old days and subtly hinting at Buggy that there is still time for him to go back to Shanks....and Buggy looks close to frustrated tears (and everyone agrees, Crocodile has snapped 5 cigars in half with his teeth and Mihawk is 5 seconds away from banging his head on the table).

Just overbearing father Rayleigh being stifling and trying to overcompensate for his shit parenting choices during Buggy's childhood and Buggy having his daddy issues expanded upon (and Crocodile and Mihawk gaining insight to Buggy's entire deal)

"Idk if u are familiar with crazy ex girlfriend the TV sho-" My therapist literally told me to stop watching it so much because it was affecting my mental health. So. Yes. I know the show. It's one of my favorite shows EVER. Rebecca is just like me fr my beloved. All of them my beloveds. The songs my beloveds. Don't make me go into CEG x OP because I won't finish. And as you can see, I did not listen to my therapist.

Even though I've always seen Rayleigh as the one who understands Buggy the most (Roger and him love Shanks and Buggy equally but it is quite obvious they put more pressure on Shanks to be more like Roger and that only made things worse by making Buggy's inferiority complex exist) and the one who stands up more for him and comforts him when needed, it is true that he might be more judgemental and he'd be worried for Buggy. Like. Think about it. Roger died and the kids (their kids) ended up alone and going their own separate ways. For Rayleigh, finding out Shanks and Buggy aren't together is just?? So weird?? Because they've always been together. Birds of a feather (if somebody mentions the song 'Two Birds' I am punching them because I can't handle that song today please). And it's just... Well, surprising. 'But as long as they're okay' but they're obviously not okay!!! And it's not that Rayleigh is judging Buggy. In fact, I think he would do the same with Shanks. The second Rayleigh sees Shanks he's already saying he drinks too much (even for a pirate) and that he's been acting recklessly and "What the fuck are you doing without Buggy? Is this because of Buggy?" / "I do not drink because of him. It's- It's not about him. He left-" / "HE LEFT AND YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING?????" / "I hate it when you get like this" / "Like what?" / "Like you want to still do something about my life. I'm an adult, thank you very much-" / "No, you're not if you keep acting this way". And I personally think Rayleigh would just be worried for the both of them and also feel extremely guilty because he wasn't there to fix things when they fought, the way he always did. "The second I left you alone you two start a fight that lasts two decades?" and he would say this to both of them and they would hate it.

But yeah, going back to Buggy I think he'd be worried because. Well. Have you seen Crocodile and Mihawk? I mean. They're kind of on good terms with Buggy now (more or... More or less. Kind of. They're not equals but they're some sort of weird thing and they respect and care for each other. More or less. It's- It's complicated. Don't ask) but they're still them. And Rayleigh can't help but see the situation and be like "I'm proud you made a name of yourself, kid, but you don't have to do this if you don't want to" (meaning: You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted) and Buggy takes it as an "You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted because you'd be safer with him" instead of the real "You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted because you'd be happier with him and this war of pride and hearts you have going on is dumb". And he understands Buggy needs to be away from Shanks to grow, but it's just so, so sad to see them like this when they used to love each other so damn much.

Also, I think Buggy would be going through the worst moment of his life and Crocodile and Mihawk would be so done for different reasons. First, they don't give a fuck about all of this drama. And second, they are starting to see Buggy more like a person and understand why he is the way he is, and the things Rayleigh is saying are bothering them a lot. They've been trying to make the clown move on from his past so he's useful for once (because when he believes in himself he's actually not a burden and more interesting) and now this guy (that they respect because it's Silvers Fucking Rayleigh) comes and tries to change things around here? Nope. Not happening.

So basically, what you're trying to tell me is that Rayleigh regrets raising the boys that way and now he's overcompensating and it's overwhelming for everyone, right? I- I love it. Great plot. 10/10. In character. Perfect. It makes me go insane. I love their daddy issues.

(Also, can we talk about how "This Was a Shit Show" and "What'll it be" are extremely Buggy songs??? Because- Because now I want to-)

[aurossaga]

To hold your hands

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff!

Word count: ~1k

Warnings: Alcohol mention

Summary:  His fingers twitch only for a quick moment, which would likely not have been very noticeable had you not been so familiar with the way Venti plays. Still, you notice.

As you finish brushing the dirt off your foraged mushrooms and carrots, your eyes drift over to your companion, sitting on a tree stump in the forest clearing. The sunlight catches his relaxed features perfectly as he carefully examines the string of his bow, making sure it wasn’t getting too loose. You pack up your bag, get up from the forest floor and make your way back over to him. He gives you a quick glance, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile at the sight of you without him really thinking too hard about it.

“Done already?” Venti asks, getting up from his spot as well. The bow in his hands dissipates as he stores it away. It still puzzles you how vision holders can do that…

“Yep. I just have to wash all these when we get home.” You gesture to your bag, as you show him today’s findings. “Not many people come all the way out here. It didn’t take long to fill my bag.”

Venti laughs, putting a hand on your shoulder as he follows you back toward the path leading back to the city.

“Well, lucky us! Between everything we’ve gathered and the fine wines I brought along, I dare claim tonight’s dinner will be absolutely delectable!”

You nod absentmindedly, thinking of how to best prepare the vegetables once you get home. The soft crunch of your shoes on the gravelly path forms a sort of rhythm that you try to keep up as you walk, the chattering of birds and rustle of leaves becoming a nice backdrop as you listen to Venti going on about all sorts of things, occasionally offering your input. Before long, the two of you have made it back to your home.

While you prepare the ingredients for cooking, Venti sits in the living room, playing a few calming melodies on his lyre. As he plucks away at the strings, forming the most beautiful of tunes, you can’t help but listen, nearly losing all focus on your current task as you momentarily lose yourself in his enchanting compositions. The seamless flow of notes stalls for naught but a quick second, before picking up right where it left off. As you continue cutting up the ingredients and adding them to the pan, you wonder what could have caused him to stutter like that… Venti practically never hesitates when playing the lyre, even when he’s just practicing. Suddenly, you hear a quiet groan from the other room, as the music once again stalls for a moment. You add a splash of wine to the pan before reducing the heat and placing a lid on top, allowing it to simmer for a while as you step out of the kitchen.

When you enter the living room and find the source of the inconsistent song, you decide to observe him for a moment before interjecting. His brows are tightly knit together as if in deep concentration as he’s practically bent over the lyre in his hands, meticulously strumming out an old melody. His fingers twitch only for a quick moment, which would likely not have been very noticeable had you not been so familiar with the way Venti plays. Still, you notice. And it seems he is agonizing over it as well. He lets out an irritated sigh as he places the lyre down in defeat for now. Only then does he seem to notice you leaning against the doorframe, observing him.

“Oh, sorry. Were you listening? I can keep playing for you if you wish.” Venti reaches over towards the lyre again. His smile holds a grain of hesitation, one that you have gotten really good at noticing over the years. You often have to pry information like this out of him, things he neglected or ignored for himself. Without replying, you just walk over to him, and sit down next to him on the sofa. His somewhat confused expression quickly turns to a downcast one as you gently take his hands into your own.

“Ah…”

He sighs quietly. You study his expression. His deep blue and green eyes are avoiding your own gaze, his lips slightly parted as he struggles to come up with anything else to say. He knows he can't hide anything from you.

“Venti… you’ve been practicing an awful lot lately.” You softly tilt his chin up to make him look at you, as you offer him a calming smile. With your free hand, you gently rub calming circles into the palm of his hand.

“I… Yeah, maybe. Hehe…” Venti’s sheepish smile and nervous giggle makes you want to laugh a bit as well. He’s normally rather hard to read for most people, so he doesn’t really know how to handle how effortlessly you see through his facade. He doesn’t really notice how much he lets his guard down when you two are alone together either.

“Here, let me help.”

You grab onto his dominant hand with both of yours, gently applying pressure to the base of his fingers. You delicately rub his joints in circular motions, before continuing the gesture toward the palm of his hand. You remember to make sure to give the same attention to  both sides as you go. Venti is uncharacteristically quiet as you work, his eyes fixating on your delicate expression.

He is often told he can be a bit more trouble than most people are willing to put up with, but somehow, he never feels that way around you. You’ve always taken time out of your day to talk to him, inviting him along to menial tasks, listening to his ramblings, his poems, his songs…

And right now, as you so tenderly massage his aching muscles that he strained trying to write you a song as a thank you gift, he can no longer excuse the way heat rises to his cheeks or the way his heart beats ever so slightly faster around you. 

Right now, sitting opposite of you as your gentle hands massage his own, he realizes he’s fallen for you.

[212-apricity]

mastermind, part one - theodore nott

hi omg im back😍🙌

ok so this is part one of a series called "mastermind" (inspired by the song “mastermind” by taylor swift). its a theodore nott fic and starts from the beginning of sixth year until the end of seventh, im literally making it up as i go😍🙏.

academic rivals, enemies to lovers, one bed trope, heavy angst at times and all that so enjoy😋😋

this ones a short one for now but part two is halfway done and should be out sometime this weekend🤞🤞

please lmk what you think: what were your fav parts? anything i should change?

and maybe repost if you feel extra generous :))

warnings: none for now<33

masterlist

theodore nott masterlist

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“Hey, wait on!”

I turn around to see Hermione running to catch up with me, her suitcases on her trolley and her cat happily meowing in its cage.

“Hermione!” I exclaim as I give one of the trolley boys my trolley and go to hug her.

“Oh my gosh I haven’t seen you in ages!” she sighs as she hugs back tightly.

“I know, you promised to write, why didn’t you?” I say.

“Oh shush, it’s not like you sent me any care packages anyways.” she replies as she links our arms and starts leading us to one of the carriages once we’ve taken our pets off.

Hermione and I have been friends since the beginning of our first year, before we were friends with Ron and Harry actually.

To say that my mother was happy with our friendship is a huge lie.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Even her name disgusts me, much less the things she’s done.

She was mortified. I still remember the look on her face when I brought Hermione over one time.

“A mudblood?” she had exclaimed.

“Why on earth would you want to be friends with the likes of them? You’re surely not my daughter, that’s for one thing.”

Hermione and I both knew what rejection felt like. Her, with most of the pureblood Slytherins, and me, with my pureblood Slytherin family.

My aunts and uncles are probably the worst of the bunch surprisingly.

Lucius and Nesta Malfoy.

Even their names are filled with poison.

Not to mention my cousin. Draco.

What a horrible waste of a family.

My uncle, Sirius, is the only one in the family who understands me. Coming from a highly Slytherin pureblood family, we were the only Gryffindors. God knows why.

I think the neglect from my mother and most family is what made me and Hermione such good friends. We both knew how the other felt.

“Have you seen Ron or Harry around yet?” I asked, settling down in the train cabin in the train with my cat, Alfie, in my lap.

“No, not yet. They should be coming up soon though.” Hermione replied and surely enough the door to the cabin opened and in came a mess of ginger hair, already complaining about God knows what;

closely followed by Harry who tried to say hello before he was cut off.

“Guys you’ll never guess what. Mum made me wear Fred and George’s old jumpers again. As if I’ll ever fit into these, they’re huge! And another thing, she said I’m not allowed to get a new pet so I’m stuck with this old bird.” he finishes his rant as he points to the old caged owl in his hands.

“Hello to you too Ron.” I say after a pause.

“Oh yeah, hi guys!” he says smiling.

Hermione rolls her eyes at him with a smile and pats on the space next to her, motioning him to sit down and Harry sits next to me after hugging me and Hermione.

“So what’s all this about Draco and a weird-looking cabinet? And who are all these people you’re talking about?” Ron asks Harry settling down and rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“Don’t you see? It was a ceremony, an initiation.” Harry says, looking over at me.

“Stop that rubbish Harry. I know where you’re going.” Hermione says, trying to ignore whatever Harry and Ron were talking about and looking out the window.

“No guys listen to me, it’s happened. He’s one of them.” Harry says the last part quietly.

“One of what?” Ron asks, confused as I take a sigh and say,

“Harry’s under the impression that Draco Malfoy is a death eater.”

“You're barking.” Ron says as he sits up, ‘What would You-Know-Who want with Malfoy, he hasn’t got any hair to want Malfoy’s bleach bottle.”

“Well then what’s he doing in Borgin and Burkes? Browsing for furniture?” Harry quips.

“It’s a creepy shop. He’s a creepy bloke. Put two and two together and there you go.” Ron responds.

“Look, his dad’s a Death Eater, his aunt’s a Death Eater, most of his family is, whos to say he isn’t following in their footsteps.” Harry says as I look away in shame.

Harry realises his poor choice in words and says, “I need some air.” and walks out the cabin.

“He’s going mad I’m telling you.” Ron says to Hermione and I.

Hermione and I don’t say anything in response but busy ourselves with our reading books while Ron raids the sweet trolley.

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It only took us around half an hour to get settled in our dorms again, this being our seventh year we had a lot more practice and we were all now making our way to the great dining hall.

“Welcome all students…” McGongall’s voice boomed as we took our seats, Hermione and Dean Thomas on either side of me with Ron and Ginny in front. Our table was on the other side of the hall to the Slytherin table but I could still see my cousin's crispy fried blonde hair as he took his seat next to one of his friends.

What was his name again?

Thomas?

Timothy?

“Why are you staring at Theodore Nott? I thought you hated him.” Ron interrupts my thoughts as he shoves a piece of chicken in his mouth.

Theodore. Right.

“And now with the sorting ceremony finished for another year, let us feast!” McGonagall’s voice, thankfully for once, gave me a chance to change the subject before things got weird.

“What? No I’m not, pass the mashed potatoes.” I say shrugging it off as I draw my attention to Hermione.

“Where’s Harry, he’s already missed the welcoming.” Hermione says, looking around in anticipation, clearly worried.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be here in a moment.” Ron responds shoving a spoon of jelley in his mouth.

Jelly with chicken? Ew.

Hermione stares at him for a moment before hitting him with her book repeatedly, making me laugh, “Will you stop eating? Your best friend is missing.” “Oi! Turn around you lunatic.”

We turn to where Ron is looking and see Harry walking towards us with a white cloth at his nose, stained in blood.

“Why do you always have to be covered in blood?” I say, taking the cloth from his hands as he sits next to me. I try to clean up his face the best I can.

“Where have you been? And whats happened to your face?” Hermione hisses at him.

“Later, what’ve I missed?”

“Sorting hat urged us to be brave and strong on these troubled times.” Ron replies.

“Easy for it to say, its just a bloody hat innit?’ I say.

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“Y/N! GET UP!”

I open my eyes and see Hermione pacing around our room trying to get ready.

“What?” I say groggily, putting my head back on my pillow.

“I said get up, you’re going to be late and we have potions first thing.” she said as she pulled the pillow from under my head and tore the duvet off my body, forcing me to get ready.

“Eugh no I can’t deal with Snape this early.” I say as I make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

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“Attention to detail in the preparation is the prerequisite of all planning. Ah! Hello ladies. Please, please take a seat.” The professor says to us.

Wow. This is a change.

Hermione rushed to take the nearest seat available next to Lavender Brown which left me next to,

“Well hello to you too.” Theodore Nott says smirking up at me from his chair as I drop all my books down.

I took a seat before my knees had the chance to give out.

Woah, what?

“Hey.” I say curtly, drawing my attention to the assignment, trying to ignore Theodore’s piercing gaze and strong cologne.

“Late on the first day I see, not a good impression. If Snape were here, he’d have your heads.” Theodore says as he scribbles down the assignment on the board into his scrolls.

I roll my eyes and ask, ”Who’s this anyway?” as I copy the ingredients for the potion in my scrolls.

“Professor Slughorn. He’s taking our class for this year.” Theodore says as he waits for me to finish writing so we can get the ingredients for our potion from the back of the room. “The whole year?” I say standing up and making my way to the back with Theo, “What’s happened to Snape?”

“No idea love.” Theo says, making butterflies erupt in my tummy but I shove them down before they can travel up to my throat and make me say something flirty back.

Theodore and I never had a reason to dislike each other. Well, not officially. We never had a big fight or any interactions of any sort honestly. I didn’t even take any notice of him until he had beaten me to a question in first year in dark arts and gotten 10 house points because of it. Since then we’ve had something going on between us. The need to one-up one another, to be smarter in lessons and faster in quidditch.

I’m not going to deny that he was attractive, because God he was beautiful.

Beautiful and conceited.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

part one, done!

lmk what your fav parts were!!

and maybe repost if you feel extra generous :))

taglist: @timmytime17 @cherry-hoe @jetblackpayne @ash-tarte @coolestgirlhere

[stuffeddeer]

rock band member dazai where he’s often in the media for drama between him and his previous ex band partner and you happen to run into him (anonymously!) on a chatting app. eventually his “personal conflicts “ he tells you about him and a ex friend start to align a lot with a certain famous singer’s tabloid scandals, so you bite the bullet and ask if it’s him or if he is just going through the same exact specific events dazai is. he ends up revealing his identity and you end up getting backstage tickets to his shows and he ends up just as obsessed with you as you are (chuuya is pissed that somehow that shitty dazai got a partner before him)

its u.

Dazai’s heart rate picked up at the two grammatically incorrect words that popped up in his notifications. You’d been so close to figuring it out for weeks; Was today finally the day?

wdym

Right: play dumb. There’s no guarantee you figured out who he is, so he just needs to stay calm.

Sure, week after week he’d tell you stories from his life that popped up in magazines and circulated around online the next day or so, always causing you to come back and flaunt it in his face that your favorite guitarist had done it “bigger and better” (even though the stories were the exact same). You frequently pointed out similarities in them (being him and… himself) to the point where he almost saved and told you several times, but something always held him back. Maybe he should just finally rip the bandage off.

A photo message came in. It was a screenshot - a screenshot of a picture Dazai had sent you. In the background had a bright red circle around something small. He zoomed in, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Couldn’t you just type it out? What a hassle - oh.

Yeah, he should’ve listened when his manager told him to pick it up and display it properly.

The image was a bird’s eye view of his hand, flashing his fresh coat of nail polish and his rather messy wooden floors (and his cute orange halloween socks). Nothing too damning upon first glance. Sure, you’d mentioned that your favorite band’s guitarist had painted his nails the same color, but that was mere coincidence, right?

No. Because this lazy moron couldn’t put things away, in the top left corner of the photo - the area circled in red - showed an opened package with the platinum record his band was gifted for their most popular song. Why would he have that if not a member of the band himself?

He looked up from his phone blankly, staring at the package still nestled on the side of his room. The only difference from the photo is that it had been pushed slightly to the side since then, stopping him from tripping over it. What a stupid mistake; Dazai had always been much more careful than this (except when he wasn't).

dude

u let me gush to u ab URSELF????

im embarrassed

Dazai smiled. Well, at least things weren’t awkward.

It had been a few months and you and Dazai were happy to talk in person now that he didn’t have to hide his face. You’d been backstage at many of his shows, meeting his bandmates and spending time in person. It had honestly been so much fun, but sometimes Dazai missed the cat and mouse game he’d been playing when you were unsure of his identity - back when you texted him rumors and articles about his own life, saying how crazy it was that your favorite artist went through the same things as him.

He’d woken up earlier than he wanted to due to the myriad of calls blowing up his phone. “What..” He grumbled, not even bothering to check caller ID. “Who is this?”

“You asshole! You got a fucking partner before I did? And they’re hot, too! No way they settled for you,” Chuuya continued to grumble while Dazai put him on speaker phone, tuning him out. Whatever he was yapping about didn’t matter once he noticed a notification from you.

do u know this guy? he seems to be goin thru the same things u r…

A link is included, leading Dazai to an article with a picture of him and you. The first thing he notices is how smitten he looks with you, causing him to blush very faintly as he smiles to himself. Is that really what he looks like around you?

Rockstar Dazai Osamu Finds New Fling - Or Maybe More?

More, definitely more.

“Are you listening, asshole?” Chuuya shouted from his speaker. “How’d ya get a partner before me?”

Dazai smiled, saving the paparazzi shot onto his phone. “My height, definitely.”

[sempersirens]

a bird in your teeth, epilogue

masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: mentions of past trauma, ptsd, nightmares. so much fluff

a/n: a little palate cleanser. sun bleached flies joel is on the naughty step rn

December 24th, (five years later)

God only knows, what I'd be without you...

The TV turned black as the credits rolled, only the warm flickering lights from the Christmas tree left to illuminate the room.

You took a steady breath in through your nose and locked eyes with Sarah, both suppressing a laugh before simultaneously turning to finally face Joel, who had been trying to silently bite back small sobs for the past forty-five minutes.

"How you holding up, boys?" Sarah teased, lovingly.

"You girls are damn evil. Pickin' such an emotional film on Christmas Eve."

"It's heartwarming!" You interjected.

"My heart is feelin' a lot of things right now but warm ain't one of 'em." Tommy murmured, wiping his eyes with the back of his sweatshirt.

"I just can't believe neither of you had ever watched Love Actually."

"May 'swell have, the number of times I've seen you two watchin' it, all damn year round," Joel said.

"Keep talking like that, Miller, and I won't make you an Irish coffee." You warned, earning oooh's from Tommy and Sarah.

You pulled yourself off the sofa and moved to the kitchen, proving your threat entirely empty. As you pottered around the room, collecting all of the ingredients for the drinks, you listened to the noise of the three people you loved most in the world simply existing in the room next to you. The haze of their laughter mixed with the song still warbling through the TV was softened by the wall separating you, a honeyed prayer just for you.

Somehow, life kept moving after that night. Everything thereafter seemed to be measured in the passing of time. Four days for your lip to heal. Three weeks for you to return Daisy's calls. Seven months until you could stop taking the long route to pick Sarah up and drive down that street again. Two years for the panic attacks to stop, for good. Five years, and counting, for an uninterrupted night's sleep.

Two months passed before your tenancy was over, but you had woken beside Joel each morning nonetheless. Sometimes, before the others had risen for the day, you would creep down the stairs and pour yourself a cup of coffee, sit on the porch, and look at that house across the street. You would watch the lights slowly turn on, see the silhouette of life taking shape. A young family had taken over your lease, and it comforted you to know another life was being nurtured within those walls.

Neither you nor Joel had ever discussed what happened that morning in that apartment. And you didn't need to know; you were content with the understanding you both did what you needed to go on. Call it closure.

"What's goin' on in that head of yours, pretty girl?" You felt his chest pressing against your back, his arms leaning on either side of your body, entrapping you against the counter.

His face nuzzled in the curve of your neck, breath tickling your hair against your skin.

"Just wondering if you're on the nice list this year." You turned to face him, staring up through your lashes at the man you love.

"That so? We've got about," he checked his watch, "two hours until midnight. M'sure I can do enough to make it on each of your nice lists for the next twenty years."

"You're planning on keeping me around for that long? Maybe I'll have a love affair with a real cowboy." You teased.

"Good luck gettin' him to watch a Hugh Grant film with ya."

You rested your hands on his face, using your thumb to trace his cheek lightly.

"How did I get so lucky?" You smiled, shaking your head softly in disbelief.

There had always been a surplus of love inside you, even when you were little. Throughout your life, you had poured it into the wrong people, time and time again. Belittled, taken for granted, chastised. Even though the love remained, you had grown to fear it. It would be like riding an escalator and instinctively grabbing the handrail, but being zapped by an electric shock. Each time thereafter, your hand would hesitate in reaching for the supportive grip. Sometimes it would tentatively hover above, trying to gage the sting of electricity a few millimetres away.

But loving Joel came so easy. Everything about him made you want to tear yourself open and offer him everything you had, everything you ever had been, and all you ever would be. You would wake in the night simply craving the feeling of his skin against yours. And every single time you reached out to him, even in his sleep, he would pull you in.

From the other room, an old Christmas song hummed through the walls.

Merry Christmas, baby / Sure did treat me nice...

"I should be the one askin' that question, darlin'." His right hand flexed in and out of a tight fist, the same way it did when he felt a bout of anxiety rise in his chest.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" You asked, concern digging itself into the furrow of your brows.

"I'm no good at this, you know that."

"No good at what, Joel?"

He pulled away from you slightly, lowering himself onto one knee, suppressing the groan you knew he desperately wanted to release at the tightness of his back and knees.

"My sweet girl, I will never understand why y'picked me. Out of all the men in this damn world, even Hugh Grant, I get to be the one who calls you mine."

"Joel..."

"I don't know much, but I know that I need t'spend the rest of my life by your side. And I need you by mine. Would you do me the honour of being my wife?"

"Oh my god, yes! Of course, I will, Joel."

Joel slipped the ring he had presented from a small box in his back pocket onto your finger. His smile showed off the creases by his eyes that you often wished you could dive into and engulf yourself in each feeling that caused them to deepen.

"Get up, you idiot. Your poor back. I don't want to be pushing you around in a wheelchair just yet." You laughed into his kiss, your bodies merging together like it was all they had ever been made to do.

"Can we come in yet?" Sarah called from around the corner.

"Yes! Come in, both of you." You replied, cheeks wet and aching from the smile etched into your face.

"No chance of those Irish coffees, I guess?" Tommy smirked, you softly clipped him round the back of the head before suffocating him into a hug. "Welcome to the family, Mrs Miller."

Merry Christmas, honey / Everything here is beautiful, I love you, baby / For everything that you give me.

[connorsnothereeither]

What Hozier song fits your characters?

I GOTTA PICK JUST ONE EACH?? Damn, sick and twisted /lh /silly

It’s taken me a while to cook on this but I’m answering this at an appropriate time since I literally see Hozier live tomorrow-

Ulysses (Fable SMP): Now for a long time during Fable’s run I said Eat Your Young because it really fits early Ulysses and the Telchin, HOWEVER I think in totality as a character, Ulysses is embodied best by Empire Now. The sense of pained but freeing reflection, looking back on the pain and destruction caused by empire and greed for so long, and coming away from that bringing hope for a future that might not be perfect, but will be better. A future he does get to see. Hourable mention is that Ulysses and Vesperae are Sedated coded.

Virgil (SkyBound SMP): This was trickier than I thought, honestly, for both general vibes and plot reasons I can’t go into for spoilers. The issue is almost that Virgil is a very optimistic character at his core despot his paranoia, and it’s hard finding a Hozier song with exactly the right vibe. That being said, he is, after all, a carrion bird. And he is in a world that’s falling, trying to pull people closer as it does. For many reasons, Virgil is I, Carrion (Icarian).

Daniel Thorns (Cantripped): Listen… listen we all know it’s Nobody’s Soldier. We all know Nobody’s Solider just IS DAN. Beyond the individual elements, even down to smelling like a bonfire, the constant balance between being a folkhero and being a complete mess of a man. The desperation to hold onto the roughness of life so that he’s not sanitised to the point of deification, but being so unable to truly grasp the grittiness of the world because he is inherently seen as something more, and it puts a barrier around him. Honourable mentions are Arsonists Lullaby, cause Flamewalker and the baggage he carries with that, but also It Will Come Back IS SO NEPH AND DAN. THATS THEIR SONG. THATS DANPHRUS RIGHT THERE I POINT AT IT. I SHAKE THEM.

Leopold (Terramortis SMP): Again, there’s a lot of spoilers potential with assigning Leo a song, since we haven’t seen all of his story yet. I think I want to say Like Real People Do. The urge to just sit and ignore his problems. Choosing bliss through ignorance; not asking questions, not thinking hard enough about the bugs and the dirt. Just wanting things to be easier and live a little longer. Honourable mention that Too Sweet makes me think about Julius and Leopold… 👀

C.W Hare (Wild West SMP): Again there’s some spoilers potential here. I initially wanted to say Jackboot Jump. And that is incredibly CW coded… but I don’t think it’s perfect. The same with Talk. Both are so him, but not quite it. I think the most accurate as their songs is Abstract (Psychopomp). There’s so much about it, about the grasping onto glimpses of a life in those final moments. The desperation of holding onto a life. The animal motifs too just feel perfect “I will not be great, but I’m grateful to get through”, just… it makes me think about him a lot.

Honourable NPC Mentions:

Agent Paulie A. Morris (Cantripped - Goodes): Someone New

King Morgan of Eventide (Mer SMP): Through Me (The Flood)