#had this idea from a poem i read somewhere

[gyorouis]

OKAY NOW hear me out,,,

so, you and yeonjun have been best friends since you were kids. like, literally inseparable since elementary school. then, at seventeen, it just clicked, and you started dating. it felt natural—like the perfect next step in a friendship that had always meant so much more.

but then he goes off to college, and suddenly, everything changes. at first, it’s small stuff. he takes longer to reply, he doesn’t call as much, he’s busy all the time. and you tell yourself it’s normal, right? he’s adjusting, figuring things out. but then it gets worse. he seems like he’s doing great, surrounded by new friends, new experiences, and it’s like you’re outside this new life he’s building, watching him slip further away. the way he used to look at you? it’s different now—colder, maybe distant. the jokes that used to be just yours don’t feel the same, and all those little things that once made you feel close now feel hollow.

and yeah, there are moments when he’s still your yeonjun, and those moments make you want to hold on so badly. but those moments get rarer and rarer, and suddenly it’s like you’re holding on to a memory instead of the real thing. you start wondering if you’ve lost him, not to someone else, but to this version of himself that you never saw coming.

so, the question is—how do you let go of someone who once meant everything to you?

gyo notes: will be writing this one of these days,,, ofc once i‘ve finished the series akjdjshdhah

[notlongtolove]

in the woods

three photos. three crime scenes. three notes. slowly, then all at once, it hits you. you know these words. you’ve read these words before. why do you know these words? where have you read them before? this work is part of the little red cap series

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff?

content: very brief mentions of a crime scene and blood. lit student reader helps spencer put together a clue he missed.

word count: 2.6k

note: this idea was truly so random but if you like it and are interested to see a p2 that includes her meeting the team feel free to lmk! i would love to develop this story but im having mad writers block rn lol anyways the linked poem is amazing, one of my favourites.

a line: Spencer Reid hardly swears, if ever, but the next words out of his mouth are nothing short of explicit.

But then I was young – and it took ten years In the woods to tell that a mushroom Stoppers the mouth of a buried corpse, that birds Are the uttered thought of trees, that a greying wolf Howls the same old song at the moon, year in, year out- carol ann duffy

Spencer’s distracted tonight. You noticed it the moment he breezed past you, pressing a distracted kiss to your cheek before disappearing into the study. Normally, you’d give him space, let him untangle the thoughts on his own, but it’s past midnight now, and you’ve decided enough is enough.

“Spence,” you call softly from the doorway. 

He doesn’t look up.

​​You take a breath and step inside, the floorboards cool under your bare feet. The study feels foreign to you. You’re hardly ever in here despite Spencer’s gentle efforts to make space for you after you’d started spending more time at his place. He’d cleared half of the mahogany desk for your own books and files—a space now claimed by a few framed photos of the two of you from last year’s Christmas market.

You’ve always preferred his bed over the confines of this room, the comfort of his sheets beneath you, his bedside table the perfect coaster for your copious cups of coffee as you slog over your essays. The study always felt too still, almost stifling. It’s the kind of quiet that breeds overthinking, though Spencer thrives in it—Especially when it’s work.

Which it does seem to be tonight, judging by the furrow of his brow and the way his hands are clasped, tense, as he pours over the file in front of him. You cross the remaining space and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, thumb moving in soothing circles. 

“Hey,” you murmur, leaning down to speak into the curve of his neck. He reaches up absently, fingers threading into your hair, but his eyes stay fixed on the contents on the desk. 

“Come to bed,” you whisper, quieter this time, softer, as though you might coax him away if you’re gentle enough. 

He murmurs something you don’t quite catch, his focus still locked on the papers. You frown, the corners of your mouth tugging downward as you try again, this time layering your voice with the soft insistence you know he can’t resist.

“Please?”

That gets him. He sighs, the sound heavy, before slowly swivelling his chair around to face you. There’s a small flicker of satisfaction in your chest—still got it, you think, though his tired eyes make it hard to fully savour the victory.

“Soon, honey,” he says, soft and apologetic, but it’s not enough for you.

“Missed you today,” you murmur, stepping closer.

He shuts his eyes for a moment, reaching out to pull you into him. His arms wrap around your waist as he presses his face into your stomach, breathing you in like you’re the first fresh air he’s had all day. And with the day he’s had, you might as well be. 

“It’s almost 1,” you remind him gently, brushing a strand of his hair back. “And you haven’t even showered.”

He makes a sound—somewhere between a groan and a half-hearted protest. Probably indignation, though he doesn’t bother to articulate it. When he finally lifts his head to look at you, your chest tightens. He looks so so tired. Handsome, always, but tonight, the weariness in his eyes is impossible to miss.

“Aw, honey,” you coo, voice soft with affection. “C’mere.”

It’s ironic, considering you’re the one climbing into his lap. The chair protests under your combined weight with a faint creak, but neither of you care. Just your presence alone is a comfort that Spencer accepts all too willingly. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling you closer and burying his face into you, fingers toying with the edges of your—his shirt.

“Tough case?” you ask quietly, your fingers slipping into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He nods defeatedly, the motion slow and heavy, like even that small acknowledgment takes too much out of him.

“He’s already—” Spencer sighs, low and weary. “Already killed three women. And the profile is… flimsy at best.”

You nod quietly, your fingers gently tracing patterns on his shoulder. Though crime-solving and criminal profiling aren’t your expertise, the weight of what he carries is never lost on you. You’ve come to know the signs all too well.

You see it in the way he comes home after cases like this—silent, drained, his body curling into yours. You hear it in his voice when his worry spills over during arguments, like the time he snapped at you for drinking too much on a night out after a brutal final. It wasn’t out of anger but fear, raw, born from the evils he sees every day. He’d never explicitly linked it to the horrors of his work, but you didn’t need to be a profiler to piece it together. 

“You’ll catch him,” you say softly, keeping your voice steady despite the knot tightening in your stomach. “You guys always do.”

Spencer sighs, releasing one hand from your waist to rub the bridge of his nose. “There’s something off,” he mutters, words tinged with frustration. “I just... I can’t figure out what it is.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?” you offer gently, watching his face for any sign of what he needs.

He manages a faint, tired smile and shakes his head. “I’d rather not,” he murmurs.

You nod, letting it go. Spencer tries, always, to keep that part of his life separate from you. But even you know some things are impossible to leave behind. Shadows don’t adhere to boundaries. They’re stubborn and heavy, sometimes seeping into the cracks of his resolve. All you can do is try your best to hold him together when that weight gets too much to bear. Leaning into him, you rest your head against his, the silence between you filled with a kind of unspoken understanding.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Spencer whispers after a moment, as though he can sense your quiet disappointment at not being able to do more. His arm tightens around your waist as though anchoring himself. You press a soft kiss to his temple, a quiet gesture of acknowledgement.

“Now,” you say, standing up. Spencer leans forward instinctively, unwilling to let the warmth of you go. “Shower?”

He glances between you and the desk strewn with papers, hesitation in his face. “After I—”

“Nope,” you interrupt, grabbing both his hands and gently pulling him to his feet. “I’ll handle this,” you say, gesturing to the chaos on the desk. “You,” you point toward him, then toward the bathroom, “Shower. Now.”

Spencer lets out a long-suffering sigh, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “Bossy,” he teases softly.

“Maybe,” you reply, a playful glint in your eyes. “But you love me.”

Without missing a beat, Spencer wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he presses a kiss to your lips. “Wow,” he murmurs against your mouth, his tone warm and teasing. “Bossy and smart. How did I get so lucky?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling, nudging him lightly toward the bathroom. “Go,” you say, laughing. “Before I add ‘violent’ to that list.” At that, Spencer tears his arms away from your waist, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he backs slowly toward the door. “Go!” you laugh again, shaking your head at him before turning your attention to the desk strewn with papers.

You turn your attention back to the desk surveying the organized chaos, trying to piece together how he usually files them. The thin sheets—pale and slightly crumpled—belong in the manila folder. The thicker briefs, stapled neatly, go in the black case. And the photos…

Huh. 

Your hand pauses mid-reach, brow furrowing as your eyes fall on the glossy prints. You tilt your head. Something about them feels—almost… familiar, maybe. You stop to lay them out side by side, studying them more closely. 

Three photos. Three crime scenes. Three notes. 

The first note reads, ‘I burn.’ The words are scrawled haphazardly, the letters jagged and uneven.

The second is darker, more ominous, ‘Your knife.’ Its edges marked by splatters of blood.

The third is the most unsettling of all. Just two words. ‘All alone.’ Stark and final. 

Slowly, then all at once, it hits you. 

You know these words. You’ve read these words before. 

Why do you know these words? Where have you read them before?

It gnaws at you. The exhaustion you felt earlier is long gone as you find yourself sinking into Spencer’s chair. Your fingers trace the edges of the prints as you try to piece together your fragments of memory. You don’t know how much time has passed since you first laid eyes on the photos until Spencer calls to you from the bedroom.

“In here,” you answer absently.

When he steps into the doorway, your heart flutters despite yourself. He’s a sight to behold—hair damp, shirt slightly clinging to his chest, a towel draped over his shoulders as he dries his hair.

“Hey,” he says, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Why’re you still in here?”

“Got distracted,” you murmur, gesturing to the desk.

“Intriguing, huh?”

“She definitely is,” you reply, almost without thinking.

“I don’t know when he’ll strike next—” he starts, then stops abruptly. His expression shifts, his gaze sharpening as he looks at you. 

“What’d you just say?”

“Hm?” You blink, finally meeting his eyes.

“You said ‘she’s’ intriguing,” he repeats, stepping closer now. “You think the unsub’s a she?”

“Isn’t she?” you say, frowning at the question. “I could definitely use a lot of other words to describe her, but…” your voice uncertain.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, the poems, for one—I mean, they’re all about hurt and enraged women,” you explain. “And signing off with them? That’s definitely not not intriguing…” You trail off, puzzled by the sudden gravity of the conversation. 

Spencer goes rigid, every muscle in his body locking up. “Poems?” 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice small now, “The notes. They’re all closing words of Duffy’s poems. I thought you—Did you not…” 

Your words trail off as you see his face harden, eyes widening as the weight of your words hits him. 

“Oh my god.” Your hands fly to your mouth as the realization hits you, the pieces suddenly falling into place. “You didn’t know.”

Spencer Reid hardly swears, if ever, but the next words out of his mouth are nothing short of explicit. He’s already moving towards the desk, the towel falling unnoticed to the floor. “Show me,” he says, urgency in his voice. You get up quickly, wanting to make room, but he stops you. “No, you sit,” he says, eyes locked on the notes. “Show me.”

“Okay, okay.” You steady yourself before pointing to the first note. “Um, look, this one, ‘I burn.’ It’s from her poem Warming Her Pearls. She’s a maid who secretly pines for her mistress. She loves her but, well, she can’t be with her cause they’re from different societies.” You look up at him expectantly. “It’s about class inequality and…”

“Unrequited love.” Spencer finishes gravely, his voice low but certain.

“Right, exactly.” You glance up at him, searching his face for understanding. Spencer nods, taking it in, and you move on to the next. 

“And then this one, ‘Your knife.’ It’s from Valentine. The speaker, she doesn’t want the usual valentine gifts, so she gives an onion instead. But… she says it’ll make the receiver cry, because well, onions do that. It’s a basically a metaphor for love, how—” You take a deep breath, your throat tightening. “How dangerous it can become.”

Spencer stays quiet, but his eyes are fixed on you. His hand finds your back, giving a reassuring, gentle rub.

You hesitate before pointing to the last note. “And this one, ‘All alone.’” You swivel the chair around to face him fully, the tension in your chest growing. “I wasn’t sure about the first two, but when I saw this, I knew.”

“Little Red Cap,” Spencer finishes for you, his voice tinged with self-reproach. “Your favourite. God, why didn’t I see this?”

You nod, your voice softening. “Yeah. The opening poem of The World’s Wife. She uses Red Riding Hood to explore growing up, losing innocence and… well, you know the rest.”

Spencer’s lips press into a thin line as he nods grimly. “The wolf represents someone older, predatory. A lover.”

“Yeah, and she uh,” you say, barely a whisper. “She kills him.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens, his frustration evident. “How did I not—How’d you—” If the situation weren’t so dire, you might have joked about never expecting to hear those words from Spencer Reid. Instead, you force a shrug, casual, as if your analysis hadn’t just reshaped everything. “TA-ed a few classes on Duffy,” you say grimly.

The silence stretches, heavy and charged, until Spencer crouches down in front of you. His sharp eyes soften as they meet yours. “You’re… you’re incredible, you know that?” His tone is low, reverent. He presses a brief, warm kiss to your forehead before standing, running a hand through his still-damp hair. Then his expression shifts, eyes darkening with urgency. “I need to make a call.” 

You nod silently, still curled up in his chair. You don’t trust your legs to carry you to the bed that’s one room over, not right now. Spencer steps away, his phone already pressed to his ear. It takes only a few moments before he starts speaking.

“Hotch,” he begins, “I think the unsub is a woman.”

The reply on the other end is muffled, but you can follow the conversation through Spencer’s responses.

“Poems, yeah—Carol Ann Duffy,” he says, pacing a few steps. “We’ve been looking for patterns in the wrong places.”

He pauses, listening, before adding, “How’d I—? Just… from a friend.”

His tone is careful, protective. You know Spencer doesn’t want his team knowing about you. When Spencer told you he wanted to keep his professional and personal lives separate, you didn’t understand at first. But after he’d opened up about what happened to his boss—how it shattered everyone—you stopped pushing. You understood then why he was so insistent on drawing those boundaries, even if it meant staying in the shadows of his world. 

You watch him, eyes tracing the way his jaw clenches, the restless motion of his fingers. “This is the lead we need. What—No, we don’t need to bring them in.” ​​You can see the moment his patience snaps.

“What we need is to focus on her work—her themes, her voice. It’ll give us insight into the unsub’s mindset. No, I—” Spencer’s tone sharpens, frustration creeping in as he rakes a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. 

“I know this is important, I’m not saying it isn’t—” He stops mid-sentence, the voice on the other end cutting him off. His lips press into a thin line, and he exhales through his nose, fingers pinching the bridge. “Fine,” he mutters, his tone tense but resigned. 

“Okay.” He pauses for a beat, “We’ll—she’ll be there.”

As he hangs up, Spencer turns back to you, his expression carefully guarded. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks, tentative.

You have two lectures. “Nothing,” you say, the word slipping out easily. He frowns, uncertain. 

“Kristoff’s out sick, and Burton doesn’t care about attendance anyway,” you quickly lie. The tension in his face eases just slightly, but you can still see the hesitation in his eyes.

“Right, um, my boss,” You can sense a hint of nervous energy in the way he shifts his weight. “He wants us in at 8, sharp. I’ll drive.”

The apology is clear in his expression as he crouches down, taking your hands in his. “I know this isn’t exactly what you signed up for,” he says, his voice quieter now. “But... I know he wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.” 

A simple, quiet “I know” is all you can manage.

You can tell he feels bad about dragging you into this. You definitely hadn’t imagined this would be your introduction to his world either—messy, intense, and impossibly heavy. And from this brief glimpse, you’re not sure if you’re ready for it after all.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[yanderestarangel]

Will there possibly be any more Tio Miguel O’Hara au???

𝐌𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ┆ 𝐓𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 - 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘

꒰∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ ── Hi guys, I remembered I have a blog, hehe:3

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ "Before you, silence and emptiness for me were like an open, painful wound that stained my clothes a calloused, uncomfortable red. But with you, silence became just a space to be filled with your laughter and ethereal presence. My thoughts turn to you, my sweet nephew, loose and deliberate... I really shouldn't feel this way, but you don't know how much it affects me just by you being you." - 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: 𝓽𝓲𝓸 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵.

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

➜ This AU will probably become a fic with non-linear chapters, that is, I will post in non-chronological order of the canonical events that happened. [ There will be several alt. routes and you can suggest more ideas about this AU. ]

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

★☆ Notes: This is a work of dark romance/content, please do not read if you are a sensitive person, I am not romanticizing abuse or abusive relationships, this is just fiction.

♡ ┆ TW: written in the form of a poem, corruption, step!incest, dark romance, ftm reader, abusive relationship, mourning, dumbfication, manipulation, age gap, eat out, creampie, sex without a condom, dub con, afab anatomy

You weren't so naive as to not notice your Tio's lascivious gaze on your body ─ especially when you wore short, white dresses on hot days, your skin shone with a thin layer of sweat while your curves were otherwise hidden by thicker fabrics and dense spaces were exposed to the world and the cowboy's dark eyes.

The same lips that kissed you so innocently one day, held the hot tongue that would bring your ruin filled with lust. He had a negligent look, a harsh air, he was the same man who had made you taste the fruit of forbidden desire ─ far from everything and everyone, you two did not share the innocent courtship of being just a nephew and uncle... But before for you to stop like a whore, with your legs open for someone you swore would never feel anything... It hadn't started like that.

Desire, like all things in the world, had to have an origin, guidance and explanation ── everything could have started with the cruel grief of losing the wife that Miguel loved so much, the woman's name was not even uttered by his mouth, the same painful memory of lost nights of empty promises cut by the tragic and sharp scythe of death and destiny. The tanned-skinned man spent nights questioning the direction of his life and the classic question: "why me?".

Without an answer however, he sank even deeper into his own mind, the emptiness of his home now without a wife and the future children that were idealized by both of them had not come to fruition.

A foolish, lost and purposeless man was what he was.

So, just as the devil tries to make sin, he had finally found something that filled the void that was once held in his hard and dirty soul ── you. He tried to repress these feelings, it wasn't love, it wasn't a pure and polished love, it was a corrupted feeling of possession and obsession ─ he wanted to control your life, control you and make you his forever, trap you somewhere where you would stay safe from the dangers of the dirty world where they lived; but he himself was this dirt.

Then, slowly he began to enter your life even more like a parasite implanting the dirty thoughts you would later have about him. Taking you away from your family and manipulating everything and everyone into believing that he was the best person to take care of you ─ after all, he was just a concerned Tio... Or not?

Like a waltz with the devil, it all began that hot summer night with a dance ─ without protests and murmurs of complaints you followed him to an isolated place where your family's celebration was taking place that night, the warm orange light coming from the old tile ceiling warmed your cheeks and made you blush even more under the brunette's deep gaze.

Miguel watched as you moved to the music, his gaze mesmerized by the fluidity of your movements. A soft smile graced his lips as he took in the sight before him- the youthful vigor and elegance you possessed. He couldn’t help but be drawn to you, even if it sometimes stirred up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within him.

He wasn't just your tio, was he? No more, if he ever was to begin. His large hand caressed his waist, gently but firmly gripping the fabric of your blouse soft under his touch. His thumb brushed against his back, effortlessly guiding you through the dance.

"My precious angel", he murmured, his voice practically low. "You look like a dream, like a celestial being that has somehow landed among us mortals. It makes me want to take that dream and hold on to it forever."

He brought you closer, as if he was going to devour you ─ He moved like a predator, he looked at you like a predator... He was a predator.

Tio Miguel's lips traced a burning path along the sensitive skin of your neck, each kiss leaving a trail of heat as his hands slid down and squeezed your ass possessively. His breath was hot against your skin, a mix of whiskey and desire that sent shivers down your spine. His moans were hoarse, filled with a primal hunger.

He pulled back slightly, dark eyes ablaze with lust, his gaze falling to your chest, where your breasts strained against the fabric of your blouse. The hunger in his eyes was almost palpable, tacit and obscure, there was no point in running and maybe you didn't even want to escape, it was like a tempting trap that would hurt you deliciously.

"Mi prince," he rasped, his voice rough with need. "You're so beautiful. So fuckin' beautiful."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and predatory, as he grabbed your waist with one hand and pressed you against him. His hardness nudging between your legs, making you aware of his desire for you.

"Let's go somewhere more private, mi vida. It's time to show you just how much I want you." His lips crushed against yours, the intensity of your kiss staggering. His tongue thrust into your mouth, tangling with yours, the taste of whiskey and raw desire overwhelming. His hands moved with purpose, tugging at your clothes, urgently trying to rid you of any barriers between you both. He nibbled gently at your lips, pulling back to whisper against your mouth.

"Don't fight me, mi chico guapo. We both know you want this." With a low growl, he pulled you close once more, your lips crushing against his as your hands moved with purpose. His fingers expertly explored your soft body, teasing and coaxing you to the edge of pleasure. As his thumb brushed your clit, he swallowed your moans, his own desire heightened by the sacred taboo of his actions.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, my life. But I can't promise I will." Miguel said, but you both had the idea that that wasn't what was going to happen, especially when his tongue licked your pink flesh so well and made your legs tremble around his head ── his calloused and warm hands separated the flesh again softness of your thighs, making your breasts bounce and you tremble and whimper slyly for more.

Sin was good, so you two were condemned to a hell of unlimited pleasure and lust, without judgmental looks from others. Just you and your dear Tio Miguel. You moaned dirty, incoherent sentences, just looking for more friction with the other man's mouth, you were both moaning with need ─ you were both a mess of repressed desire and unthought-out consequences.

Your tio's hot tongue left your entrance, but before any scream of protest you saw him take off his pants quickly and lower them to his knees, exposing his muscular thighs and his thick cock with veins pulsing strongly, the smell of musk filled your nose as you felt the heat radiate from the older man’s member.

Uncle Miguel's cock pulsed as it passed your entrance, the swollen head teasing your clit before entering your comfortable, warm pussy. Every inch of their sensitive flesh reveled in the forbidden embrace, eagerly awaiting the moment they would finally become one. He growled softly, muscles tensing as he thrust inside, filling you with his thick erection.

Miguel's grip enveloped you like a vice, the sensation overwhelming you both-- his eyes locked with yours, the intensity of the connection incendiary, as he slowly advanced. His size made him feel huge, stretching you despite the ample lubrication. His moan of pleasure joined his groan of pain, a symphony of raw desire and urgency. His hands shook slightly as he thrust into you, the animalistic sounds of your union echoing in the small space.

Each thrust was deliberate, calculated to maximize his pleasure and his own desire. "Mi rei, are you okay?" he panted, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he continued to move. "Tell me if you need me to stop..."

Despite the agony of his position and his size, your nod was slow and deliberate. Your eyes never left his, each thrust bringing with it pleasure and submission. You could count how many thrusts there were by the weight of his balls that hit your soft ass, leaving a red, painful mark on your sensitive flesh.

"Good boy... Taking everything in that cute pussy..." He growled as the veins in his neck bulged with each effort of his hips to not stick it all in and feel the tip of his dick tirelessly kiss your uterus ── but he didn't I could scare you now, despite wanting to take out all the frustration and excitement accumulated in your cunt. Your breasts bounced as you cried with fat tears coming down from your orbs, pleasure, guilt and undefined feelings in your mind made you bite your lip and just enjoy the moment.

"Fuck, mi angelito," he groaned, his eyes locked on yours. "F-Fuck, I can't control myself... Mierda-"

His movements became erratic, his need overpowering him as he drove into you, chasing the peak of his release. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat as he thrust deeper, harder, his desire fueling the intensity of your coupling.

"Just like this, mi carinõ," he cried out, his voice hoarse with lust. "Just like this, with you..." His words are the catalyst for your own release, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, wracking your body with pleasurable contractions that milk him of his release.

Miguel follows suit, his cock twitching inside you as he fills you with his warm, pearly essence, marking you as his once again. He collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding, both spent from the intensity.

"I don't deserve you, boy, but I need you."

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 4 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Anna was afraid to face her new friends after the night out at the bar. Admitting she was attracted to Bob was easier to do than explain why she couldn't have him. When she finally sends him some book recommendations, she finds his taste in books familiar in an all too intimate way. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, eventually 18+

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Anna spent the rest of her weekend working on lesson plans and looking at Bob's number saved in her phone. She had compiled a mental list of titles she thought he would like, and she'd even pulled a few dog-eared books from her own collection and stacked them up on her narrow counter. She would absolutely love to have Bob borrow them from her, but she'd completely messed everything up.

Why, when confronted with a decent man, did she shut everything down and destroy all hope? Because of Kevin. That's why. She knew this crush on Bob was a bad idea. Nothing good could come of it, but she still caught herself looking at his contact information on Sunday evening with longing in her heart.

She made herself a sad sandwich for dinner and packed herself a second sad sandwich for lunch the next day and then she settled in with her computer. The idea of taking her sad sandwich to the quad and eating with her friends was making her anxious. What if they didn't even want her around now that she'd made a complete fool of herself in front of their friend? What if they looked up at her as she approached them sitting on the bench with their perfect, beautiful lunches and scowled with their perfect, beautiful faces? 

"Oh no," she groaned, covering her eyes with her hand. She really liked them, but they probably hated her now. And she really liked Bob, but he probably went home with that better looking woman who was at the Navy bar and hadn't thought about Anna one time since. 

She forced her attention to her computer screen which was prompting her for a password. She entered Kev1n1s@t00L and watched as the website she'd had open on her browser came to life. She sighed as she scrolled through her saved favorites on PoetsAmongUs. It was kind of pitiful that she knew what she was going to end up reading before she could actually admit it to herself. 

Your whispers call out in the darkest shadows, My heart answers like a flame, Igniting this shared space with every breath I take, Giving you a love that will never find the end. It binds me to you, pulsing through my veins, Emotions like I've never known before. I've doubted that I could reach this place, But I feel endlessly sure here now.

Anna whined from her bed in her sad little apartment as she looked at the pen name of her favorite poet before clicking on it. He either never finished filling out his profile or he was being purposely vague. Male, 30s, United States. 

"Sky Writing. The only man I would trust with my heart ever again." She read the poem once more. That was her favorite passage, but she knew everything he posted by heart and got excited every time something new from him popped up every few months. 

It was late enough that she could probably just go to sleep without acknowledging that she hadn't texted Bob and probably never would. She couldn't set foot back in that bar ever again. Maybe that other place that Jessica loved so much would be somewhere she could check out next time she had nothing better to do. Chippy's or something? She started to doze off.

When her alarm started blaring, it was almost like she had slept too well. She'd dreamed about a faceless man with beautiful hands reading poetry to her while he ran his fingers slowly up and down her bare thigh. She couldn't shake the delicious feeling even as her alarm got louder. When she managed to turn it off, she lay there wishing she had time to go on the poetry website and masturbate before work. 

"Stop it," she whispered as she got up and started getting herself ready for the day. 

At least she got to teach English 522 this afternoon. Feminist Literature was becoming one of her favorite classes, as evidenced by her well worn copy of Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu which was in her bag. When she stood in her kitchen and ate a peanut butter granola bar and drank some coffee, she looked at the books she had pulled out as options for Bob, but she shook her head and left for the day without dwelling on how disappointing her life truly was.

Relying solely on public transportation meant leaving a lot earlier than you wanted to, but Anna still barely made it to her office in time to grab her notebook and teach her first lecture of the week. Half of the students still looked like they were asleep while the other half were looking at her like she was a literary messiah. It was almost comical, and when lunchtime rolled around, she was in a pretty great mood. Until she realized she was still on the fence about going to the quad. 

"Just do a vibe check," she muttered as she grabbed her lunch from her office. "If they look pissed off, you can come right back here and never talk to anyone else again for the rest of your life." She could subside on sandwiches and online poetry and only speak when she was giving lectures. That sounded simultaneously amazing and also terrifying.

The college campus was bustling today. There were some guys skateboarding through the quad, and she recognized a few other faculty members from the English department who waved to her. But that didn't stop her palms from sweating and her heart from thudding in a sickening rhythm that Edgar Alan Poe would think was beautiful. When she spotted the two women on the bench in front of the weird tree, Anna was shocked to see them waving to her with smiles on their faces. 

"Anna!" called Jessica. "You'll never believe it! The vending machine just gave me my bottle of Pepsi and a bonus bottle of ginger ale! Like it knew I was about to see you!"

"Chaos Theory at its finest," said the other woman before she bit into her carrot stick and hummus. 

"It's really more of the Butterfly Effect," Jessica replied. Anna had no idea what they were talking about, but they scooted away from each other on the bench to make room, so she decided to stay.

Anna swallowed hard as she sat and opened her pack of peanuts. "How was the rest of your weekend?" she asked the two of them, and soon her nerves calmed down. 

"Excellent. Bradley and I took a tour of the library yesterday."

"Pretty good. I helped Jake make waffles for breakfast. Lots and lots and lots of waffles. What did you do with the rest of your weekend? After the Hard Deck?"

Anna accepted the bottle of ginger ale that Jessica handed to her as she said, "Um, well I did my lesson plans for the next few weeks. And I started writing my midterm exams. Nothing exciting."

She was met with a bit of awkward silence, and she could feel the two women sharing a look behind her head. "Did you happen to text Bob?" Advanced Calculus asked cautiously, and Anna knew this was the part where it was all over. The dramatic climax, except she was actually the villain in this story.

"No, actually. I think that ship has sailed," she replied softly. 

"Why?" Jessica asked, not unkindly. "When we figured out that you and he already met at the bookstore in North Park, we were ecstatic. He's the mystery guy you were losing your mind over, Anna! The handsome one with glasses who smells so good!"

"He really does smell good," Advanced Calculus muttered as she dipped another carrot into the hummus which was probably unfairly homemade. "Are you no longer attracted to him? Was it his nerdy tee shirt? Or were all the guys so obnoxious you couldn't wait to leave?"

Anna held onto the cold bottle of ginger ale a little tighter as she said, "It's not that at all. I mean, who in their right mind wouldn't be attracted to Bob? And I thought his shirt was kind of charming. And the rest of the guys were welcoming in a slightly intense way."

Now Jessica was turned to face her, eyes wide behind her glasses. "Bob thinks you ran away from him twice now because he's unappealing and boring."

Anna jolted and the pack of peanuts went flying to the ground, nuts rolling in every direction. "He does?" she asked, palms beginning to sweat again.

"Yeah. Big time. But he's quite attracted to you. Apparently the red hair is a thing."

"Oh my god," Anna moaned in embarrassment. Bob liked her red hair? "Oh no. No. No. He's just.... he's so.... and he's also.... I can't even." She took a deep breath as she kicked at the lost peanuts. "Bob is so handsome. It's hard to look into his eyes for too long, because you start to feel like you're going to break out into song. And I don't think I've ever been around a man who smells quite that nice. And he's funny and just a touch nerdy, but that's a good thing." 

There was another beat of silence before Advanced Calculus said, "I'm not really understanding what the problem is."

Anna shook her head and unwrapped her sandwich to keep her hands busy. "Listen, none of my weirdness is because of him. It's all because of me. I can't have a crush on him. I can't be interested in him. I can't be interested in any men whatsoever."

Jessica nudged her shoulder and said, "Maybe you could just text him? Maybe making another new friend wouldn't be so bad?"

--------------------------

"Well if you can't find a girlfriend, I hope you're at least getting your rocks off with an attractive lady."

Bob was cradling his forehead in his hand and trying to escape from Suzanne's house without having this conversation. Whenever he stopped to pick up dinner instead of cooking something at home, he always brought something for her, too. It was the neighborly thing to do, especially when your neighbor was decades older than you, but right now he just wanted to vanish. 

"I wouldn't tell you even if I was," he replied, earning a laugh as she opened up the container of soup at her kitchen table. 

"Sit down and stay for a while," she told him, pointing to the empty chair. "I'll pay you back for dinner with my charm and witticism since you won't accept any money."

His phone started to vibrate in his uniform pocket, and he dug it out thinking it was probably Jessica having finished mocking up her barbarian character for their campaign, but it was a text from an unknown number. He was about to pocket his phone again, but then he saw the words book recommendations and paused. He quickly unlocked the phone and started reading the texts that were coming through.

I have some book recommendations for you if you still want them. I'm sorry I didn't send them over the weekend.

This is Anna, by the way.

I should have started with that information.

Wow. This is already embarrassing.

Bob laughed and started to type back immediately, and then Suzanne's voice cut across his thoughts. "Are you sure you don't have a special lady? You're smiling an awful lot at your phone."

He looked at her and shook his head. "I'm sure. I like this girl, but she doesn't return my feelings that way. She's just sending me some recommendations." He started to back away as he added, "Enjoy your soup. I'll see you later, Suzanne."

"Good night, Robert."

Bob ended up standing just inside his front door as he saved Anna's number and typed back a message to her. He thought keeping it simple would be his best move. Anything more than that and he'd embarrass himself once again by getting ahead of himself with his feelings. 

I would love some more recommendations from you. You're the expert.

He only had to wait about a minute for her response, which was just a list of book after book after book that he'd never even heard of. The first were the ones she'd given to him verbally on Friday night, but the rest were just as foreign to him.

Anna Webber: Persuasion by Austen. Northanger Abbey by Austen, Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence, The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton, Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy, Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell, and The Black Tulip by Alexandre Dumas (because you like poetry so much)

Bob quickly ate his own container of soup while he read the list over and over again. Then without changing out of his uniform, he grabbed the keys to his beat up truck and headed to the bookstore in North Park to see if he could find any of these titles before they closed.

The store was virtually empty, and when he climbed the stairs up to the slightly dusty loft he could practically picture Anna's pretty hands and painted nails gliding along all of the spines. He could imagine her pretty, wide eyes looking up at him before she figured out he was boring. He could hear her laugh as he made his way to the spot where they had been standing together.

That horrible Vonnegut book was still there which made him chuckle. "Figures nobody else would want to read it," he muttered as he reached for it. Then he backtracked a little bit to start collecting everything from Anna's list. He referenced his text messages several times, hunting all over the Classics section until he had almost everything in order. Then he spread them out along the shelf and took a photo. He texted it to her before he could second guess himself after he added a short caption. 

Did I miss anything?

He was walking back down to the poetry section when his phone vibrated.

Anna Webber: You're at the bookstore right now? The one in North Park?

Bob froze in the middle of the stairs. He embarrassed himself without even knowing it. He must seem desperate right now. Running out to the store as soon as she sent him the list. "Shit," he groaned softly. When he got another message, he was almost afraid to look at it.

Anna Webber: I LOVE that store. I wish I were there right now, too.

Bob thought that sounded perfect, actually. Maybe if she were here now, she wouldn't run away this time. He'd been playing those kinds of scenarios over and over in his head, ones where she liked him back the way he liked her. Ones where they left the bookstore holding hands.

He continued downstairs to look for the book of poems she suggested for him, which he found quickly, along with Votive by Keiran Goddard. Would Anna like a copy of his favorite book of poetry? Did he even want to ask her? At this point, he had nothing to lose. She wasn't going to suddenly want him, but that shouldn't stop him from sharing a recommendation of his own. Especially when she might really enjoy something he found so spectacular. 

Bob held the book up and snapped a quick selfie, sending it away into the universe before dwelling on it too much.

--------------------

Anna was preparing a piece of toast with jelly for herself or dinner, desperately wishing she were back at the bookstore. Bob was there, probably smelling so nice and luring everyone else who was shopping closer to him. Perhaps he was wearing another Dungeons & Dragons shirt like he'd worn to the Navy bar. Perhaps his biceps were straining against it.

She didn't have to use her vivid imagination for very long, because suddenly Bob was staring at her through her phone screen with his crooked little smile and his beautiful eyes. And his uniform. 

"Oh my god." The toast slipped from her fingers and landed jelly side down on her plate as she took in every single detail. Navy uniforms were khaki? Why had she assumed they were all navy blue? Why didn't she know more about the Navy? She was going to take the time to learn everything she could about the United States Navy. 

When she realized her mouth was dry, she reached for her glass of water and downed it. She was in a daze. A Bob Floyd induced daze. Even all the little pins on his shirt were distracting. She wanted to count all of them. She wanted to touch them. She wondered what they would feel like if she pressed her lips to them. 

"Stop," she gasped. But she couldn't. Now her eyes drifted up to his face again, and she thought she'd only really ever seen the exact color of his eyes in a Kandinsky painting at the Guggenheim. She couldn't look away. "No. No. No!" she moaned. And then she finally read the actual message he'd typed out after gawking at his photo for five whole minutes. 

Bob Floyd: Have you ever read Votive by Keiran Goddard? It's my favorite collection of poetry. 

Anna laughed a little hysterically. She hadn't even noticed he was holding up a book at all. His graceful fingers were wrapped around the damn thing, but she'd been too distracted by him to actually look at the book. But now the fact that she'd never read Goddard before had her flushed and flustered, because Bob had sent a book recommendation to her. Nobody ever did that, and all she could think about was how she absolutely needed to get her hands on a copy and devour the whole entire thing if it was something he liked. 

Very calmly and rationally, she typed back to him.

I have not read it yet, but I'll add it to my list of things to check out of the library. 

When she set her phone down and realized her toast had become a casualty to this text conversation, she moaned and flipped it back over. Her heart was still beating a little erratically from looking at Bob's photo for too long, and she didn't think she could even eat. There was no way she could waste any food in her current financial state though, so she took a bite anyway as he texted her back.

Bob Floyd: I'll just pick it up for you while I'm here. I hope you'll like it, but if you hate it, that's okay too. It's a bit of an acquired taste.

Oh no. She couldn't let him buy it, because she didn't have any extra spending money at the moment to be able to pay him back. But admitting that to him would be excruciatingly embarrassing, and she didn't even think she could do it. Perhaps she could scrape together twenty dollars if she skipped a few meals, but then she wouldn't be able to join the girls in the quad at lunchtime. They'd notice her lack of food right away. 

"Why are you such a disaster?" she asked herself as she scarfed down the rest of her toast and typed back to him.

Thank you. I can pay you back for it later.

She would figure it out. She always did. Even when she didn't want to, she managed to find a way to solve her problems. Even when it hurt.

Bob Floyd: It's my treat. I can give it to Bradley or Jake at work tomorrow. I'm sure either of the ladies wouldn't mind getting it to you when they see you. Or if you feel like it, we could meet for coffee one day and I could give it to you in person. Just let me know.

"Oh, Anna," she whispered, already typing out a response before she could think better of it.

--------------------------

Bob was surprised Anna took him up on his offer to meet for coffee, but he found himself looking forward to it in spite of the fact that he was still pining a bit. He'd get over it in time. He'd find someone new to crush on, or maybe he'd meet another girl that he was interested in, and maybe she would be interested back. But none of that stopped him from being excited at the prospect of being around her again. And none of that prepared him for the way he felt when Anna pushed through the door of the coffee shop on Wednesday evening and looked around tentatively. Her red hair was in another loose braid, and her freckles were so endearing.

As soon as her eyes landed on him, she looked less apprehensive but also more resigned. When she approached the table where he was sitting with three books, he stood. "Hey. Anna. How are you?"

"Hi, Bob." Even her voice was soft and sweet as her eyes swept along his face and body. She blushed a pretty shade of pink as she said, "Thanks for the book. Will you let me buy you something to drink?"

He didn't respond beyond nodding and leading the way toward the counter. He listened to her order a small coffee before he ordered a large hot tea, and when she reached for her wallet, he was already handing over a twenty. When she looked up at him with wide, brown eyes, he just smiled. "You don't have to buy me a drink."

She watched the money leave his hand as she said, "Well, you don't have to buy me one either."

"Too late."

She was quiet as they returned to the small table with their hot beverages, but as soon as she sat, she said, "You'll have to let me pay next time."

Bob slid two of the books across the table as he asked, "Next time?" But she didn't respond as she let her fingers brush along Votive before she picked it up to reveal the one underneath it.

Anna's laughter filled the small space as her eyes darted back up to meet his. "You bought Cat's Cradle? I didn't think that was the kind of thing you were looking for?"

He glanced down into his tea. "Uh, it's not. I got it for you."

"Bob," she said quietly, her fingers tracing the spine now. He liked her nail polish and wanted to touch her hands. "You did not have to get me two books."

"Yes I did," he said with a smile. "Vonnegut sounds horrible. I felt bad for it because nobody else was ever going to buy it. I couldn't just leave it to rot on the shelf when I know the only person who would be willing to give it a nice home."

When she laughed again, she seemed resigned to the fact that the books were both hers. "Thanks. Money is a little tight for me right now. You know how it is when you first move," she told him while she fidgeted a bit. "But next time, I'll buy your drink. Or your book. Or something."

"You keep saying 'next time'."

Anna poked at her coffee cup and said, "I thought maybe.... we could be friends."

"Friends." His voice felt and sounded stale. The word made him feel sadder than it should have. "Of course."

She looked even more relieved now as she took a sip of her coffee, but Bob was busy trying not to memorize the pretty pattern of her freckles across her nose and the way her lips were pursed. He wouldn't look at a friend that way. 

"Which book is that?" she asked, nodding toward the last one in front of him. 

He flipped it over so she could see the cover, and he said, "Oh, it's The Age of Innocence. I'm almost done reading it, and I was just hoping to get your opinions on a few things."

Anna's eyes went wider. "You're almost done reading it? Already?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded like a groan, and he knew he should be embarrassed since she recommended it two days ago, but he said, "Once I start a new book, I can't put it down if it's good."

"So you like it?" she asked, leaning a little closer to him as a smile played along her lips. 

"It's fantastic," he replied, and her foot brushed his softly beneath the table.

Anna licked her lips and shifted in her seat as she made a soft sound that just made Bob want to get closer to her. She clasped her hands on the table in front of her and cleared her throat before she blurted out. "You're really handsome." His lips parted wordlessly, unsure how to respond, but he didn't have to as she immediately said, "And you're not boring. Not at all. I could have stayed in that dusty bookstore all afternoon, tucked away in the loft, talking to you about book after book."

"Oh," he replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Really?"

"Yes. Really," she said, and it sounded like she meant it. "I didn't disappear because of you. I disappeared because of me. And I'm really sorry about that."

Then he realized what was going on. His friends got to her already. He'd told Jessica on Saturday night that he was sure Anna ditched him because he's probably not as handsome or interesting as she's used to. And now he was going to have to text her and tell her to lay off. This whole thing was embarrassing enough without having to hear Anna pity him like this.

"Don't worry about it," he told her softly with his best attempt at a smile. "We can be friends."

When he got home, she texted him to thank him again for the books and the coffee. But he was still thinking about her freckles and how far down her neck they might go. Maybe they made a pretty pattern across her shoulders, too. Maybe they would disappear into her bra, a perfect treasure for another man to find. But not Bob. Bob and Anna were just friends.

------------------------

When Anna finally got home after taking two buses, it was so late, she knew she should go right to bed. But she was wishing for another cheap bottle of wine to try to take her mind off of Bob. He was perfect, and she couldn't let herself have him. They could be friends, but nothing more. She could send him texts, but they couldn't flirt. 

She already missed his soft voice and the way he gave her his entire focus when they were together. He bought her two books! Nobody else ever bought her books! And he read the ones she recommended to him! Maybe Kevin was to blame for most things that had gone wrong in her life, but literally no man she'd ever known was as kind and thoughtful as Bob.

She collapsed back onto her bed in her sad apartment were she could look at her kitchen and her bathroom at the same time, and she opened the book of poetry. Bob's favorite poetry. Within minutes of reading the first few pages, she felt warmer and maybe a little flustered. The passages were romantic and insightful in such a familiar way. Something was tickling at her brain, trying to trigger a memory. She kept reading, making it fifteen pages in before she gasped and realized what it was. 

"Sky Writing," she murmured, reaching for her computer in favor of the book. She was reminded of her favorite novice poet from her favorite website. The poetry in the book sounded a bit like the poems written by Sky Writing, and now Anna was even more of a mess knowing that this was the kind of intimate literature Bob preferred to read. 

She wanted him. She wanted to know what his big, sturdy hands would feel like on her body. What his lips tasted like. She wanted to erase that pinch of doubt she saw on his face when she tried to reassure him that even though they were going to be just friends, she definitely found him attractive. 

The next time she went shopping, she was going to need to stock up on some more bottles of cheap wine.

-------------------------

Just friends. Okay, Anna. Sure, babe. Let's see how long that lasts. Bob's wingwomen are powerful. Thank you @lauratang for the book/reading list! And thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 5

@thedroneranger

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[jane-alma]

Writing advice for new writers

Some things that I wished I had been told when I started writing <3

1. Read, read, read:

Immerse yourself in the works of established authors across various genres. Reading not only exposes you to different writing styles and techniques but also helps you understand the fundamentals of storytelling. It broadens your vocabulary, sparks your imagination, and inspires your own writing.

2. Write regularly:

Make writing a habit. Set aside dedicated time each day or week to write, even if it's just for a short period. Consistency is key to improving your skills and developing your unique voice. Practice, experiment, and don't be afraid to make mistakes – it's all part of the learning process.

3. Embrace the editing process:

Writing is rewriting. Understand that your first draft is just the beginning. Editing and revising are crucial steps that transform your work into its best version. Be open to constructive feedback, whether from friends, writing groups, or professionals. Embrace the opportunity to refine your ideas, strengthen your prose, and polish your storytelling.

4. Find your writing environment:

Discover the environment in which you feel most comfortable and creative. Experiment with different settings, and create a space that inspires and motivates you to write. Surround yourself with objects, images, or music that enhance your creativity.

5. Explore different genres and styles:

Don't limit yourself to a single genre or writing style. Experiment with different forms of writing – from short stories to poetry, fiction to non-fiction. Trying new genres and styles challenges you as a writer, expands your skills. I also find this really helpful If I feel stuck in a project. Whenever I feel really stuck, I like to open a new document, or even get a pen and some paper and just write something completely different. It might just be a silly little poem, or maybe I’ll just write down what I’ve been doing that day. Just something to get out of my head, and then I can get back to my project with a clearer mind.

6. Write what you love:

Write about topics that genuinely interest and excite you. When you're passionate about your subject matter, your enthusiasm will shine through in your writing. Whether it's fantasy, romance, history, or science fiction, let your love for the topic fuel your creativity and captivate your readers.

7. Trust your voice:

Each writer has a unique voice, perspective, and story to tell. Embrace your individuality and trust your instincts. Don't compare yourself to others or try to imitate someone else's style. Your voice is what sets you apart and makes your writing authentic.

8. Enjoy the process:

Above all, enjoy the process of writing. Writing is a creative outlet, a form of self-expression, and a journey of self-discovery. Embrace the ups and downs, the challenges and triumphs, and savor the joy of bringing your ideas to life through words.

And most importantly of all: Remember, every writer starts somewhere, and like any other craft, it takes time, practice and dedication. Happy writing y’all! <3

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 10.2 K Warnings: MAJOR ANGST MOMENT Prompt: Alone, desperate, lonely. How did you end up like this? How will you recover? Is recovering even possible? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by Lovely @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 56: Who Wants to Live Forever

There's no place for us

What is this thing that builds our dreams, 

yet slips away from us

You sighed, it was a game. Your father had designed a game, and if you wanted to get to the other side you’d have to follow his instructions or solve his riddle. The weird thing was, how much it seemed to be targeted to you. As if he knew one day, you’d have to enter the chamber without him, or without the key. It was fishy, but you still wanted to know what was on the other side. 

The riddle was way too elaborate for him to have created it since Christmas, so you ruled out the chance of it being a trap. You would have gone as far as to say that he hadn’t even thought about you visiting theVault he’d given you yet, as if he expected that to be way later on. It was true that you’d gotten an obscene amount of pocket money on Christmas, and he did suggest you could save it in your vault. But still, there was something odd about the entire thing. 

You read the riddle again “In shadows deep and whispers soft, a secret lies, though hidden oft,” you muttered. “It must be somewhere in here.” You looked around, raptor-like, analytical, and cold. Solving a riddle was a brilliant way to take your mind off everything it was insistent on thinking, and you weren’t going to reject the opportunity. “Whispers soft,” you repeated. In one of the corners stood a long and tall harp. You could barely see it, it was as if it was sucking the light out of the room. You grabbed the star ring you’d seen earlier with a handkerchief and walked closer to it. Nothing seemed to move, but as you walked closer, you could hear it: the faintest sound of the harp, a soft and haunting melody. 

You instantly knew what it was, “The Song of Seikilos”. You swallowed, there was no question about it anymore, this riddle had been designed for you. The Song of Seikilos wasn’t the most common song out there, but you knew about it, and Silas knew that you knew. The summer before the trip with the Blacks, your father had taken you and your mother to Denmark for some political business. You’d begged him to let you visit the muggle museum. He said he too was interested in visiting it and told you to wait. 

A week later you were all in the museum. They had a special music-related event, and inside one of the showrooms you got to see the marble columns that held the poem. But there was also a man next to it, playing the same song on the violin while a lady dressed in Greek robes sang the song. 

You placed the ring closer to the harp, and surely, there were Greek inscriptions on its side. You breathed and took a closer look. You couldn’t read or speak Greek –let alone ancient Greek– but you were familiar enough with the alphabet, and it wasn’t hard to find the “Σεικίλος”. 

You were right, it really was The Song of Seikilos. 

You tried to remember what the poem was about, the small caption next to the piece said something about it being a dedication for Seikilos’ wife. But this had happened years ago, how the fuck would your father expect you to remember? You went back to the inscriptions on the harp. You looked through the text again, paying attention to each of the letters. Was there anything you could read? 

φαίνου? No idea what that might be. λυποῦ? You weren’t even sure how to pronounce that. χρόνος? hronos… Chronos… The titan of time! 

“Of course!” You said excitedly. “The song of Seikilos was an epitaph! A poem for his dеad wife.”

 It said something about Chronos demanding it’s due. About time demanding his due. Time… time… time… you pondered. “Through twists and turns of mind and fate. Seek the truth, but never late.” 

But what could the truth be? Dеath? That was too simple, too obvious. 

Silas would never go for something like that. You leaned closer to the harp, the ring held high illuminating as much as possible, the harp still sucked the light out of it. Either way, right in the corner of the room, under a couple of books you saw something that looked interesting. An old journal. But not just any journal, it was a dream journal. 

“In echoes of dreams untold, the key awaits, in tales of old,” you whispered and leaned in to take it in between your hands. It was heavy and old. Blue leather cover and silver engravings. You pulled it out and held it to the light of the vault. You checked the clock again. 10 minutes. it had been ten minutes since you took your bag. If only you could slow time or make yourself faster. There were plenty of spells that allowed you to do that, none of which you could perform with her wand. 

You took a deep breath before opening the dream journal. Empty. It made sense, after all it said dreams untold. But if they’re not told then… could they be shown? 

You looked at the page and placed your hand on it, closed your eyes and waited. The tick-tack of the grandfather clock and the faintest whispers of the harp the only sounds in the room. You waited a little more… tick, tack, tick, tack… nothing… No dream, no visions, nothing. 

You turned to the harp again, perhaps you missed something. Maybe on the echos old, instead of in the dreams untold, you thought. But there was nothing on the books either. You grabbed the journal, closed it and started inspecting the cover… there was something odd in some of the patterns. You slid your hand over the spine. and suddenly, something clicked. You frowned and opened the journal again, right there in the middle of the book there were a few hollow pages and inside one of them a small locket. 

You grabbed the locket and left the book on the side, on the back, in cursive so small it was almost unreadable, it said:

While you live, shine have no grief at all life exists only for a short while and Time demands his due.

“It’s the poem’s translation,” you whispered. “But why would I need the poem’s translation?” You looked at the book with the poem again. “Through trials dire and trials fair, only the wise shall find it there.” 

Echoes old, and dreams untold, you recited. Echos old, could be old books, you’d already seen a few old books, there were very many in that corner behind the harp. You pulled them out towards the centre of the room. The Tales of Beedle the Bard, The Arcanum Codex: Legends of the Ancient Wizards, The Chronicles of Avalon (that one was fae), The Divine Comedy, The Chronicles of Mistwood Manor, The Iliad, Paradise Lost and the Odyssey. So many ancient books: wizard, muggle and fae;  but how would you know which one to take? 

The poem… the poem was Greek. You took the three books. in your hands. The Iliad, The Divine Comedy and the Odyssey. But which one to take? 

The Divine Comedy was about hell, but it was also about dеath, which could have a connection to the Seikilos’ poem. On the other hand, The Odyssey perfectly reflected the “trials dire and trials fair, only the wise shall find it there” line of the riddle. 

You were hesitant as you picked the book up, you’d read it before. Your mother had given it to you a few years ago as proof of one of the best muggle-wizard collaborations. With the fact that Homer had been a wizard and because of Circe and Odysseus’ collaboration, proved that while wizards were powerful, and could be evil, they could also be benevolent and help humans. But that was before wizards had decided to seclude themselves from the world, and when they were actually trying to integrate themselves into it.

The book was the version you remembered your mother had given you; green cover, and written in verse. You flipped through some of the pages, and right in the middle of one of them, you found a recipe. 

“Shut up,” you whispered as you looked at it. It was sleep draught. “Fine then, that’s it,” you said annoyed. You were stuck. Except, what if you weren’t? You took the locket from the table in which you’d place it, and stared. The key awaits, in tales of old. 

What if the locket really is a key? But a key to what? 

You spun around in your place, paying a closer look at all the things scattered in the room. The harp and the clock jumped at you at once. 

You walked towards the clock: χρόνος. Chronos was such an important character in the poem, it made sense for it to be an equally important character in the riddle. In seconds you were right in front of it. It had been 15 minutes since you started. You placed your hand over the clock, there were many intricacies detailed all over. From a wonderfully sculpted story on the cover to details of the moon, stars, and planets on the face. It had not two, but eleven hands, 2 for hours and minutes, and then one for each planet. They were right around the clock, and moved ever so slightly each day, mirroring the real movements of each of them. 

And then, right behind the small cristal, there were the winding ports. You took the locket in your hands and cranked it open. Right inside of it, there was a small winding key. You placed it on a spot, and there was a soft chime you took in a breath. Good, now you had to find the rest of the keys. 

You grabbed the book and went over some other lines of the riddle: In silence vast and darkness deep, the answer lies, in dreams asleep. but wake ye now, and heed the call, for time is short, and darkness falls. You glanced at the clock, there was something there now that wasn’t there before. The moon phase section was changing every couple of minutes. It went from crescent to quarter in less than 5. “For time is short and darkness falls,” you whispered as you took a deep breath. “Fuck,” you said when you realised that you didn’t have much time. 

It felt like you were spinning around and around and yet you didn’t get the result you’d hoped for. You turned to the rest of the books. You frowned and turned to the riddle again. There was something about the wise: only the wise shall find it there.

“The wise,” you repeated as you pondered. Greek, the Illiad, Wise. “Athena! But where?” You thought of looking in the book, but something told you that might not be the solution, you had already found enough things in books, there was no way the rest were in them too. 

You looked around the room again, there were so many things it was like looking for Waldo, or worse yet since when you looked for Waldo you knew exactly what you had to find, a small man with glasses and a red striped shirt. Now thought? You had no idea what you were looking for. Still, you looked around and focused. 

That’s when you spotted it, right at the top of one of the huge shelves that held piles and piles of things, there was a statue of an owl. You scoffed when you realised what kind of owl it was, a fucking Athene. You used one of the hundreds of piles of books to lift yourself enough to pull the owl from its place. 

That had never been an issue before, a small spell would be more than enough to have it float gently towards you, but you had to improvise now. You almost tripped and fell, but you managed to hold your balance and took a deep breath once you were back on solid ground with the owl in your hand. You started to twist it around, looking at all his sides. But there was nothing, not a single thing. 

That’s when an idea popped into your head, you took a deep breath and dropped the entire statue into the ground. It burst into hundreds of smaller pieces, and yet they all looked like they had been designed to crack a certain way. You looked at the floor, they had somehow arranged themselves, one line towards the clock, and the other one towards a small cabinet in the far end of the room. You walked there and started opening all the small drawers. 

They had ingredients for potions, and jewellery and– bingo! A vial. Clear liquid, a simple, omnibus label: φάρμακο. You suspected what it might be, the horrifying thought sinking in like a doxy’s fangs. You sighed as you unclogged the cork and brought the potion up to your nose. 

You took a deep breath. Nothing. You concentrated a little bit more, you used the same technique you had developed lately, and while you didn’t physically turn into Vixen, you called upon her sense of smell. There it was, cleverly cloaked, clearly done by an expert, it must have been worth a small fortune. But it was clear as day: Valerian Root and Sopophorous Bean. 

Draught of Living Dеath.

Rather proper, since φάρμακο is old Greek for both poison and cure, you remembered Slughorn had mentioned that once.

If you thought it through, there was no way you were drinking to a different potion. While a simple sleeping draught would have done the trick, like the one in the small note still in your pocket, there was no way time allowed you to brew such a thing, not with the moon already being full, and with half of your time gone.

Now, you knew how dangerous draught of living dеath could be, and this is when the dire trials came back, you could either drink it, do the brave and reckless thing, or you could try and brew the other potion. With no wand, and barely enough time to find all the ingredients.

You took a deep breath, if you took only a drop, really a drop, nothing more than that, and if the potion wasn’t concentrated enough, then perhaps it would be enough for you to fall asleep and wake up before the moon was dark again. 

It was now or never, you took a small hairpin from one of the corners and dipped it in the small bottle. Your breath was short, breathing had become harder as you moved the small, poison-filled pin towards your face. It’s what was expected of you, your father knew how reckless you were, if he had left that there it was for a reason. Not many would be brave –or stupid– enough to drink Draught of Living Dеath, except perhaps someone as stubborn as you or him.

You stuck your tongue out and gently brushed the hairpin right on top of it. You placed the bottle on the side and looked around. Nothing, perhaps I should take more, you thought, and then the walls started to change, coating themselves in a black gooey substance before disappearing entirely. 

“So I’m dreaming,” you said, there was an echo of your voice, going all the way to the end of the seamingly endless room you were in before coming back to you, in a voice eerie similar to yours but also vastly different. 

Deeper, richer, sinister, “So, you are dreaming.” 

You swallowed, it was pointless to ask where this was, or anything regarding the nature of the place, you knew you had a limited amount of time and no matter how different time was in dreams, you couldn’t afford to lose any of it, not unless you wanted Chronos to demand his due.

“I’m looking for a key,” you said, your voice echoed again, louder this time, and then, out of nowhere, something, or rather someone appeared right in front of you.

“We know,” the thing said. It was a figure, almost a mirror to you but with no face, all dark and smooth like a mannequin. Only a sunken mouth, awfully reminiscent of a Dementor’s. It didn’t move as it spoke. “Why do you want it?” 

“I need to get to the other Vault.” 

“The mirror,” a whisper said.

“She wants the mirror,” another whisper returned. 

“I just want the key,” you replied. “I need to see what’s on the other side. It may be dangerous.” 

“It is dangerous, child,” the voice said. 

“It’s a terrible idea to go,” a different one added.

“Perhaps… I still have to do it,” you retorted.

The creature in front of you smiled, a sharp, shark-like grin, “that’s what we wanted to hear,” it said. 

“Two paths lay ahead of thee,” one of the voices started.

“One of us always tells the truth.” 

“The other one always lies.” 

“You may ask one question.” 

“To either one of us but not both.” 

“Ask away, little sprite.” 

“Or stay in the darkness and relent.” 

“It is your choice.” 

You sighed. You knew this riddle, your dad had given it to you when you were 10, you couldn’t find an answer and you begged him to give it to you. He’d said one day you’d guess it yourself. 

“But what if I don’t?” you’d asked, concerned.

“Then you’ll go through the wrong path and something bad would happen.”

“But you could tell me now. Then nothing bad would happen to me.” 

“And you wouldn’t learn a thing,” he had answered indifferently. 

You held back a resentful groan, as you bit your lip. This stupid game was getting beyond annoying.  If this was his way to have you solve his stupid riddle, if he thought you ought to learn something from putting your life at risk, then he might be even worse than you thought. This wasn’t even tough love, this was a reckless gamble of your safety, whatever lesson you were supposed to learn from it was in no way worth it.

And yet, you’d go through with it either way, and he knew you’d go through with it, you were obdurate and determined, and you had to know what was on the other vault. The dream beings had confirmed how dangerous it was, you could not leave it on his hands. Not on the same hands that had cast crucio on your mother. The action that made you react harshly and cause that fire, the action that had caused her demise. 

You turned around, you could hear a faint echo of the clock and the sound of the moon phase section changing again, you were running out of time. 

“I–” you staggered. How could you trick them? One question, what could you ask? 

You turned to one of the paths and pointed at it, “Would the other Omnius voice tell me that this is the way to the key?” 

There was silence, and then the voice said, “No.” 

If it was lying, then the truth would have said “yes”, and it would have changed it to “no”, which meant it was the right path. If it were telling the truth, then the lying voice would have said “no”, and it still would be the right path. 

“Then this is my way,” you said and walked towards the path. 

“Are you sure?” one of the voices said.

“You might be wrong,” the other one added.

“Or you might be right.” 

“Logic in the dream world can be different than back on earth.” 

“What if we switch?” 

“What if we both lied?” 

“Then the riddle would have always been unsolvable by logic,” you said with a shrug. You were confident in your answer.  

“And magic?” 

“Potions?” 

“Veritaserum?” you asked. “That would be cheating.” 

“Isn’t it worth it? To fulfil your task?” 

“Would you drink it voluntarily?” 

“Of course not!” the voice said, irritated. 

“Then it wouldn’t,” you replied. “Unlike Silas, I do not think things can be achieved by any means necessary.” 

The voice laughed, a loud, horrifying cackle that resonated and echoed through the entire room. “She really thinks she’s so much better for following her moral compass.”

“Where has that led you, child?” 

“Alone.” 

“Abandoned.” 

“Motherless.” 

“Loverless.” 

“Straight towards despair.” 

You looked at them, their heinous words echoing in your head, each one stronger than the last. All of them ringing truth to your ears.  But you weren’t going to put your happiness above the one of those you loved. You were not going to let them suffer at your expense. Not when you tried to help Nina and not when you broke up with Sirius. 

“Well then, I’ll walk there gladly, as long as I can still protect the ones I love,” you replied, tears prickled in your eyes as you ventured into the path. 

It was dark and it seemed to grow smaller the deeper you were. But you pushed on, after a long walk, you entered a chamber. You looked around, it was empty, except for a deep plunging drop, and a floating slab of concrete in the middle. And right there in the centre of the island, there was a small jewellery box, with the same engravings as the Grandfather clock in the real world. You knew how dangerous of a jump it was, but you had to take it. 

You took a few steps back to build momentum and you ran. You crashed chest-first into the side, it knocked your breath out and you barely managed to hold onto one of the raised tiles in the floor. Tears prickled in your eyes as you struggled up. How did it always look so much easier in movies and comics? This was almost impossibly tough to achieve. And you had relatively decent arm strength. There was a wand lying on the side, just within reach.

 You hadn’t seen it before but you took it and pointed downwards. “Confringo!” you shouted, the impulse the spell gave you was enough to flip you upside down and have you crash, back first, onto the concrete, your head slamming with an unsettling loud thud. You groaned as you looked up at the nothingness above. 

And then you heard it again, like a faraway whisper: Tick, tack, tick, tack… The ever-so-constant reminder that you had no time to rest. You exhaled wearily and groaned your way into a sitting position. You took the small jewellery box in your hands and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge You were about to smash it into a wall out of exasperation, a riddle within a riddle within a fucking riddle, it was getting out of hand. 

But there was a small glistening thing in the side of the box with some kind of engraving: ᾄδειν Σεικίλος. 

Of course, you thought and recalled the poem you had memorised just in case, “While you live, shine,”  there was a click inside the box. “Have no grief at all,” another click and then a twist, “life exists only for a short while,” a louder sound came from the box, like a small bell, “and Time demands his due.” 

The box opened in a second, surely, there was a key, mirroring the one that had been inside the locket there. You grabbed it, expecting to wake up, but nothing happened. You looked around, there were other trinkets scattered all around, but none of them had anything that could help you wake up on the outside.

There were unlabeled potion bottles, there were other wands like the one you’d used earlier, there were some bones in the corner and there were even a few books– the same ones that had been next to the harp. But there had to be a way to wake up, there had to be a way to get out. 

And there was an infallible one, one that you had heard of before and that your father had made sure to drill into your head in the past. 

“Darling, our little girl is having nightmares.” 

“She is?” he asked as he leaned down to look at you, you must have been four or five.

“There’s dragons, and trolls and big scary dogs that want to eat me.” 

“And where are you in the dream?” 

“Running through the forest, and then I reach a cliff, I can’t run anymore, they,” you sniffed. Those small child eyes, normally filled with wonder, were filled with tears, “they eat me. It hurts.” 

“A cliff you said?” 

“Yes!” 

“Then jump.” 

“Ju-jump?” you staggered. “But it’s dangerous and there are pointy rocks at the bottom, I would diе.” 

“Is the best way to wake up from a dream.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” 

“Wouldn’t being stabbed by rocks be less painful than being eaten alive?” 

“Silas!” your mother chided. 

Your father threw her a look and then one at you, a small smile playing on his lips, “Then… You learn how to fly!” he said as he took you in his hands and twirled with you in the sky. Your laughs filled the room, your mom was clapping and he looked at you with the purest of smiles when suddenly, out of nowhere, he let go of you and you plunged into the floor. Of course, you fell into a mattress he had apparated there, but the fall hadn’t been any less jarring. 

On the floor, you looked at him with a terrorized expression. 

“Silas!” Avis said angrily. 

“It’s so she learns it’s not that terrible to fall,” Silas responded as he pointed at you, a dismissive sort of look. “Children like it.” 

“She’s horrified!” 

“She is not! Look at her!” 

Both of them turned to you expectantly. You were small, but you knew if you said the wrong thing, the two of them would fight, and you could never tolerate their fights. With your heart hammering in your chest, you smiled faintly and then started to laugh. The tears that left your eyes, were considered laughter-induced rather than the terrified ones they actually were. “Again,” you managed to say, to sell the idea further. 

That’s when you decided you had to become an expert at flying, you couldn’t allow Silas to throw you again.   

And yet, here you were, back in a dream and you would not only allow Silas to push you down a cliff, but you were about to plunge into the dark abyss, willingly. “He always gets what he wants, doesn’t he?” 

You leaned over the edge, looking down, there was no breeze, nothing that could indicate how far of a fall it might be, if there was an end to it at all. You had learned how to fly so you wouldn’t fear the fall. You hadn’t been afraid when you fell from your broom and you wouldn’t start being fearful now. 

You extended one of your legs, your feet dangled over nothingness, you took a deep breath and then you plunged. If you screamed, the hollowness of the place made the sound disappear. The rush of the fall was there, the same plunging sensation you felt sometimes on a broom, it was beautiful and harrowing at the same time. 

And then, you woke up. Your breath was short, there was a thin coat of cold sweat over your limbs and the place seemed way brighter than you remembered. The key, was in your hands, it was lighter here than in the dream, but it was there nonetheless. 

You opened your palm, it was almost the same as the other one, except for a slightly darker colour. You stared at it as you tried to catch your breath, you wanted to laugh and you wanted to cry, but you glanced at the clock instead. Third quarter, you sprung up from where you lay and ran towards the clock, placing the key straight on its spot. The moon phase went from Third Quarter to Waning Gibbous. It wasn’t much, around 4 more minutes than before, but four minutes were enough to make the difference. 

You took the book with the riddle and went through the last lines, the ones that you hadn’t used before Paths diverge, yet all converge to where the truth and secrets surge. Choose wisely, seeker, lest you fail, and in the end, your efforts pale.

“Choose wisely, seeker,” you thought. Could he mean?

You turned around, looking for something, and right there in the middle of one of the bigger shelves, there was a golden snitch. When you stepped closer to her she released her small wings and started to fly around the room. 

You had no broom, but you had experience, if she thought you weren’t looking at her she would lean closer to taunt you, that was what they always did. You walked towards the pile of books you had left in the centre of the vault and grabbed one of them, flipping through the pages while keeping an attentive eye on the clock. The moon was back in Third quarter. You were running out of time. You were just looking at the pictures in the book, the Peverell bothers talking to Dеath, Dеath giving them the hallows, you’d heard the story many times before. You waited: one look at the pictures and a short glance at the clock, the tick-tack almost maddening as the small snitch kept buzzing around the room.

And then it happened, the small golden ball flew close to you, right in front of your face. You were as quick as humanly possible and took it with one of your hands. You could feel it melt at your touch, suddenly you no longer had a snitch but a small shiny key. Its colour lighter than the other two. 

You turned to the clock: Waning Crescent. The tick, tick of the handles seemed to get thicker as you approached it, louder, so loud it was almost deafening, but you never stopped walking and lodged the key straight into the one remaining hole. 

Three paths, three keys, they all converged into one single clock, into a master of time. The bottom door of the clock opened itself, and on the other side you could see nothing but darkness. 

You had solved it, and yet the next step was as daunting as some of the trials you’d already accomplished. You took a deep breath and walked inside. Darkness, darkness, darkness, and then… light. Not blinding but enough to make you squint. A vault, twin to the one you had been on, and yet vastly different. All the things had been piled to the side, and in the centre back there was a large something covered by a thin fabric, it draped down the sides of it, allowing you to see a shape, it looked like some kind of door. 

You walked outside of a clock, exactly the same as the one in the other room, and towards the large thing at the end. You didn’t hesitate to pull the thin white sheet from it, there was a small cloud of dust that wafted through the air due to the harsh movement and then, once the dust settled, the sheet fell on the floor with a gentle thud. Not a door, but… a mirror.

Except it wasn’t quite that either, you could see your reflection, but there was something odd about it, it was you, but, there was something about it that looked different. 

You looked at the mirror, there seemed to be an inscription at the top “riapsed dnaht urt d niflla hsuo yt ini htiwt nemrot ren niruoy tubega sivruo y ton tcel feri ” 

It was English text, which surprised you since you assumed it would also be Greek, everything seemed Greek that day. You read it aloud, it didn’t sound like Greek either –you thought it could have been the pronunciation rather than the spelling. You pulled back a little, trying to get the big picture. The mirror was tall, far taller than you, even Remus would have fit inside of it perfectly, and it would have surpassed him. It had a silver frame and it had pointy ends, it reminded you a lot of Hogwarts Architecture. 

You wondered if you’d ever seen a mirror like that, and you didn’t quite remember such a thing. Yet, it was oddly familiar as if you had seen it before, perhaps in a dream. You reread the words again, and that’s when you realised what it said. It wasn’t Greek, it wasn’t even a different language, rather, and quite proper of a mirror, it was in English, but spelt backwards.

"I reflect not your visage but your inner torment, within it you shall find truth and despair,” you read aloud. There was a slow chime as if it had come from the clock behind you and not the mirror itself. The reflection in the mirror wobbled as if the screen had turned into a silvery pool instead of glass. 

You walked closer again, you knew reading the inscription had activated whatever was inside of it, but the idea of seeing your inner torment was not something you were eager to do, it wasn’t something that you wanted to face. You’d been running from it incessantly since Christmas, and you did not want to stop now. 

But you had to.

Whatever was inside the mirror was reason enough for your father to make that dreadful riddle, and if it had been that hard to accomplish, then there was definitely something worthy inside of it. You looked at the mercury-like screen ahead of you and took another step towards it. You placed your hand on it and saw how the entire thing wobbled alongside your small push. It seemed to almost stick to your finger before releasing it and going back to its place.

You remembered what one of the voices in the dream had said, the echo so present in your head, it was as if they were speaking to you again, “Straight towards despair.” 

Right in front of you stood a mirror of despair, and you would walk right inside of it. Head high, and breath calm, even as your heart hammered inside your chest. You took a deep breath and took another step, and then another. The metal liquid surrounded you completely, and suddenly you were somewhere else. 

You were falling, and then you crashed onto a mattress. Avis and Silas were there. 

“Mum,” you said, tears prickling your eyes. “Mom, you’re here!” 

“Look what you’ve done!” She said angrily at Silas, “She’s crying.” 

“No! No, I’m–” She looked younger, far younger than you remembered, far younger than she’d been when your chimaera swallowed her. 

“She can barely speak.” 

“She must learn! She must become stronger! If she wants to survive she–” 

“Silas!” 

You knew what this was, you didn’t want to see it. You stood up in an instant, “It’s fine, I’ll go to my room,” you said before exiting the living room as far as you could. You locked yourself in one of the closets, and things were calm only for a second. The doors opened, your room was different, and you, or another version of you was there, writing something furiously on some parchment, bunching it up and throwing it on the side. 

Regulus’ letter was on your bed, you walked towards it and picked it up, you now knew what it said, how much heartache would have been spared if only you had given Reggie a chance. “Read it,” you told her. 

She turned to you, tears in her eyes and a scornful smile, “you have no business here,” she replied, snatched the letter from your hands and threw it towards the fire. 

She watched it burn with a tear sliding down her cheek and then went back to writing the letter she was working on, you looked over her shoulder “Sirius, This is the last letter I write. I’m sorry for…” you knew exactly what she was writing, what you had written. 

You sighed, and walked toward the door, next thing you knew, you were in the shack. Remus had a cloak, and he was panicking, looking at the bIood in his hands, breath sharp and desperately looking at James and Peter. 

“Where is she?” He asked, you could hear the desperate crack in his voice. 

“She’s okay, she’s with Sirius,” James said with ease. Peter was looking at the broken metal door with a confused face, and trying to place it back into place with a spell. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he pressed, there were tears prickling in his eyes, he looked livid and terribly upset. “This is her bIood,” Remus said, his voice breaking near the end. “It smells like her!” 

James licked his lips and took a deep breath. “Yes, you accidentally scratched, nothing else. You know,” he said. “You remember.” 

“No, I–” Remus breathed, he was entirely forlorn.  He frowned, “I lost track of them! She was there and then she wasn’t and then–” Remus shook his head and sat back on the bed “–There was a fox.” 

James nodded, “She’s the fox.” 

“Moony was trying to bite her!” 

“That didn’t happen,” James reassured. “There were no bites.” 

“So, she’s okay?” 

“She needs to get patched up,” James said, “but she’ll be fine, she’s tough.” 

You wanted to walk towards Remus and give him a hug, to tell him that you were all right, that you would be all right. That it wouldn’t even be the hardest thing you’d go through in the past few months, but the scene dissolved into another one. Remus, James and Peter turned into dust, so did the room, and it slowly rearranged into a larger room. 

You heard the door close behind you and then turned to the only person remaining in the room. Evan. He stared at the door dumbfounded, a mix of hatred and relief evident on his face. You weren’t sure why you were there, and you were about to follow yourself when you heard a sob. You turned around to look at Evan hesitantly, a small confused frown knitting your eyebrows together. He was crouching down on the floor, face hidden in his hands and a stream of tears leaving his eyes. 

You stared at him confused. A part of you wanted to place an arm on his shoulder and tell him things would be all right –not that you could actually interact with him– the other part, the one still sad and angry about what happened in November was almost thrilled he was crying. But the first one won over the second and you approached him cautiously. 

He was muttering incoherent things as he spoke, something about Arkalis, about you saving him, about hate and compassion and Merlin knows what else. You swallowed, when you implied to his father that he was straight, when you manipulated Arkalis into thinking you had kissed his son to get him off Evan’s back you were just doing what you considered was right, you never expected for that to mean so much to Evan. Let alone break him down into tears. 

It made sense now, that he and Barty had helped, what you’d done there was a lot more than you initially thought, your simple, almost dutiful act of kindness had meant a lot more to them than it had meant to you. You had earned the help they’d given you, simply by being kind. 

You stood up, it was not your place to be here, in fact, you assumed Barty would be here soon anyway, for some reason you seemed to be surrounded by tragic love stories. You looked at the clock in the corner, and then you heard a scream. 

You were paralysed by it, your breathing caught in your throat, a small sob leaving your lips. You knew what that was, you knew who that scream belonged to. 

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, no, no,” you repeated, breath sharp and chest heaving. “Not this again, I don’t want to go through this again.” 

Suddenly Evan wasn’t on the floor anymore, he –or a distorted shadow of him– was right in front of you. Tall and imposing and as terrifying as he seemed that night in the forest. “Go,” he said, although it wasn’t quite his voice. 

“I don’t want to,” you replied, voice small, filled with anguish.  

The world around dissolved and you were back in the hall. Nina was being held by two wizards while her mom was being tortured on the floor. 

“I don’t want to see this!” you insisted. The door from the terrace where you were with Reggie was still closed. You were both still there, this was before you arrived. Nina was crying, and screaming and her mom’s jarring shrieks were even louder. You closed your eyes, but the sounds became even more vivid, louder and overwhelming, you felt like your ears would bleed if you didn’t open your eyes again. 

Bellatrix shouted, there was a blinding green light and then Nina’s mother fell on the floor with a hollow thud, eyes shiny and completely defocused. 

Nina let out a shrilling cry, something so loud and harrowing that you knew instantly what it was. The one you had heard from the terrace. Bella started saying several things, and you saw yourself leaving Reggie on the chair and speeding to the area, determined to do something, determined to save her. If only you knew that determination would lead you nowhere. 

The second you spoke, and Nina turned to you, the entire scene dissolved. Now it was your father looking at your mother after she’d been stepped on by the Chimaera, you gulped, his screams had been swallowed by the commotion that day, but today you were closer to them. In your father’s gaze, there was anger and desperation and he looked both irked and terrified as he held your mother’s charred body. 

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, tears welling up in your eyes as you saw your father filled with despair. “I’m so sorry, I just wanted to do what was right, all I wanted was to–” 

The scene dissolved again, now it was Nina taking your face in her hands and telling you that you had to keep moving. You looked completely appalled, desperate, borderline hysterical; but Nina looked at you with a loving gaze, a calm, lake-like balminess emanated from her celadon eyes as she spoke, loud and clear. It hadn’t felt like that in the moment, but Nina had spoken to you for several sentences before you caught what she was saying before she told you to look at her, to really look at her and then told you how it wasn’t your fault. 

The scene dissolved as you and Nina walked towards the window. The scorching heat of the Chimera dwindled and was replaced with an eerie coldness. Your heartbeat paced rapidly, you knew what was coming, and you didn’t want to face it again. You shut your eyes as the scene around you started to darken, “Please,” you begged. “I don’t want to live through this again, please.” 

But if there was an architect to this ordeal, he either didn’t hear your pleas or chose to ignore them. You felt something cold graze your cheek, and when you touched it you realised it was snow. You sighed, you were surrounded by hedges, the moon high above you, bright but nonetheless harrowing. You knew that moon, you knew what she’d witnessed, what you were about to witness again. 

Suddenly you and Nina passed by, running fast as Lucius appeared, throwing a spell and taunting you over the dеath of Cygnus Black. You fought, fierce and determined and strong. Lucius wasn’t all that great of a duelist, but you were weak, marred and using a stolen wand. Had he been any better you would have lost to him after the first couple of spells. Then he made the hole in the ground you threw a spell on him and started to repair it. Nina saw Lucius get out, she saw him pointing his wand at you, and then she saw something else. Something behind Lucius. Whatever she saw, you hadn’t seen it then and you still weren’t able to see it now. 

She nodded and pushed you, the spell hit her and she fell on the floor. You –the other you– instantly crawled towards her with a raw scream, the bright shining light was there again and then from behind Lucius appeared Evan and Barty. 

You were crying and pleading and telling her it would be all right even if the two of you knew that wasn’t true. You turned your gaze to the side, trying to avoid looking at it again, but then you turned back, tears streaming down your face as you stared. You wanted to see Nina alive again, you wanted to hear her voice, even if it was her last breath that you’d hear.

Seconds later you were crying and trying to use the wand to revive her, but nothing worked. You knew nothing would and yet you harboured an inch of hope that maybe in this dream, Nina wouldn’t diе, that she would wake up and run the hell away from that hedge with you. 

Barty approached you and tried to pry you off Nina’s body for a few minutes before he actually managed to do it. Nina became butterflies and you saw one of them lean closer to you, to the real you, not the dream you crying on the floor; but the spectator of it all. 

“Nina,” you whispered, the butterfly batted her wings and flew along the rest of them. 

The scene dissolved and you saw Sirius, he was in what you quickly recognised as James’ bathroom. He was on the floor and panicking. He was saying something about it not being a dream and about you being in danger. 

“It was real, and she’s alone, in the snow, pretty much passed out, we have to do something. Maybe I can apparate there or–”  

“You’ll splinch.” 

“Damn it, James!” Sirius snapped. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” 

He looked absolutely desperate, terrified, you wanted to hug him and tell him things would be all right but then James spoke. “Remus!” he said. The scene dissolved again. Now it was Remus running through the shack, looking at the fence and then at the window you had used to save the butterfly. He ran through the snow, desperate, out of breath until he found you. 

You had been too numb to see his reactions, but when he touched you, with that tenderness that he managed to always pull off, you saw how scared he was, as terrified as Sirius as he pressed his hand onto your face and realised how cold you were. He had stuttered several times until he managed to get proper words out, he carried you. And then, just as he apparated away, the scene dissolved. 

This time it took longer for the next scene to appear, all of the mist around you changing colour and slowly solidifying into something else. It was you and Sirius, in the Potter’s kitchen. You sucked in a breath. The entire scene passed over, how you asked Sirius if he liked Remus, how you told him you would leave, and how he begged you not to do it. 

Sirius’ tears were gut-wrenching, you wanted to run and hug him and hit the person who had made him cry like that. The problem was, it had been you, you had been the one to make his eyes well up in tears, the one to make his voice crumble, and the one to cause him all of that distress. 

You held back the tears, “I get it!” you said loud and clear, your voice heavy with emotion you tried to conceal. 

“I get it!” you repeated as you turned around. “I cause despair, I’m the source of it on everyone around me, people cry because of me, people diе because of me! Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

Nothing, absolute silence. The scene in front of you, of Sirius plopping down on the floor with tears in his eyes, of Sirius crying and in distress, was there, and then it wasn’t. It dissolved, leaving you in an eerie nothingness. It was so vast you weren’t sure where it started and where it ended, there was silence, and it was cold. Not as cold as the snow but cold enough to send a chill down your spine. 

It felt like you were not only alone but forsaken. 

“You get it,” an echoing voice rang in your head.

“She thinks she does,” another said.

“She’s wrong and she’s right and she’s confused, and so, so alone,” a third voice said, mocking pity on every word. 

You looked around, but there was no one, the voices seemed to slam directly onto your head.

“But you don’t have to be,” the first voice said.

You did not like where this was going. You had read plenty of ghost stories, any offer too good to be true was probably laden with some secret evil. This place, the entire trial felt exactly like a horror story. And yet you felt so lonely, that you listened. 

“There’s rock,” the second voice said.

“It will help you bring me back, my love,” you froze, it was your mother’s voice. You turned around, tears welled up in your eyes as you saw her. It was not your mum, but the charred remnants of her that the Chimera had left, but it had her voice, and it had her eyes, your eyes.  

Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart hammered in your chest as you looked at her. Trying to think of a way to help her. You were walking towards her when there was another voice from behind you. 

“You can bring us back.” 

You sobbed and turned around, you had recognized her voice, you had missed that voice, a tear rolled down your cheek as you looked at her. She was as you remembered, cheeks pink with the cold and blonde waves stained with crimson. She was looking at you like you were the last hope she had, the one thing that would stop her from despair. 

“Nina,” you said, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, you sniffed as you tried to breathe. 

She smiled, the smile you knew so well to be hers. “With this,” she said softly and extended her hand towards you. “Spin the stone three times, and we’ll be back.” 

She extended her hand, she was holding a ring in between her fingers. You looked at the ring, you were hesitant, but you took it. Her hands felt like Nina’s, but cold. You looked at the ring, a dubious frown accompanied your sniffing. 

“Spin it three times and bring them back,” one of the voices said. 

“Bring us back,” both Nina and your mother said at the same time. 

“You will bring me back, won’t you?” Nina asked, her voice soft, hopeful. 

A stone that can bring someone back from the dеad if you spin it three times. “It’s a Dеathly Hallow,” you said in a soft, surprised exhale. 

“It is, dear,” your mother said. Her charred hand was upon your shoulder. You turned your head to look at her, out of the corner of your eye you could see how burned her entire body was, “you can use it to bring us back,” she added, with a smile that looked so much like her and so much unlike her with all the charred skin that you shivered. 

“Mum?” you said, your head cocked to the side, your voice nothing but a whisper.

“Go ahead, pretty girl.” 

“Save us,” Nina said. 

You tried to hold back the tears, but it was useless, you took a breath that got stuck in your throat. You had read the Tales of Beedle the Bard, you had read other muggle fables, doing it was a bad idea, and bringing someone back from the dеad was about the worst thing you could do to both them, and to yourself. But with your mum being charred and with Nina’s hair turning crimson rather than blonde, both because of you, you wanted nothing more than to fix your mistake. 

You desperately yearned to have them back, to hug them again, for their scent to fill your nostrils like it had so many times before, the light wood-like smell of your mother and the blue lily and lavender perfume Nina used to wear. The images in front of you, although faithful to the last time you’d seen them both were nothing other than a brittle and shallow reflection of them. 

The imitation was almost perfect, the slight ups and downs from the way they spoke, the colour of their eyes, the way their faces moved, the way the light hit Nina’s freckles. They were so similar it was easy to be fooled by them, but beyond that and if you looked closer, they were nothing more than a mirror of who they really had been, a frail reflection of the women you’d once loved. A projection, beaming at you from the distance, light shining from a dеad star.

You had read that once in a book, and you hadn’t quite grasped the magnificence of it until you too, felt it. 

“Darling?” your mother said, cocking her head. “Spin the rock! What are you waiting for?” 

“Three times, and then we’re back,” Nina chimed.  

“Are you not going to bring us back?” Your mother asked, it sounded angry. 

“Why wouldn’t you?” Nina said, her eyes welling up with tears. “I thought we were friends.” 

“No,” you said to yourself as you shook your head. “No, no, please don’t do this to me.” 

“Darling,” your mum said, her voice was that of a reprimand, cold and stern, she sounded more like Silas than herself. “Spin it now, bring us back!” she urged. 

You were taking steps back, away from the two of them but they stepped towards you as you did. Your mother was angry, even beneath the charred skin you could tell she was seething. Nina was sad, crumbling, cheeks red and stained with the track of her tears. 

“Please,” you begged. 

Nina fell to the floor, knees crashing onto nothingness with a loud thud, “I don’t understand… We were friends. I loved you. I was in love with you, why did you not love me back? If I were Sirius or Remus you would spin that stone in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you? Am I not enough?” 

“Nina,” you said. 

“I diеd for you!” she screamed. “I’m dеad because of you!” 

You stopped cold when she said that. She was right, and she was dеad because of you. You took the stone ring in your hands, held it closer to your face and touched the stone, tentatively, only with the tip of your finger. And then, out of nowhere, a small blue butterfly landed on your finger. You looked at her, it was the same butterfly you had helped enter the shack. 

“Have you also diеd because of me?” you asked bitterly. “Do you also want me to bring you back?” 

You put your finger back in the stone, but the butterfly got in between, not letting you touch it. You frowned as realisation hit you. That was not Nina, Nina would never say those awful things to you, no matter how many times you had said them to yourself. 

The butterfly on the other hand? The one trying to stop you? That was a lot more like the Nina that tried to snap you from your destructive thoughts back at Evan’s manor. Like the Nina that had hexed Bellatrix without hesitation to defend you, like the Nina that had pushed you out of harm’s way, like the real Nina. 

Nina whispered your name, and you looked up at her. “Bring me back,” she said. “I want to live again.” 

“No,” you said. 

“What?” your mother asked, the steady but furious tone you had come to know so well. 

“I said no,” you repeated louder this time. “I can’t help you.” 

Nina’s face fell to the ground, a tear streaming down her face while your mother stalked towards you angrily. Nina looked up at you, anguish and despair so evident that it was almost heartbreaking. “Is it because I’m not good enough?” 

“It’s because you’re not her,” you said simply. “She wouldn’t want me to do it.” 

“But I do!” She said distressed. “I do! I want you to bring me back! I want to live again! I want to feel the sun on my face and hear the hollow sound of the wind and taste chocolate on my tongue and see you.” 

“I can’t.” 

“But you kiIIed me!” she said desperate, her face morphing into an expression that you weren’t sure Nina was capable of making. “You murdеred me, I diеd because of you! Why won’t you bring me back?” 

“BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT NINA!” you shrieked, your voice breaking near the end. The figure pulled back. “You don’t know how much I wanted you to be her. How much I wanted to see her again, how much I craved to hear her voice again. But your voice, although similar, is not hers. And your eyes? They might be the exact same colour, but they don’t twinkle in the way hers did. You,” you looked at the charred figure. 

“You both are nothing but an illusion of who they both were, of what they were…And you could never be anything but. Because…” you hesitated, you didn’t want to say it. “Because you’re both dеad.” 

The figures dissolved in an instant. 

You crumbled onto the floor and sobbed. The nothingness embraced you like an old friend and you allowed your tears to stream down your cheeks in a cascade of pent-up emotions. All the denial you had forced through them, all the times you had blinked them away. 

You cried and cried and mumbled incoherently how sorry you were over a hundred times. Nina was dеad. Your mother was dеad. They were both gone, and they would never come back. You pulled the ring from your fist, you’d held it so tightly that the shape of the stone had etched itself onto your hand. You held it between your fingers and stared. 

Not even this rock would bring them back, even if it was a real Dеathly Hallow, even if it had the power to bring people back from the dеad, you were sure the price you’d pay for it would be far more devastating than the crumbling ghost of the person you knew that it would bring back. 

“Truth,” a voice said, echoing in your ears the same way it had done inside the dream.

“She saw past despair and looked at the truth,” the other continued. 

“You may go now, child.” A third one said. The reflective-like screen appeared in front of you. You could see the colours of the vault on the outside. You blinked and then turned your eyes back to the ring. You extended it right in front of your chest, holding it in the palm of your hand, before turning your hand upside down and letting it fall to the floor. 

“You won’t bring it with you, child?” the second voice asked. 

“No,” you said simply. “Something like this shouldn’t exist.” 

“Destroy it then.” 

“I can’t,” you said, you had felt the power within it. It was dark and dеadly. “You know I can’t.” 

“Then someone else might take it. Use it.” 

You let out a breathy scoff and then sniffed, your nose was still filled with snot from the tears. “Not if it’s unfindable,” you said and stepped out of the mirror. When you turned back to look at it, Nina and your mother were tapping at the crystal desperately. As if they too wanted to get out as if you were the only one who could help them.

You reached inside your pocket and took Nina’s wand in your hands. You looked at it with a sort of sorrowful look, eyes glassy with tears and then pointed it at the mirror. You took a deep breath, “Reducto!” 

A flash of light came from Nina’s wand and crashed onto the face of the mirror, turning it into shreds. The wand had worked better than any wand you had ever used in your life, as if she had been made for you. 

Unbeknownst to you, your spell hadn’t trapped the ring in the mirror forever, but rather, transported it back to its original place, Gaunt House. And it would remain there for years, until someone else, someone much weaker to the whispers of the dеad, tried to use it.

There's no chance for us

It's all decided for us

This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us

Who wants to live forever

Who dares to love forever

Oh oo woh, when love must diе

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: I questioned myself for making them suffer so much while revising this chapter. Some of Sirius' words are just heart wrenching to me, I swear <3

Read more Marauders Fiction

[gingerlee-holds]

I feel bad for popping a request in ☠ anyway

If you're feeling up to it, perhaps ler Todoroki x lee Reader (bc me and reader insert are inseparable /j) from MHA? Length, perhaps 900+ words if possible? But I'll be grateful for anything haha, I also don't want to force you to write more if you're not feeling inspired i'm gonna be honest here I haven't watched MHA in a long time ☠ and I have no idea what scenarios would be realistic because he's,, Todoroki,,

Personally i'm a sucker for evil/more intense tickles because I wish I was ticklish but if that makes you uncomfy do feel free to ignore :)

oh hush, you!!! i love requests, so thank you so so much!! i just hope this is somewhat what you wanted heehee- enjoy!!! i have a huge crush on this dork so that creeps in- also the reader's quirk is whatever you want it to be, cuz its not mentioned- also also!! im really really sorry if i fuck the names up cuz from what i know of the show, Todoroki is the family name, so Shoto is the given name but i could be totally wrong

i just wanna say that i really really like writing the rambly bits from Shoto about the book-

the reader is sorta a brat lol

Like Poetry

Words: 2,334 Pairing: Ler!Shoto, Lee!Reader Warnings: lotta fluff!!! not proofread!!!

You groaned as you entered the common room. Mr. Aizawa’s personal training was brutal today, and you were not looking forward to feeling how sore your muscles would be tomorrow morning. Sighing, you grabbed one of Sato’s cupcakes from the counter and flopped onto the sofa, confident it would be unoccupied. It was about seven in the evening on a Friday, which meant everyone was either in their rooms or somewhere around town. 

You huffed into the mattress before gasping at the sound of a page being turned. Looking up, you saw you were about a foot away from, in your mind, the strongest student in your class. He was sitting with perfect posture, reading a book with yellowed pages. On the coffee table sat a mug filled with tea.

Shoto Todoroki didn’t look up from his book at you. If he knew you were there, he didn’t show it. He silently read, seemingly fully absorbed. You sat upright, shaking off the embarrassment of almost landing on him, of all people. 

You cleared your throat and gobbled up your cupcake in one bite, setting the wrapper down next to his tea. Still, he didn’t move. Raising an eyebrow, you poked him in the side to get his attention, and the surprised gasp he gave made you giggle. Shoto looked at you, brow furrowed in annoyance, but his face soon softened when you smiled and waved.

“Hi!” you said chipperly. 

He nodded politely in return. “Hello, Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.”

With a chuckle, you shoved his shoulder. “No worries! Whatcha reading, bookworm?”

Shoto tilted his head. “I’m not a worm.”

You sighed and repeated your question without the tease. You loved that your classmate was so adorably literal. 

“I’m reading this book of old poetry. I don’t remember where I got it - it feels like my family’s always had it lying around. I decided to read it today since everyone’s out.” His voice was calm as he spoke.

You were somewhat interested in the subject but mostly just wanted to hear him talk some more. It was so rare that he spoke. “Anything good in there?”

“I found this one that I liked,” Shoto said before flipping back a few pages. “Rain on lemongrass. / Ash trees weep o’er their lost sun: / Their light and love, gone.”

The poem made you hum in thought. “What’s it about?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” he asked. Taken on its face, it was an insulting question, but you knew Shoto was genuinely unsure whether to explain it. You shook your head in reply. “The poem is about heartbreak. A woman falls in love with someone, and suddenly, that person has to leave. The woman feels like she has nothing left as she cries into a world that has bigger concerns than her. Soon, perhaps, her love shall return, the sun re-emerging from the clouds, but there’s also the possibility that she doesn’t last until then, and the wind blows her over. Ash trees symbolize grief, so perhaps they may never meet again. The lemongrass, evoking a cheerful memory, is smothered under the rains that hide her beloved.” Suddenly, he looked up from the page. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was rambling.”

You scratched your head. “How did you get all that from just three lines?” You didn’t mind, of course. He was cute when he rambled. To your great surprise, he let out a soft and sheepish smile. 

“Well, I suppose I have too much time on my hands,” he said, looking away. You smirked and poked his side again, giggling at his surprised reaction. Shoto let out a muffled yelp and jumped, glaring at you suspiciously and rubbing his side. “Quit that.” 

“Sorry, Icy-hot! Can’t be helped!” You held up both your hands in mock surrender.

“Hm,” Shoto mumbled, looking back to the book. “This book was written entirely by hand. See? This character is slightly different here, here, and here,” he continued, pointing at different parts of the page. “And from what I can tell, its publication predates quirks, hence why they are not mentioned. If they had quirks, you would think there’d be a suggestion of their existence, no? Yet there’s nothing. For all intents and purposes, it seems like this book is a remnant of a simpler world.” His expression looked distant as if his mind were a hundred miles and years away. 

You leaned back, folding your arms behind your head. “Sounds dorky. Maybe you should tell Deku! I’m sure he’d be all too interested,” you chuckled, then looked over. If he heard your comment, he gave no sign. He must still be lost in thought. Looking down at his side, you saw it was perfectly exposed. You were pushing your luck. Then again, what is a hero if not someone who tries their luck? You pursed your lips together and quickly extended your hand to poke Shoto’s side again. 

But he was faster. As if expecting your reckless act, he set his book down and grabbed your hand before it made contact in one fluid movement. “You don’t listen, do you?”

“I do my utmost to avoid doing that, yes,” you said, giggling nervously. His grip was firm, giving you no delusions of escape. His hand was chilly, as if Shoto was threatening to encase your whole arm in ice at any moment. You tugged slightly.

He didn’t let go. “No, you need to learn this lesson.” Somehow, that was among the scariest things you’ve ever heard, right alongside the speech of the hero killer and Mr. Aizawa announcing an extra homework assignment before the summer break. Shoto pushed your legs toward the end of the couch, pinning you to his chest with both hands held behind you. You shuddered as Shoto said, “Now, learn well.”

Since both your hands were stuck behind you against his torso, you couldn’t defend yourself whatsoever when he descended both hands onto your stomach. You erupted into bright, bubbly laughter and kicked your feet like that would do anything to help. All that went through your head was repeated, ‘Oh, fuck, that tickles!’ 

You heard Shoto’s hum of approval from behind you as he clawed his fingers over the thin fabric of your shirt. “Interesting,” he mumbled to himself. 

“ShIhihihihIt! ShohOhOHohotoHoHoho!” You shook your head and thrashed all you could, but it didn’t matter. Shoto was stronger, and he would make sure you knew it. 

“Yes, Y/N?” he asked casually.

“STohohoHOAhaap!!” It didn’t have a chance of working, but it didn’t hurt to try.

“No.” Shoto’s clawed hands squeezed around your stomach in circles, taking a moment to dwell on your extra-ticklish lower stomach, which he took delight in exploiting. If you didn’t know any better, you would even say he enjoyed it as much as you were. 

“NohOHoHOhoHT TheheHEherre!” you pleaded helplessly, throwing your head back to give your torturer the best puppy eyes you could… although they were far less effective than you had hoped since they were quickly squeezed shut in uproarious laughter. 

“Here? Right here, yes?” Shoto released a flurry of pokes on your lower stomach as if he wanted confirmation.

You nodded and hiccupped, doing all you could to contain the blush that bloomed on your face at the sound of his cooing hum. Mercifully, he gave you a break, and you panted for breath against him. “Shihihitt…” you giggled, squirming in his grasp to get the ghost tickles off your tummy. 

“Here,” Shoto said, and you turned to see he was holding up his mug for you. Gratefully, you took a big sip of the refreshing tea, smiling a little at the warmth of it. It was strangely sweet; you had expected Shoto to only like the bitter teas, but surprisingly, the flavor was somewhat sugary. As if reading your mind, Shoto said, “It’s chamomile. It helps me relax.” He took the mug from your mouth and set it back on the table. 

Shoto cleared his throat. “Now,” he began, “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Is my release dependent on how I answer that?”

“Yes.”

“Then… Never!” You madly giggled as you attempted to escape his grasp before quickly regretting it. He had you suitably pinned, and to further reinforce his lesson, you realized with terror that he was rolling up your shirt to your ribs. “Wait, Shoto-!”

Your tormentor didn’t give you time to finish. Without fanfare, his hands descended onto your exposed tummy. Instead of clawing around, as he had done before, he was using quick scribbles, which, coupled with his cold fingers on your bare skin, was maddening. 

“SHohOhoHOTO!” You had no idea you were so ticklish! By the looks of things, it seemed like he had been in tickle fights before, and from how badly he was wrecking you, he was used to winning them. 

He hummed in thought as your thrashing weakened. “Your belly button is incredibly ticklish,” he observed. It was, to your dismay, very accurate. It didn’t help that his cold finger was heightening the feeling!

“PLehEHehEHHEase! MeheHEheheercyy!” you squealed out, kicking and bucking like a horse.

“Goodness, you’re dramatic. It’s only tickling, Y/N. If anything, this should build your endurance. What if the League captured you? I doubt you’d last a minute before you spill everything you know if they knew this weakness of yours.”

Why did he have to be so monotone with his teasing? He sounded so casual as if he were still explaining the history of that old book - only he was speaking over your hysterical cackling. He was a fast learner, too: he was pretty adept at locating the spots that got an especially wild reaction out of you and cruel in punishing them.

Shoto’s fingers increased in pace while always keeping one wiggling about in your navel. “I know,” he said, “I get it; you’re very, very ticklish. Now calm down.” You could hear the smile in his voice. He was having fun! “I wonder… you’ve inspired me to write my own poetry! Let’s see…” He paused to think, unfortunately not slowing down the tickles, making you yelp and shriek. “Ticklish cutie / Squealing on the couch with glee / With a cute tummy,” he slowly said as if writing it down. With a gasp, you felt him do just that, writing down the poem on your belly with the tip of his fingernail. 

You turned beet-red as you threw your head back, your laughter turning silent. You had long since begun crying with delight, and tears rolled down your cheeks in rivers, but he didn’t stop until you started coughing. With a chuckle, he released you, and you panted for breath. You didn’t move from his lap, and Shoto didn’t seem to mind. He gently placed a hand on your forehead, tilting it toward him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked gently. You nodded with a smile, which he returned. His smile was inviting, like a sunbeam on a winter’s day. He slowly helped you sit back up and handed you his mug again. You eagerly gulped it down. The tea was warm and sweet, and when you finished it and set it back on the table, you realized that Shoto wasn’t too different. 

“Thank you, Shoto,” you said softly.

“For the tea?”

“Yes,” you replied, “and… for the tickles. It… helped me unwind.” You looked away and rubbed your neck shyly. 

“You’re welcome, Y/N. It was fun for me, too. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh like that.” He smiled again, a small treat like candy. “It’s nice to see you so carefree. You’re usually a ball of nerves,” Shoto admitted bluntly, making you sigh and nod in agreement. 

You basked in the silence for a bit before both of you suddenly looked up. That was the unmistakable sound of… And right on cue, the word ‘mumble’ began to figuratively float across your field of view. At its origin, you and Shoto saw Izuku madly scribbling in his notebook and mumbling about something. You swore you caught the words “ticklish,” “stomach,” and “squeals.” 

Behind Izuku, standing in the hallway, were Ochaco, Denki, Tsuyu, Mina, Eijiro, and Kyoka. The first two desperately attempted to quiet Izuku, to no avail. You sat bolt upright, glaring at the unwelcome audience. 

Eijiro broke the silence with a playful swat to the back of Izuku’s head. “You got us caught with your nerd shit, Deku,” he joked, making the green-haired hero look away backfully. 

“That was adorable!” Mina grinned, pointing at you. “You made a bunch of noise, so we wanted to check it out!” 

“You’d better erase what you wrote, Deku.” You spoke calmly but in a way that gave no misapprehensions about your seriousness. 

Ochaco looked over Izuku’s shoulder. “Doesn’t look like he’s gonna do that.”

“Midoriya,” Shoto spoke up. “Be sure to write that they couldn’t use their quirk while being tickled.”

You gasped at the betrayal. “Don’t you fucking dare write that, Deku!”

With a glance, Denki, Kyoka, and Tsuyu replied simultaneously, “Oh, he’s already writing it.”

With a growl, you shot from the couch. “You’re fucking dead, Deku!” Your classmates yelped with shock and ran down the hall from you, stifling their giggles. 

Eijiro, egging you on, tossed back over his shoulder a snide, “Now you’re sounding like Katsuki!”

“Oh, I’ll make Katsuki look like a fucking bag of pop rocks when I’m done with you idiots!” Your threat carried no heat since it was filled with giggles. You couldn’t help but laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation, smiling fondly at how much you loved your friends.

And behind you, on the couch, Shoto grinned with pride as he picked up his book to continue reading. He was glad he had been allowed to be so affectionate with someone for a chance. Absent-mindedly, he picked up his mug of tea for a sip but sighed disappointingly at the lack of tea inside. Maybe he needed bigger mugs. 

[meatonfork]

grim uses crayola markers and highlighters to color in ghosts tattoos

Artist

————————————————————————————————————————

pairing: p!ghost x grim

warnings: none i believe

summary: grim loves coloring in ghosts tattoos

————————————————————————————————————————

it’s often that boredom consumes you. it hugs you tightly, and forces your mind to run free. in these times of boredom, you read or maybe write a dumb little poem about a bear.

it reads as so:

Little Bear

He’s somewhere out there,

The little bear.

He plays in the water,

And eats honey-

With a little bunny.

that being said, you were bored.

sighing, you stood from your uncomfortable plastic desk chair, and threw your door open.

“c’mon spoon! we have someone to bother.”

sock clad feet pulled little thumps on the hallway floor as you fidgeted with the highlighter lids that were stuffed in your pockets. spoon’s little paws padded down the hall right behind you.

subconsciously, you had a destination in mind. yellow light from the hallway poured down on your small frame, casting dark shadows on the walls as you made your way to your unsuspecting victim.

typically, if boredom struck you this late, you’d find yourself in price’s office. being thrown to the deep end of sleep from him droning on about whatever he was working on. he’d wake you a while later when he picks you up, and makes his way to your room.

tonight, you’d thought you’d give him a break. you knew gaz was passed out. he never stayed up too late, and soap was probably already bothering someone else.

ghost it was.

you stopped in front of his wooden door, hand submerged in your hoodie’s sleeve, and knocked on his door.

it took a second, but his masked face soon appeared in the doorway.

“yes, grim?”

“i’m bored.” you looked up at him from hooded eyes, a grin flooding your features.

in this light, ghost thought you looked at peace. the light shone perfectly on your eyes, the color looking brighter than usual. something only the sun could pull out of you, he’d come to notice over the years. he noted your hair was kind of messy, as if you’d run your fingers through it- strands pulling apart and becoming poofy.

“and i’m supposed to help with that, because why?” his tone was bored, but really he just wanted to see how far he could take it.

“well, i don’t really want to bother price right now- i’ve been doing that too much lately and i don’t really think i can listen to another report about god knows what right now. gaz is passed out in the commons watching some nature documentary? and, i have no idea where soap is. so, you!” you bounced on your heels lightly, spoon poking her head from behind your leg.

ghost stood still, as if weighing his options. he knew he’d say yes. no one can say no to you, but he liked fucking with you.

“alright, c’mon.” he sighed as he moved the door open and stepped out of your way.

“yes! let’s go little one.” you picked up spoon, and sat her on your shoulder as you made your way into ghost’s room.

it was dark save for a desk lamp being on, letting a yellow glow settle on the room.

“i have an idea- if you don’t mind, that is.” you sputtered as you sat on your pal’s bed.

“and that would be?”

“… can i color your tattoos?” your hair flitted in front of your face, eyes peeking from between unruly strands.

“i- what.” his eyes widened a bit.

“never mind! let’s just watch a movie or something.” you smiled up at him.

he slowly moved to sit beside you on the bed, “you can color them if you’d like. i’ll put something on the tv.”

“okay!” you waited while he put something on, and scooted back to rest against the headboard.

once he was settled, you gently grabbed his left arm, holding it at the elbow and wrist. your hands softly tugged his sleeve up, just passed the edge of the tattoo. you brought his arm to settle on your lap, hunched over.

ghost peeked down to see his arm in your lap. he hadn’t been touched this delicately in so long. he found himself yearning for your soft touch once you’d let go to grab the markers from your pocket.

spoon still sat on your shoulder, like a little parrot watching over what you were doing.

“ghost?” your soft voice spoke over the background noise of the tv.

“what’s up?”

“can you grab spoon off my shoulder? i don’t want her to fall off.”

he reached over and grabbed the kitten, settling her into his lap as she purred loudly. his fingers delicately ran over her head as she settled.

you took the chance to grab a marker and start your graffiti on your lieutenant’s arm. the cold from the tip of the marker made ghost’s arm tense, but soon he relaxed. your touch soothing the goosebumps that formed on his skin.

ghost sat and watched as your tongue poked out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. his once black and white tattoos soon were covered in pastel markings.

he’d peek down every once in a while to see how far you’d come. never making comment unless you asked him which color he thought you should use. he’d answer back in an almost whisper, not wanting to break the peaceful silence that had settled over you three.

sometimes, you would pause your task and watch the show when something caught your eye. your hand still on his forearm, marker clutched in the other.

as time passed, you subconsciously leaned into him more, using his shoulder as support as you gripped his arm and continued to color. the sheets below you ruffled with your movements to become more comfortable over time.

flipping his arm, you continued as he pet the purring bundle of fur in his lap.

small talk of the show playing drifted through the room. you often asking questions about what was happening, or asking him to explain something you didn’t quite understand. he never complained, he liked when you asked him questions. whether it was during something as domestic as this, or what you should do when you get pinned during a mission. he enjoyed being needed.

it gave him a sense of fulfilment that only his team seemed to satisfy. almost like a never ending hunger that couldn’t be satiated.

“okay. i think i’m done.” you lifted your head from his shoulder, legs pulled against him as you leaned on him.

his eyes snap down to his arm in your hands.

bright colors donned his arm, and he preferred it that way. because it was done by you.

“looks good, grim.” his eyes crinkled a bit.

“really?”

“oh, yeah. love it, kid.” his voice was soft.

“thanks!” you beamed up at him.

“do you want to hear the poem i wrote earlier while i was bored?”

a huff of air left his nose, arm still in your soft grip, “hit me with it.”

“it’s called ‘Little Bear’. it goes, ‘He’s somewhere out there, The little bear. He plays in the water, And eats honey- With a little bunny.’” your voice was soft as you recited your dumb little poem back to him.

“are you the little bear, or the bunny? because, i think you’re the little bear and everyone else is the bunny.”

“i never really thought about it. although, i guess me being the little bear makes a bit of sense.” you shrugged as you played with his fingers.

“little grim, the little bear.”

a giggle bubbles from your lips as you rested against him once more.

“ghost?”

“simon, kid. my name’s simon.” he cleared his throat, peering down at you from the corner of his eye.

your head snapped to meet his eyes, “simon?”

“hmm?”

“well i forgot what i was going to say, now. but i think simon suits you quite well, hmm?” simon noted a slight sparkle pass over your eyes as you looked at him.

“well, i would hope so. ‘s my name, innit?” he joked.

“yeah. don’t you dare think you’re getting my name out of me now.” you lightly shoved his shoulder with your own.

“never, kid.” he lightly chuckled.

“good, you’re not getting it.”

“didn’t think so.”

————————————————————————————————————————

a/n: thank you for reading!! that poem is a real one i wrote like two nights ago while i was stoned and bored 😭

[noellefan101]

Your First Date-Genshin pt 2

Characters: Tighnari, Heizou, Wanderer, Kazuha x gn reader (separate)

Warnings: fluff and headcanons, so none ig

Note: this was really fun to write, and get away from school stress for a bit, i looooove you all

Tighnari

it would out in the forest(he made sure there was no fungi or anything to disturb u)

he would show you some really pretty flowers or mushrooms if you wanted(tho he wont make it similar to a lecture, only a little)

he maybe spaced out while looking at you, not his fault your so pretty, but gave a(n) (almost) shy apology after.

definitely picked flowers with you so you could have a fresh bouquet with the prettiest flowers you could find(he made sure none of them were deadly, or bad for you to be around)

you were given permission to pet his ears for a little after he caugt you looking at them for a little too long

^^he also let you cuddle his tail if you were cold(but he wont look at you since he doesn't want you to see how red he is)

overall a pretty good first date, if he could say so himself

Heizou

would talk non-stop about some cases he recently solved, wanting to impress you, even though you already are

took you to some fried food stalls around Inazuma city, ritou if you can handle the walk(ik i can´t)

he wanted to take you to do some puzzles with him, but figured he should make it more classic or romantic for your first date

^^maybe next time he´ll take you out to try and solve those puzzles

he got you your favorite flowers(if you like flowers) or a pot he tried to make for you, with the help of his family (which is very happy he wanted to make something, but didn't know he only put effort in bc it was for you)

kano, his cousin, and kujou sara also helped him actually ask you out, because at that point it was getting painful to watch him swoon over you every day

Wanderer

he didn´t even really agree with where he took you, Nahida just told him where to take you after she found out he (finally) asked you out

so he ended up taking you out somewhere in Sumeru city

(but maybe he also ended up leading you out of the city when people were got a little too loud and irritating for his liking)

didnt get you anything, as he didnt think he needed to, but the fact that his attitude was almost not there (when talking to you) was maybe a gift in itself

Nahida was so excited for your date, she may have borrowed someone's body for a while (at least 5-8 hours) and watched you

wanderer definitely noticed her presence, and tried getting away from her to get some complete alone time with you

^^when he finally succeeded you ended up falling on him, so he awkwardly let you sleep on his lap/shoulder while stroking your hair and getting lost in your beauty

Kazuha

your first date was probably on the crux, or wandering around in some nation (either his homeland or yours if you wanted, but that could always be another time)

the activities he had in mind would be fishing, making food together(or baking), sharing his haikus and poems (and helping you make some if you wanted)

^^i had too many ideas to put in here, sorry

but he would stroke your hair as you lay beside him and mutter his recent love poems, just for you

for the food you made, it would be something like fried/baked fish, hashbrowns... anything you knew how to make(basically), and sweets like dango or cake from your homeland

beidou and the crux may or may not have been following you, just for a little

^^she needed something to tell ningguang, as she was also invested in your relationship, and silently cheered on

Thanks for reading(ehe), luv ya-Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

[optimisticstudentangel]

Why side characters are boyfriend material?

Diavolo

Lord Diavolo is great for building a reliable relationship. He is one of those types who are always ready to listen to his partner and become better for himself and his lover.

He has a childish interest in everything, so you will never get bored with Diavolo. He often comes up with unusual ideas with which he is ready to occupy your time with him. Most of your dates were organized by Diavolo, he takes your meetings very seriously, thinking in advance about what you will do. For this reason, all your dates are perfect from start to finish.

Sometimes it may seem to you that the future king of the Devildom is a child in an adult body, but I hasten to refute this idea, because despite his frequent infantilism, he is always responsible at the right moments. So you can always rely on him.

In general, there is always a balance in a relationship with him. He is courteous and cheerful, passionate and soft, deep, but at the same time simple.

Barbatos

Barbatos does not need to be directed anywhere in the relationship, he himself will cope with it perfectly. Perhaps you will be able to have a helpful relationships with him, because his language of love is caring.

With him, you easily forget about the mini tasks that you had to do. He can take half of your worries to make life easier for you. Do not forget to also take care of him, because he is very pleased when you respond with the same gestures.

Also, his strong point is that he can speak out about things that concern him. In any relationship, it is important that the partners feel comfortable when discussing topics that bother them. Be sure that you can tell him about your problems, and that he will always be ready to listen to you and give you advice.

It's good to have a calm and comfortable relationship with him. Together with Barbatos, you can create a relationship where both you and him give all your all, so that your romantic connection is cozy for both of you.

Simeon

He is the greenest flag in the whole wide world. The relationship with him is perfect because he is very understanding and sensitive to your and his needs.

He read a lot of books, including romantic ones. As a model of behavior in a relationship, he took an example from the charming main characters, adding something of his own. He has been dedicating poems to you, in which he confessed his strong love to you every time.

If somehow, you felt offended by him, then he always solved the problem by discussing his mistakes. He never let you get away from him in an offended and sad state until he gets to the bottom of the problem and makes you happy again.

Simeon's strong shoulder lets you know of his boundless support. Do not be afraid to seem weak, Simeon will be happy to help you in any way he can, he will protect you.

Solomon

A relationship with him will always lead you to something new. This is the most striking feature of Solomon, which you need to get used to as soon as possible. He is a free man who loves to make choices that will give him something he did not know before.

As his mate, at the beginning it might seem to you that Solomon absolutely does not need anyone, he will find company for himself, cheer himself up, he will spend his immortal life without focusing on anyone. He doesn't depend on anyone. This is partly true, but still Solomon let you know that you are an important person in his life and he will not let you leave him so easily. Solomon will always be around, hanging around somewhere with you.

Solomon is the one who brings change with him. It's hard to find stability with him, because he loves chaos and unpredictability. Being with him for some time, you begin to understand that you yourself are gradually beginning to change, to get used to the character of Solomon. The relationship with him is like an adventure on a raging sea, which directs both of you in an unclear direction, where you eventually find your happiness. He is free as a cat who does not tolerate any kind of management in his side, but he will be happy to give you the opportunity to be his equal companion.

[sagaubeloved]

I don’t know if this is something I READ or something I thought of in passing and just kept forgetting about, but the basic idea is that the things the Creator comes into contact with (mainly literature) is recreated within Teyvat.

But it was more in the sense that even if the Creator hadn’t read the book it would still appear. However, those books that weren’t read would be faded, barely there scribbles that are not discernible and thus not as important to the Creator in comparison to the things they have read.

In that way, I thought how funny it would be that if-and-due to the Creator being a college student there are all these various poems, post-colonial literature, plays, biology, communications, etc just popping into existence and the people of Teyvat believing that the Creator really enjoyed knowledge and the arts.

(Maybe that can cause a long standing argument between Sumeru scholars and those who prefer the arts?)

Would this include the things the Creator writes? Essays and such? Yes, because it is something the Creator interacted with, and no less created themselves!

For me I really like essays, but it also depends on what it is the essay is going to be about, that’s where it can turn from an essay of 10 pages easily or a trudging essay with blurbs. (Just imagine seeing your school essay glorified somewhere as fact and your just there trying not react because you wrote that one thing while sick, and high as a kite at 3 am on a school night; wtf is it doing in that glass casing for all of Teyvat to witness??)

Similarly, if the Creator enjoys reading in general, all those things come into existence even if those things existed by way of technology only, ie. Fanfiction.

So imagine when the Creator descends they are at first confused and then upset because I still have so many things to read! I still have so many things to write! I had a project due in a week! And then stops in bewilderment because —

Wait, isn’t that… isn’t that the novel they had in their To Read list?? Wait isn’t that a story they already read?! Oh no, everyone is witness to your reading habits!!

[desire-mona]

siiiigh. todd autism headcanons because im projecting.

(using they/he/she pronouns for todd in this post. will explain but also if u dont agree i dont care, tw for alcoholism. time period is vague but autism hasnt existed as a legitimate medical diagnosis for all that long, so keep it in mind i guess.)

- cannot for the life of him stand welton's blankets. so itchy, just thin enough to not warm you up enough but still make you sweat, not long enough to cover your entire body. yes im making the blanket line in their poem about actual blankets, a boy needs to vent somewhere.

- beyond terrible temperature regulation, ALWAYS just a little too hot which is made worse by her sensory issues when it comes to wet fabric. constant slight agony and it never really goes away. theyre about 5 minutes away from crying about how uncomfortable they are at all times.

- had god awful handwriting until high school, like his teachers could BARELY read his handwriting it was Bad. OOOOOH OH MY GOD THERES A TRAIN GOING BY I CAN HEAR IT HONKING this is a really ironic thing to be pointing out rn but its sooooo worth mentioning. its still honking this is fun. 🚂. anyway. her parents made her spend an entire summer fixing her handwriting bc that was like the One thing her teachers criticised. its Fine now but their motor function simply doesn't deliver in the handwriting department.

- had a VERY INTENSE special interest in aquatic life + marine biology growing up, like read every book about any ocean animal in any library intense. his parents eventually forced him to abandon it because its "not a good career focus" but he still perks up when anyone mentions fish. once talked neils ear off about the biodiversity of coral reefs for roughly 2 hours, neil took her to an aquarium for their first date. rip todd anderson you wouldve loved spongebob squarepants.

- looooves pets, namely cats, but they have Too Sweaty hands all the time so any animal fur sticks onto their hands and just feels. so awful.

- had a brief period in his 20s where he was definitely an alcoholic, started as a social drinker but got too addicted to the feeling of not having to adhere to social conventions quite as hard, especially around other drunk ppl. eventually went sober after they realised they just Cant Stand the feeling of a hangover anymore. autistic ppl r more likely to develop a dependency on alcohol if we do start drinking. just btw.

- gets a Pretty Expansive vocabulary after actually starting to pursue literature. sometimes his family lightly teases him about using big words but it confuses the hell out of him. its just a word she thought would apply best!!

- soooooo obsessed with what other ppls idea of them is, both in an anxious way and out of genuine curiosity. would never ask ppl what they think of her bc she thinks thats 1) very broad 2) seems compliment fish-y and 3) just gonna lead to "i think ur great/ nice/ whatever filler compliment." but the dream is to sit someone (neil) down and just ask him every single question possible about how he perceives him.

- asks a billion clarifying questions about anything someone asks him to do, gets anxious about how many questions he's asking, tries to just figure it out, freaks out about the possibility of getting it wrong, ends up doing the thing perfectly. weekly occurrence.

- never fully grasped the appeal of religion (most definitely grew up catholic or christian or Something) just bc she could NOT let the lack of proof go. ALSO not an atheist bc the vastness of space scares them out of it. religious beliefs r a weird topic for them.

- suppresses a good chunk of his stims in public bc One total time someone looked at him weird while he was chewing on a sweatshirt string and he was like i gotta stop NOW. eventually develops tics and has to mask THOSE in public too. dear god someone let this girl unmask. also i started ticcing while writing that bc my body does this great thing where i only tic when im reminded of the concept of ticcing. its great and totally doesnt make me think im faking them (faking for who? dunno bc it usually happens when im alone)

- DOES in fact stim around neil bc NEIL STIMS TOO!!!!!!!! joyous day when they found THAT out! gets vocal stims of random lines from whatever play neil is practicing for. YEAA ART THOU THEEEEREE was a vocal stim for a solid week and a half which made neil VERY excited (autistic neil. how i love u autistic anderperry)

- velcro is The most evil vile disgusting material to ever grace this mortal realm. he hates it more than anything ever and i mean that fully. the feeling of BOTH sides, the noise, how easily it comes apart, she hates it all.

this is the gender part

never really viewed gender and gender roles as anything to adhere to beyond the fear of punishment if they dont. finds any social convention relating to gender to be Really dumb and meaningless, bc gender isn't (scientifically) real in any capacity, so why treat it like that? for the longest time just shrugged and said "eh, i guess im a boy" bc thats what she was used to being told, and didn't feel particularly drawn to agree OR disagree. eventually realised on a late night that Wait. i dont Actually care what i am. like yeah im a Male i guess but also im just me. my brain doesnt have a gender and i basically am my brain, right? and then never really thought about it again because that's genuinely how little he cares. adhering the most to canon with that mindset, she never really tells anyone (for obvious reasons on top of the overall apathy) and just lets the he/him happen to her but. in my dream world? agender they/he/she todd anderson. and this is MY blog so those are the pronouns im using from now on. i will forever love talking abt how autistic ppl very often view gender differently than allistic ppl, will forever love talking abt how autistic ppl are more likely to be trans. autism!!!

also yes that entire paragraph is just my view of gender, change the pronouns and the todd mentions and its just me. what of it.

[carrotcouple]

He writes a letter one day.

To a brother he no longer has. It tastes like salt and grime. His handwriting isn't even half as pretty as Jiang Cheng's. He continues writing all the same.

He isn't sure how to get anything he wants to say down on paper, but he's certain Jiang Cheng would have known. Paper and ink was his specialty, his expertise.

Wei Wuxian wishes he'd asked Jiang Cheng to pen out poems for him just to see how much of himself Jiang Cheng poured into his writing. To see him be himself. To see him feel joy in the one thing that was his and his alone.

He tries to imagine his brother sitting in front of him. His brother was not a quiet person but he wasn't loud and talkative either. He matched Wei Wuxian's banter and words easily. But also sometimes he'd be quiet, listening, reading, watching.

Wei Wuxian imagines his brother is watching him with mild amusement, the way he used to when Wei Wuxian would pace back and forth while trying to voice a crazy idea.

Why did you leave me? I'm sorry.

"Why didn't you write a poem for me?" He croaks. "You know how much I love romance and poetry."

He imagines Jiang Cheng scoffing.

I'm sorry I didn't see you suffering.

"Yeah, true, I always used poetry for silly stuff. I would have liked it all the same. It's not fair only Lan Zhan owns your poetry." Wei Wuxian presses the tip of his brush into the ink, feeling bitter again.

He wanted to hate Lan Zhan after his brother's death. But he knows even now Lan Zhan is kneeling on the floor in the Jingshi, painting what he can remember of Jiang Cheng.

Wei Wuxian's own room is adorned with one of those paintings. A painting of one of Jiang Cheng's cheeky smiles. Likely one directed at Wei Wuxian himself.

Wei Wuxian's illusion of Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow and crosses his legs.

I'm sorry for being cruel to your lover. I won't do it again.

"I know Lan Zhan can value poetry better and can also paint on those pages! But I'm your brother!" Wei Wuxian says and his voice cracks as he finishes.

I'm your brother. I miss you. I'm sorry. I miss you.

"I want proof that you lived with me," Wei Wuxian whispers. "That's all. I want something that you created with your own two hands. I want a piece of the deepest part of you that you hadn't shared with anyone else."

But only Lan Zhan got that.

Jiang Cheng smiles sadly at him.

"It's true," Wei Wuxian continues. "If you'd have given me your writing while you were alive I would have really liked it but I wouldn't have treasured it the way Lan Zhan did. It would have been put somewhere on a shelf. But at the very least," Wei Wuxian sobs, "I would have it now to hold."

They'd considered taking Jiang Cheng's writing and decorating it to honor him. They'd also considered dividing his writing amongst them so that they could have pieces of Jiang Cheng. But in the end they all agreed that they'd rather visit Jiang Cheng's room and kneel on that little pillow on the ground.

Wei Wuxian looks back up and at the illusion of Jiang Cheng. He's no longer a teenager. He is the little boy that chased Wei Wuxian away that fateful first night.

There are silent tears streaming down his face. He isn't crumpled up and loudly sobbing. When had Jiang Cheng truly learned to hide what he was feeling? Wei Wuxian doesn't know.

"I'm sorry," Wei Wuxian says. "It's not that I didn't love you. It's not that I didn't see you. I just always assumed you would always be there and I took you for granted."

The little Jiang Cheng presses his hands to his face.

"I miss you. I won't ever stop missing you. I lost my soulmate, my brother, my best friend. I miss you." Wei Wuxian's hand is moving, brush going across the paper. He has words but they're not eloquent. He is capable of eloquent words but those are usually shallower than he is willing to offer Jiang Cheng.

A loud and childish sob escapes Jiang Cheng's mouth.

"I love you," Wei Wuxian says. The brush falls from his fingers and then he's sobbing along with Jiang Cheng. "I love you."

When his tears dry and he looks up, the letter is finished, shaky and smudged, and Jiang Cheng is gone.

[fourstarsoutofnine]

Hellooo, i noticed that requests are open! If I may, can I request courting shenanigans with Four? Man's gonna have a full on war in his head (AND a full on brawl if they split )if the Colors have different ideas on how they want to court the reader. Even better if the Reader has feelings for them but is as Dense as A Rock.

In any case, please do take your time with this! I don't want you to burn yourself out, and I don't mind waiting.

One last thing, I hope you know that your writings make me smile whenever I see that you posted.

Ok that's it lmao, take care of yourselfff

A/n:AAA thank you sm😭🫶you’re so very kind. Also I’ve been wanting to write for the colors for a while, thank you for giving me a way to do that!!

Also, I read somewhere a while back that to make a courtship official in medieval times(typically between a man and a woman, I’m not sure how it worked for other couples, it didn’t say so I’d just say it was an overarching thing), the man would give his lover a cloth torn from his garment but I didn’t want to have four slice his tunic so I settled for an extra headband ribbon <3 anyway enjoy!

How to date.

Four x reader (ft. colors)

The smith was normally a pretty easygoing guy. Calm, collected, able to figure things out relatively well on his own….when it came to regular issues.

But you, though—oh, you.

You were an entirely different story. He had no clue how to gauge the situation of his thoughts and feelings towards you.

He knew he’d fallen for you—faster than the champion when his shield broke while surfing—but the thing is… he was torn inside on how he wanted to go about asking you, and courting you.

You, of course, were clueless as a blind detective. Not a single thought of his feelings behind those eyes. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved by that. It just meant he could look at you longer without you wondering why he was doing so.

Vio hated keeping this from you. He wanted to figure out some way to tell you. It’s your right to know how he felt. It would be wrong to continue your friendship without your knowledge of this, as it was something that, Hylia forbid, could end the friendship all together if you found out and didn’t feel the same way.

Red wanted to tell you, but by the three the poor thing was paralyzed by fear. His feelings towards you were so strong he felt like he could explode. He adored you—he had the smith looking at you like you were the goddess herself. If it took being dragged here by the shadow for you to meet, it truly will have been worth it. He reveled in every aspect of you.

Even Blue was smitten. You knew how to fluster every part of the smith, and he was no exception. Your willpower and strength amazed him, as did your sharp wit and ability to shoot a comeback right back at anybody with a snarky remark, and that was something that could easily melt him to a puddle.

Green had no words, really. You just captivated him. He was the head of the group, the calmest of every color, the least easily riled. But you had him, all of them really, wrapped around your finger. If they could only agree on one thing, it would be that they’d do anything for you… so why couldn’t they come to an agreement on how to ask you out?

“A library’s the clear choice. It’s a calm, quiet environment facilitating a feeling of ease and comfort, and that’d be best.” Vio stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh please—you just wanna read after, whether we get rejected or not.” Blue rolled his eyes.

“Alright then, what’s your idea?” Vio shot back

“Picnic.” He shrugged. “Easy. It’s a calm, quiet environment facilitating a feeling of ease and comfort.” He repeated in a mocking tone. “But way more romantic. I mean—what can you even do in a library??? Recite love poems to them?”

“Yes! Exactly, Blue!”

“Hey!!!” Red shouted. “Stop arguing, this is getting us nowhere!”

“Do you have a suggestion, then?” Vio pressed

“Um-…well…” he thought. “We could…I’ll take them shopping! That way I can buy them things that accentuate their beauty…” his cheeks turned red as he smiled dopily at the ground.

“Not a bad idea, only, where will we get the money?” Blue asked. “We’re practically pisspoor traveling with the others. Hardly a rupee to our name and I wouldn’t be caught dead asking to borrow from someone to take our partner out. We’re not a scrub.”

“…yeah…” he mumbled ashamedly, a blush of embarrassment now across his cheeks. Vio patted his shoulder, assuring him it wasn’t a bad idea despite their lack of funds, and it would definitely be something they’d do in the future when they got more money(if you reciprocated their affections, that is.)

“Green? Any lifesaving ideas?” Blue crossed his arms, tired of this charade.

“….honestly, gang? I got nothin. I’m coming up blank..”

The other colors groaned. Unfortunately for them, it was loud enough for your passing form to hear. The sound caught your ear and drew you closer. When you got to the source, you saw four brightly colored iterations of your lovely smith, each one of them a representation of the color on the tunic you most consistently saw him wearing. You’d become rather close to him and the sound he’d made concerned you. This, however, wiped all other worry from you and you stood there shocked and confused on the scene playing out before you.

“Are you serious???” The small man in blue let out another groan and held his face. “My goddess were never gonna tell them at this point; this is ridiculous. They’ll be back where they belong by the time we can come up with a stupid plan.”

“Easy, Blue. Don’t be so dramatic; you’d sound like Red if you weren’t so negative.” The one in a lovely purple(or violet, more accurately) said.

“Hey..” the one in red pouted.

“No offense.”

“Offense?? You’re comparing him to ME!”

“All I said was you’re both dramatic, you’re just negative too—“

“I oughta—“

“Hey!!” The one in green finally shouted, bringing the others’ bickering to a halt. “Even if I did have a plan, would we even agree on it? You three can’t seem to even stop arguing, much less come to an agreement or come up with a solution we all like. Maybe-..maybe we just try to…since it’s causing us inner turmoil and making us bicker with ourselves…what if we just suppress it…”

“No..!” Red shouted. “I-I don’t want to..! Loving them is so nice… I don’t wanna push that down…”

“Honestly? Me neither. Besides it’ll just make us sick. You know what happens when we bottle it up.” Blue stated.

“Exactly. We get physically ill and I’m not a fan.” Vio added.

“But the thing is—what if it’s all for naught anyway? What if they don’t like us?” Green sighed.

“What if they do?” You finally piped up after not being able to hear of the scenario any longer. You loved the smith. You just never in a million years would have thought he returned your affections. But yet here he stood, the four major parts of him split by the foursword, bickering over how to take you on a date.

The colors eyes widened, faces blooming a bright red immediately. They’d been caught.

“What if I do?” You said. “And…I might have a solution to your issue… how about we go out to eat, or just for a walk or something..? It doesn’t matter what we do, I just like to spend time with you… we can to that when you’re all together again, and then someday later, you four could go on whatever individual dates you had in mind that you couldn’t agree on…” you smiled nervously.

Red was the first to break the standoff between all of you. He ran up and hugged you tight. You smiled and hugged him back. The other colors joined before they backed up and merged again. The smith stood in front of you with a sad smile. “You really—meant all that..?”

“Of course..” you smiled. “For one, I’d never lie to you, and two, why would I ever not reciprocate your feelings? Smith—Link, you are brilliant, in every single way. And all of this just adds to that. I can’t wait to get to know every single part of you.”

“Can—can I-….can you bend down here so I can kiss you?”

You laughed and nodded, bending down to let the small hero kiss you. It was careful, calculated, and so full of love that you were sure he’d gone over it in his head a thousand times on exactly how he’d do it. When you both broke away, his face was bright red and he smiled like a dope. “That—“ he started with a lovestruck laugh. “Was so much more than I ever dreamed it would be…”

“I could say the same…” you were just as lovestruck as he was. “I just-…never would’ve thought you’d ever think of me like that…”

“You kidding? You’re literally everything I’d ever dream of. Every aspect of you’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing…”

“Smithy…” you sigh, beginning to refute.

“I mean it.. and if you’ll let me, I’d love to show you how much you mean to me..”

“I-… I’d love to..” you smiled softly. His eyes lit up and he grabbed a spare piece of ribbon he uses for his headband and tied it around your wrist.

“I’m not sure how it works where you’re from, but this is how people know we’re courting.” He smiled. As did you. Courting, what a cute way to say dating… with the colors satisfied, the smith felt satisfied as well. So did you. A happy ending for all of you<3

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Do you know anything (or maybe have some headcanons) about Rohan’s wedding traditions? How do they propose to be married? What kind of wedding outfits do they have? Do they marry for life, or does divorce exist? Thank you so much! I so love reading all your musings about Rohan!

Thanks for this question, and for being so nice! I love to talk Rohan, so I appreciate the chance! ❤️

I’ve actually never written a Rohirrim wedding and there really isn’t anything to go on from the books/lore, either, so I don’t have a fully developed idea of what that would look like.

Off the cuff, I’d say weddings in Rohan probably vary a lot depending on the wealth, status, location, etc. of the couple. Rich people will obviously have a much bigger, more elaborate wedding, maybe with multiple days of feasting and revelry, while a poor couple has a simple ceremony and a little party. Someone from the far western borders might have different traditions, perhaps with some Dunlendish influence as they were direct neighbors and sometimes intermarried, versus someone in the Wold, which is all the way east, extremely rural and sparsely populated. There’s no official religion of Rohan or anything that might have imposed uniformity on all their rituals, so variety is the name of the game. But there would be some common cultural elements, like toasting and poems and songs, etc. All that ceremonial stuff is in the category of things I definitely need to think more about, though I’m also always interested in other people’s thoughts and ideas, too!

For proposals, I think it was a tradition for most of Rohan’s history (something they picked up from the Gondorians) for royalty and nobles to be guided into negotiated marriages that were considered strategically advantageous. (Marrying for love is one of the few privileges of the poor! They could just find someone they liked, decide between themselves that they wanted to marry and then move forward.) Arranged marriage is something I have addressed in my stories. I’ve written about Elfhild growing to love Théoden deeply over time but still always regretting a little that she didn’t get to choose him. Also, my Théodred HATED the idea of being forced into a marriage and held out against it, which is why he was still unmarried into his 40’s. He didn’t live to see that officially change (*sob*), but I think it did. Éomer makes it clear in ROTK that Éowyn consented to Faramir’s proposal — “she grants it full willing” — and if he had learned that personal autonomy was important for her, I think he’d want to give the same autonomy to himself, his children and others in the future.

As for divorce, there’s no evidence for it in canon (and I am CERTAIN that Tolkien would hate it) but I’m a big believer that divorce is one of the most important tools for the protection of women’s interests to ever exist. So I want it in Rohan! I have a tiny piece of a draft somewhere of Éomer’s wife (who is not Lothíriel in my fics, but a daughter of Elfhelm) being left to rule alone while Éomer is away on business in Gondor, and she essentially invents divorce while he’s gone by granting the plea of several women for the dissolution of their marriages to drunken jerks. Even though the husbands complain bitterly to Éomer when he returns, Éomer has learned some stuff through the years and backs his wife’s move. I’m not sure if that little idea will ever make it into a posted story, but it exists not just in my head but on my google drive!

Thanks again for being so kind! And if you or anyone else have creative Rohirrim wedding/marriage ideas, please always feel free to share them with me!

[candiedspit]

Praise

Often, I yearned for my mother; I imagined her sitting at the table with Crystal, my younger sister and they mourn and drink sprites of tea, complaining, trading gossips to further bury my absence. Crystal with her damaged hair and sad eyes. Once, she came home with a black eye. A boy friend.

A mistake, she said over and over again.

He didn’t mean it, she said. He lost control.

I didn’t understand what she meant, not until I had a gun in my hand and not until I blasted the gun, used my life force to expand the bullet, not until I aimed at someone’s head and let out a scream as the impact happened, a furious crash of red. Not until someone left earth on my own accord. It was a moment of white, as though I was being born again. I left myself and my hands went numb and when I returned to the hot moss and clear skies and great sweeping vines and a tap on my back. The loose fabric of my clothes, I realized I was trembling from the effort, exhilarated and exhausted, almost weeping. Russian tapped me again, telling me we had to leave, to come on. I blindly followed him, leaving behind the hole where someone had been a moment before, thinking and seeing and breathing.

I had taken a life. I had lost control. As Crystal said.

The feeling stained me for days; I lost sleep. Russian told me it happens the first time.

You stay in that moment, he said, as we ate dried biscuits and drank black tea.

Your life is split into two parts, the before and the afterwards. This is your new life now, he continued. You are a person who takes things and you don’t mean to be but you can be cruel, selfish. You destroy things. Welcome to the world.

I ruminated in this as we saddled up and set our in foot cross the vines and grass troughs and blossoms of dirt. The world was a beautiful, open place. The heat sunk into my skin like venom. My head was shaved. Russian was my friend. A few years older than I was, he was the first person to speak to me. The other men, beautiful and brooding men shunned me. I arrived with bright skin and good teeth, I was a kid, eighteen years old. Still dreaming of schoolbooks and girls. I knew nothing of what was to come. Had no fucking idea. Russia spoke in a metallic accent and stood over me and told me the gist.

We are here to kill, he said. And we are here to cleanse. This is your mission. You might not get the rest of your life. Keep careful. Keep awake.

I followed his grace and made my way through months of grime and brutality and harsh sunlight. Sometimes, Russian and I stayed awake reading poems. He spoke in a low voice and recited the news. I praised these words. I ate them. And sometimes, Russian would rub my head and call my kitten. I would bow to his touch. I needed to be reminded of my realness. I accepted his aggressive, hushed love. I would climb on his back and laugh into the treeline and pull on his ears. The other men called me a pansy and told me to go back home.

You’re not fit to fight, one man said.

I had been there for seven months when the fight came about. The enemy surprised us, a sudden explosion. Men, dead. Blood shed. I was all reaction and feel and spider senses. I acted without thinking, impulse and forget the strategies. I shot and kept shooting. The sun about us bleeding out, witness to the spectacle. Russian was somewhere behind me. I could hear his grunts. I knew which grunts were his. I knew his vocal patterns. My man. My big man.

As I shot, I thought of the nation. The nation had a cup of coffee and shook off sleep and worked in decimals and droned and dreamt of atomic bombs and feared death. I shot someone ten yards off gritting my teeth and heart on fire and sweat in my eyes and the nation was asleep.