#i always just thought to myself ‘it was bad timing’ or ‘i haven’t gotten better yet’ bc the endgoal was to always get to that point where

[danothan]

tough pill i have to swallow is realizing that “getting better” doesn’t mean “getting to do more things,” getting better for me means taking better initiative in protecting myself. and THAT means making sure i do LESS things

[barley-st-band]

hey does anyone know how we’re supposed to survive it all. asking for a friend

[versethetic]

Hi ^^

So I've been affirming and persisting very consistently for 3 weeks to wake up in the Void-State. I always tell myself that it's already done and that I am just affirming because I am so happy to remind myself of what I already have.

The only moment of wavering in my thoughts is right now to write this, which I will flip in my mind once I am done writing. I also really haven't been stressing myself over affirming ALL the time, knowing I already have it, but it's getting harder to do so.

The thing is, in my thoughts, everything is already done, I've been fully living in the end, but now after 3 weeks of my 3D not visibly conforming to my 4D, it keeps getting harder to not think "where the fuck is it, why is my 3D taking so long when I always assumed it to be quick and easy to manifest"

So yea, I know the only real answer is to keep persisting, but it would be nice to hear your thoughts on this, just to get some kind of feedback even if it's not from my 3D

(I know not to look for confirmation from a dead mirror, but it's been 3 weeks, and I am just human after all... just gimme SOMETHING to hold onto, so I don't have a meltdown 😭)

i know having another person’s words can be very helpful, but in this scenario willpower will get you incredibly far. finding the strength in yourself to push past this state can do more then what any blog can do.

emotions are completely valid, feel them, it’s ok to doubt it, it’s ok to have that feeling of wondering where it is as long as you get right back on track.

you know what to do, don’t let one day of feeling bad make you revive an old dead story.

i’ll reiterate this as many times as necessary. the 3d means nothing to you. it’s not the 3d you’re changing, it’s your state of mind.

brazen impudence is what you must show. time doesn’t matter when everything is instant and now. 3 weeks? you’ve always woken up in the void state. why count how long it’s been since you haven’t gotten in… if you’ve gotten in…🤨

you know not to determine success from an old mirror so don’t. do whatever you need to feel better, affirm mindlessly if it helps. don’t affirm at all unless you think about it if it helps. take your mind off of it if it helps. then when you find yourself more settled and calm, slowly remind yourself that you’ve already done it.

choose the reality of you waking up in the void over and over. because that is your reality now. let the 3d wash out the old story and remain confident that it has no choice but to conform. it WILL mimic your mind for you. don’t think against what you want.

it’s done, your journey is over. let loassum be fun and fresh. if it stresses you out, take a break from worrying over it, even for a couple hours.

[dictatortirah]

Gura x Nero for the Squirm fans

I wrote da first draft and @jestbii made everything better and gayer

---

“Whelp, that’s another job well done, Nero!” Hemlock proclaimed, clapping their hands together triumphantly- a cloud of chalk puffing from their hand, mostly to hide fingerprints. It erupted a sneeze from their snout, rather embarrassingly as they immediately faced away to deal with it. 

  Nero let out a weary groan that filled the air, his body protesting as he yanked the hatchet free from the cultist’s lifeless form beneath him, which was in the worst of state, considering death via hatchet was on today's menu. The force of the tugging nearly sent him tumbling backward, but he had quickly steadied his lumber body, glancing down in disgust at the grim sight before him. This never did get any easier…and it reminded him of very bad times. Blood pooled around the body like dark ink on parchment, and he couldn’t help but hope fervently that this cultist would stay dead- they’ve come back before, after all. With a final, forceful tug, he freed the hatchet, its blade slick and glistening in the dim light.

  His jacket was ruined, splattered with crimson chunks and remnants of the awful task adorning his whole entire body. Even if he wasn’t a fashionista like Vitr, it were up to him, he would never allow himself to get this dirty again. I mean, he had promised Sniper he’d leave killing behind—especially after his past experiences in the cult’s twisted rituals. He still thought about those sometimes at night…well, at least until he showed up. Besides that, the thought made him shudder. Never again would he go back to those days.

He glanced at Hemlock, his boss, who was scanning the area for any witnesses around the area, obviously a bit frantic. They nearly got caught last time, and things like this would surely cost them their citizenship- or lives. The act of assessing their surroundings with every darting eye made a wave of dizziness wash over Nero, whoever, and he suddenly realized just how exhausted he truly was. Days of tension and sleepless nights had taken their toll on his already sick and weak body. He wobbled over to Hemlock, who noticed his unsteady gait and caught him as he nearly collapsed against him. Jesus, what had gotten into this man? 

   “Damn, Nero! I didn’t think this one would wear you out this much!” Hemlock exclaimed, alarm flashing across their wrinkled face as they steadied Nero quite carefully, brushing imaginary dirt from his shoulder. All this did was slather their hand in the all too familiar blood, however…Nero swayed slightly, struggling to regain his balance. “You don’t look so good. Worse than usual…and that’s sayin’ something, since you usually look like shit.”

   In a sudden, impulsive gesture, Hemlock yanked off Nero’s hat, causing the sickened man to flinch in confusion and near offense. It was a move that always annoyed him; yet it happened almost every single day! It felt like a violation of his personal space—unless, of course, it was someone special doing it. He wouldn’t retaliate or anything, though- he respected hemlock and he was also much too tired to deal with it. 

  “Hey! Why did you—”

   “Nero! When was the last time you slept?” Hemlock’s eyes bore deeply into him, concern etched deep into their wrinkled features. “Your eye—one of them looks like it’s about to pop out! No wonder you’ve been slacking lately. Jesus, boy, haven’t I told you to sleep?” They had asked, gripping the hat, almost in frustration yet mostly concern. 

   “I’m fine—” Nero stuttered, admittedly shocked from Hemlock's concern…he’d be heart warmed, if he hadn’t been fading in and out of consciousness as they spoke. 

  Scoffing, Hemlock held their temple. “No, you’re not. I don’t trust you to go home and rest once we wrap up here. I hate that you make me do this, but dammit, I’m sendin’ you home myself!” Hemlock declared firmly, stomping their foot to emphasize their point, firm in their decision. Nero was their best worker, after all…in fact, one of the only ones. 

  Nero wasn’t going to have this, though- 

 “What?!” Panic surged through Nero, and he quickly recoiled, snatching his hat back from the worried boss of his. That was unnecessary! What if Sniper asked Hemlock about their work? What if Hemlock released all of the details of their excursion? The blood smeared on both the detective's jackets would certainly raise questions, that was for sure, no matter how blind that bunny was! He instinctively took a step back, distancing himself from Hemlock, mostly out of discomfort. 

    Realization dawned on Hemlock as they noticed Nero’s distress. Oh…Nero probably wouldn’t like it very much having his boss roam around his place, huh? Especially with the little friend he had…Hemlock paused, before sighing, rubbing their head out of discomfort and embarrassment..

 “Agh, don’t worry about it, bud. We’ll wash up first. I’ll just have your little rabbit friend make sure you get some rest, you worrywart. Now, let’s go.” Hemlock began to head toward the nearby river, and Nero hesitated, trailing behind quite awkwardly. He felt a bit bad for being so quick to react, but there were more pressing matters in his mind… 

   “But…But I can’t go to bed.”

  Hemlock halted, turning to face him. A look of puzzlement adorned their face, yet they never shifted their body to turn to him. What was he on about ?

 “And why not? You’ve got a bed at home, don’t you!” 

   “Uh… y-yes, but.it’s because I…” Nero’s voice trailed off sheepishly, his head pounding. He felt dizzy again, nearly tripping over his own feet. He was clumsy, yes, but…his vision began to fizzle out, and things were becoming hard to discern. Had that been a bush he was approaching, or was it Hemlock? 

   Hemlock, having now fully turned towards the dizzy busybody, was currently studying him, concerned deepening in their gaze yet again. “Ah…yer an insomniac, huh? I’ve had my bouts of insomnia before. I have the proper meds for it. I’ll tell your friend to give them to you once we get home. Okay? Okay. Come on. We need to hurry..” they mumbled, turning, a bead of sweat dripping down their head from stress. 

    As Hemlock began washing off their coat with urgency, Nero followed hesitantly, the cool water splashing against his face doing very, very little to clear his muddled and messy mind. He cursed silently, repeating the motions in a futile attempt to wash away the grime—both literal and metaphorical. But, no matter how much he slapped his face with cupped hands of water, it never did anything besides cause him to shudder..

   Insomnia. Yeah, right.

    He had been depriving himself of sleep for a reason that weighed heavily on his heart- and his weakened mind. It had been three days—maybe four—since he last even closed his eyes or gotten a lick of sleep. And, guess what? Gura hadn’t visited him in dreams since then- and to put it plainly, he just couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. However, with each passing night, the pressure of the worm’s gaze loomed larger in his mind, paranoia gnawing at his every thought, his body shutting down due to the lack of sleep. Was Gura watching him, lurking in the shadows? How much longer would he hold out against the creeping dread of sleep? Would he ever be free from that piercing gaze? And those rough hands that would plunge him into the darkness?

    Nero shook his head, fighting against the wave of anxiety, not wanting to appear pitiful in front of his boss. What could he say to convince Hemlock he was fine, and that he didn’t need sleep? He feared that if he succumbed, he’d awaken in the warm embrace of Gura’s fluffy ever sprawling tendrils, and the thought alone sent a shiver down his spine. 

    …Fluff. Even if he didn’t like it, he couldn’t help but think of the comfort it brought him, being wrapped in the fluffy embrace of the multicolored fur…suddenly, the prospect of sleep felt enticing, as if Gura’s hands were beckoning him, pulling him into the deity’s soft, vibrant form…where Nero belonged. 

He hated to admit it, but..he missed Gura. He envied the thought of. 

   “Nero, seriously, Jesus Christ, are you okay?” Hemlock’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts like a sharp kitchen knife slicing a soft tomato, causing Nero to jerk up. Nero looked down, realizing his hands were trembling, his vision blurring, the ultimatum of his deprivation finally flowing through his body. Exhaustion was finally catching up with him; his body was on the verge of shutting down, and god did it feel awful.

 “I-I’m..yawn…I’m..fine..”

   No… he couldn’t let himself fall asleep, not now and not ever again. Gura would be furious with him, and he’d never let him live it down. But, no matter how much Nero fought, the forceful feeling of the worm’s presence loomed closer, waiting for the moment he had surrendered to darkness, ready to be snatched up. 

   Ultimately, the man could no longer run. As his thoughts twisted in a downward spiral, his weak and shaky legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed onto the ground, right on the bank of the river. The last thing he heard before surrendering to unconsciousness was Hemlock’s frantic voice calling out to him, being shaken with the grip of a worried boss-

---

And as suddenly as it all went downhill, with just a few mere seconds, he was awake again. 

“Nero… Oh, Nero!” Called a cocky, alluring voice.

Panic flared in the man’s tightened chest. No, no..

“Do you really think you can hide from me forever, Nero? Hehehe..aren’t you a cutie pie?”

Dammit…he let it happen…again. 

Nero took a deep, shaky breath, steeling himself before opening his eyes. He knew it was coming, but he’d never truly be able to handle it…

   The worm god loomed above him, his eyes swirling with an intense fury that filled and coursed through his elongated body, hands on his hips in sassy manner. Gura had a way of making himself appear larger when he was angry, his immense form casting a shadow that felt oppressive…yet, Nero couldn’t force himself to be scared of the God before him. 

    Even if he wasn’t scared, an odd sense of exasperation coursed through Nero, but he forced himself to maintain his composure. He wouldn’t let this cocky God get the upper hand…not again, and hopefully, never again. 

  “H-Hey, Gura,” he said, trying in a nonchalant tone. “So, uh… it’s been a while.”

  “Been a while?!” Gura’s voice boomed as he circled Nero like a predator assessing its prey, sizing him up to see just how well he could devour him. “So, you tried to avoid sleeping to avoid ME for FIVE days? And when your body finally shuts down, you act this cocky with me?! I never thought you’d be such a fool…and so harsh to me, too. Oh, and I’m not going to pretend I haven’t noticed you KILLING my cultists!”

   A hand shot out, gripping Nero’s quivering jaw and forcing him to look directly into Gura’s eyes, grinding his soft fur covered fingers along the goats mouth, feeling his gums. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, toy.” 

   Nero scoffed, forcing himself to meet Gura’s spiraling gaze, eyes darting as his hands gripped at anything he could- which had happened to be Guras own arm. Despite the rage flickering in the deity’s eyes, a strange calm washed over him as their gazes locked, and Nero’s breath hitched as the pit in his stomach slowly but surely dissipated. The moment lingered before Gura snarled, growling, shoving Nero’s jaw back and sending him tumbling into something soft and plush, causing Nero to audibly yelp! 

    He gasped as he landed, recognizing the familiar sensation of Gura’s fluffy form slowly enveloping his body, wrapping around every part of him in a warm, soft hug. A part of him revealed in the comfort, fingers instinctively sinking into the warmth, squeezing and shuddering.

    Gura turned away momentarily, muttering to himself in frustration, and after a pause, he had faced Nero again..a giggle crawling out of the deity's throat, and his once harsh scowl morphed into a teasing grin. 

 “Oh, Nero! Where are my manners? Now that I have you in my grasp, we might as well make our time worthwhile. We have plenty to talk about. Plenty...”

    With a swift motion, Gura coiled around Nero, forcing him to sit down along his…stomach? This god was truly hard to understand, his stomach could be just about anywhere with just how infinite his body had seemingly been. A part of his body shifted upwards, bending into a makeshift table, balancing two cups and a teapot for them to share. Gura loved being able to mess with Nero with this..it entertained him. 

  “U-Ugh, seriously, again with this?” Nero grumbled, glancing up to find Gura’s sharp gaze locked on him. The worm’s grin was wide, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface, making Nero uneasy. He shrunk into himself, but the fur only scraped along the intimated man’s body once again, and he let out a yelp from the sheer feeling of it.

   “Hm..well, then, let’s catch up,” Gura said, taking a sip from one of the cups..although, he had recoiled, as he was never very good at brewing his own tea, quick to set the cup back down and lean forward, hands folded beneath his chin. “This past week, you’ve successfully killed three of my disciples with that godd of yours…Impressive, I must say. Trying to thwart my plans as usual, I see… You’ll never stop being such a pain, will you?” He leaned closer, his face inches from Nero’s, their breaths hitting one another’s, the tensions in the room enough to cut with a knife.

  “Killing is what my cult endorses, isn’t it? Aren’t you a little afraid of becoming like them again? Hah, you’d do good in my cult..wearing a little robe, whispering my name..” 

    Flustered, Nero interjected- “A-Absolutely not! I know what I’m doing,” Nero shot back, his voice stronger than he felt. In reality, he felt..soft..this fur was soft. But still, he fought back, much braver sounding that he really was in his heart. 

  “Ugh..If it takes a bit of blood spillage to stop you, then so be it…I’ll never let you lay a finger on the people I care about.”

   Gura sighed, feigning an overly exaggerated exasperation, hand along on his temple. “Still playing the hero, huh? You really are a pain. Why don’t you just drop it and join me…?” His hands began to grip upwards along Nero’s body, causing him to writhe in the most playful ways... Gura loved the yelps Nero made…as his hands tugged all along Nero’s body, Nero grimaced, shuddering. 

   “W-well… wouldn’t it be easier for you to just kill me? Get it over with, huh?” Nero stammered, feeling the shift in the air, causing him to uncomfortably writhe in the deities grasp. He could sense where this was headed, and he didn’t like it…it was all too familiar. 

   “…Kill?” Gura repeated, raising an eyebrow, intrigued. He never really thought of killing Nero, before…but his implications of the want excited him. “Hah, you think I’d want to kill you?” 

 “Yeah…yeah, you could’ve killed me since day one- But you chose not to, isn’t that right?” Nero pressed, a spark of defiance igniting within him. He knew gura hated when he became bratty like this..

 “While I was… staying up, I noticed things. Whenever Mallet is about to finish me off, you stop him…you may not be able to speak to me, but you keep me alive. You don’t want me to die. Are you that weak?” 

    Gura’s expression darkened, but he pulled Nero even closer, his grip tightening. His hands, coiled around Nero’s squirming body, gripped and tugged against his clothing, hands squeezing and digging at his calves and gliding along the man’s thin waist to earn a shudder or two.

  “Hah..you always bite back when you never should. You know I don’t like it when you fight back..but, oh, if you think you’re so clever, why not keep talking?”

   Nero gulped, hands twitching as he tried his best to look away, biting his lower lip.  

Jesus Christ, he hated when gura acted like this..so malicious, and he always knew exactly where to touch to irritate the man more and more. 

 “U-uh… i’m just saying how…i- i uh….” He gave up quite quickly, his bravado shattering under the stress of the direction. He may have accidentally dug his own grave…

   Gura began to giggle, knowing he won…oh, Nero was so adorable like this! 

 “Oh, baby, that’s what I thought. You’re always so much more obedient to your god than you’d like to admit.” A single hand trailed down Nero’s cheek, grazing down to his collarbone to tap it, trailing as he brought his head in to smell Nero’s fear. 

  “Haha..you’re still lovable as always, Nero… if you won’t say it, then i will.”

    An arm slowly began to coil around Nero’s neck. “I hate you, Nero. But that’s what makes you so very, very entertaining to me…and I can’t have you dying on me when things are about to get fun.. Death is an escape for you mortals. And I don’t want you to escape just yet. The satisfaction of death…only I need to give you satisfaction.” Another coiled around Nero’s body, the hand lying on his waist squeezing his body in the most rough way he could. 

  “You’ve ruined my plans so many times, my little disciple…and I think a punishment is due. And what’s a better punishment than being my little punching bag for the night? heheh..” he trailed his long, snake-like tongue along Nero’s cheek, tasting the sweat beads like a primal beast as Nero groaned and recoiled in disgust. Even he had standards! 

  Nero placed his hand on the arm coiled around his neck, tugging, but the arm remained firmly. “S-so now you want to spend more time with me?” Nero forced a chuckle. “I didn’t think you missed me that much...let me go, I’m not plaything..”

  “Mmg..shut it.” The arm suddenly tightened around his neck, causing him to choke and gag, legs flailing slightly against the Gods fields of fur. 

 “Nero…Last I heard…dolls don’t talk back.” 

  As Nero struggled against him, Gura laughed, clearly enjoying himself and the power he dominated over Nero’s body. He missed seeing Nero like this. Begging for mercy, writhing, squirming… “Besides being entertaining, you’re valuable to me. You have something I want…. Your smarts- your mind. And I’m not letting you walk out there freely while holding what should be mine..”   “O-oh really..? Hf… give me all you got. I’m not ever going to give in to you.” Nero retorted, disheveled into breathless groans, his eyes daring. 

  “My, my..You can keep trying to struggle, Nero. But I can do this forever if I wanted to.” The worm snickered, his face now an inch close to Nero’s, a smirk along his face as his heart raced. “Not even old age can save you from this one, boy..forever and ever you’ll be mine..my disciple to play with, and mine to devour the fear from as much as I please.”

   The coiling arm around his neck suddenly released its tantalizing grasp on the man’s neck, and Nero took a deep gasp and caught his breath- but, before he could think of a smart retort, hands held his cheeks, and the worm suddenly forced him into a kiss.

   An oddly sweet scent filled the man’s nose as Guras fingers dug deep and tender into his cheek, the worm squeezing and rubbing along Nero’s stomach and chest to put him in a snake-like death lock. Gura loved how Nero fought back..with groans and hisses between every slip of their lips. It drove the deity mad with empowerment.  

 Nero struggled at first, but quickly gave in. It had been a while…and he couldn’t help but love the utter excitement he derived from the attention, their lips pressing in a confusing symphony of lust and toxicity. 

   And, after a moment, Gura had pulled back, and left them both breathing heavily as if they had just ran a marathon. Gura loved seeing Nero’s grumpy face after a kiss, his pouting lip made him seem adorable.

With a whine, Nero glanced back into the worm's spiraling eyes…and, as he gripped the Gods snout, he sighed, leaning in to press their foreheads together. 

 “Fine…I may have missed you..a little.”

[quillfulwhimsyverse]

The Act of Faking

Word count: 7,2k

Summary: George is not talking to Fred, and the only way Fred thinks this can be salvageable, is by faking a relationship with you. Or when you hear his request - faking him having feelings for you.

Warnings: Angst towards the end.

A/N: I am literally going to kill myself. I had a plan for this to be the perfect slowed paced slow burn, were relationship builds slowly and beautifully but then I just ran out of ideas and this is what happened. And to remind you - English is not my first language so most of the times I just stared at the page trying to come up with different descriptions rather than using the ones everybody knows by heart. So I am sorry. Please enjoy.

P.S I am very sad that I found out about the "5 Acts of Play " stature at the end of writing this one-shot. I could've used it to make the story more interesting. But oh fucking well… _______________________________

One thing that everybody in Hogwarts knew, - the Weasley twins were always together. One never went anywhere without another. They also never had any serious arguments, only slight disagreements that seemed to be forgotten pretty soon after.  

That was why you currently frowned looking at the door. Fred came into the Great Hall looking tired, confused and disappointed to say the least. You closed your book, your interest peaking. He only looked like that when he'd gotten himself into detention that overlaps with Quidditch practice. 

‘So what happened to you?’ you asked as Fred moved to sit in front of you at the Gryffindor table. He looked really upset. ‘Prank gone wrong?’

‘No, I wish tho.’ He sighed. ‘It’s George. I haven’t had a single conversation with him for what seems like days.’ 

‘You never fight.’ you mentioned, as Fred was taking a gulp of juice from your glass. 

"We haven’t gotten into a fight, Y/N, he just dumbly avoids me. When I try to talk to him, he mumbles something about guilt trips and at the next moment he’s gone.’ He started fidgeting with his wand. 

‘How come? Why would he “guilt trip”?’

“Well our dear best friend, Geroge,” Fred mumbled irritably, for a moment you thought he might snap, “had gotten himself a girlfriend, bet you didn’t know that, right?” you only nodded. “Well apparently nobody knew, including me.”

“Yeah…” you bit your lip. “I still don’t see what the problem is.”

“I will tell you what the problem is… The problem is that I accidentally caught him snogging Angelina off in the Quidditch pitch.” You looked at him trying not to show too much emotion. “That wanker wanted to keep it a secret, because he thought I might get hurt.”

“Well, I kinda understand why he kept it a secret.” You waited for his reaction, but he only looked at you blankly, waiting for you to continue. “Weren’t you, like, in love with her a couple of years ago?”

“Yeah, so?” he shook his head. “ I was, that’s the point, Y/N. Was. I am not. Not anymore. I wouldn’t care if they got married tomorrow.” He rested his head in his hands, slowly massaging his forehead. 

“Have you told him this?” 

“Yeah… Like a dozen bloody times. He doesn’t believe me, though. Says “I am only saying this to make him feel better.” How many times, do ya reckon, I would have to repeat this to make him believe it?”  

“Hmmm..” you thought for a second. “Just give him a bit of time, maybe that will solve something?” you suggested. 

“Just give him time…” he repeated your words to you. “How do you assume I should do that? With the Christmas holiday upcoming? Although, I think he would rather spend the whole time with the gnomes instead of me in the same room.” 

You stayed silent for a moment. Now that you have thought about it, you haven’t seen George for a couple of days too. 

“But.” Fred lifted his eyebrows and took a deep breath.” I have a little plan.” He quickly reached for his bag and pulled a letter out of it. “ This morning I got a letter from my mother, about my bad behavior in class and yada yada yada, but she did mention inviting you to stay over during holidays. And this, dear Y/N, sparked a thought in me.” 

You shifted uncomfortably on the bench. 

“You and I,” he pointed towards you and then towards himself. “We are going to fake being in a relationship. Over your stay at The Burrow.”

“Fred.” you snapped quickly. “You’re crazy.” 

“Why? I mean, it’s a good plan. Angelina will be going home during holidays, and George will be forced to be with his family instead, and we’re going to pull a little show for him, just enough, so he would drop this stupid avoidance game he is playing.” 

You frowned at your best friend. 

“You have a perfect opportunity to talk to him during the holidays and you want to spend it playing a pretend game?” you ask him as he nods. “Yeah, well there is a slight problem in your plan. We have never ever acted romantically towards each other, and George isn’t so stupid, he won’t believe it. He spent so much time with both of us together, so he will notice that there’s just no spark, or whatever.” 

“That is exactly where you are going to help me,” he stated. “Your mother is muggle, right? You mentioned once that she is really into those romantic books muggle people read? What do you call them? Noveelies?” 

“Novels, Fred.” 

“Yeah, whatever, not the point. You said you were into them when you were younger. So what I’m trying to say is that you will help me put this act together, so it looks convincing.”

You look agape at him. 

“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?”

“I had too much time on my hands with my brother successfully avoiding me, I’ve even opened the Transfiguration book a couple of times out of boredom. Closed it pretty soon after, it was even more boring than doing absolutely nothing.” 

“Still, Fred, no. It’s your whole family that will notice this as well and I don’t want to lie to Molly. And anyways, how would explain the sudden break up after the Holidays. And… Oh my god… Ron and Ginny will literally tease me to death. This is a really stupid plan, Fred, no one is going to believe it anyway. Just think of something else, I dunno, talk to Angie and make her help you out or something.”

“How am I supposed to talk to Angelina when she is almost always with George nowadays? I knew you would think the plan is stupid, but look - you are my best friend, right? I know you inside out, it would be much easier to pretend we’re in love.”

You look skeptically at him. You wanted to help him, you really did, but this plan was bound to fail one way or another. You very well knew how he flirts and acts with other girls, the last thing you wanted - to accidentally fall for him for his stupid act. 

“No.” You started packing your book into your bag, not looking at him.

“Then at least let me act as if I had fallen for you, you won’t have to do anything, just help me out to put the act together, so it looks convincing enough for George, c’mon, Y/N, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” You let your eyelids fall a little more over your eyes while he speaks. “It’s either this or I am going to do something even more stupid.” 

You let your head lull back.

“Alright.” you sight. “But.” You quickly state. “Embarrass me, Weasley, and you will have two people not talking to you.” He rolls his eyes and then determinedly looks at you. 

“Okay, so how am I supposed to pull this off?” You look at him in frustration. “What? I need step by step guidance.”

“I am gonna tell you this once. You miss it, I won’t repeat it. It is extremely stupid and why do I even… Aren’t you like a huge flirt and tease? Why would I need to teach you how…” He gave you a warning look and you shut yourself up real quick. “Oh, for Merlin's sake, okay.” 

He nodded. You gave yourself a moment to think it through, and he let you, keeping everything he wanted to say to himself. 

“Because this will be coming from literally nowhere, you must be really subtle at first.” He opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted him. “ I know, you don’t know how to be subtle, so just gaze at me from time to time during the dinner or whenever you’ll be sure George notices.” 

“So all I have to do is just look at you from time to time?”

“No, you muppet. I called it a gaze for a reason. You know? Staring at someone you find admiring?” He slightly shook his head, his ginger hair falling over his brown eyes. “Or just someone you find unbelievably pretty?” He still looked at you a bit dumbfounded. “Fred, you do it when you think about Quidditch and pranks.” He smirked, red tinting his cheeks. 

“Okay, loverrr…” you deliberately said the last word as slowly as possible, teasing him intentionally, hoping he might have a change of heart and call this plan off.  “We will call this “Act Number One.” In case you fail convincing George with this one, we will move on to the “Act Number Two.” Where you will seek close proximity.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Step over the line with this one, Fred, and I will hex you.” 

He raises his hand into the air. “Whatever you’ll say, Ma’am.” 

“You will have to be subtle with this too. Otherwise it will just be whatever you do here, in Hogwarts on a daily basis. Try to sit next to me when the dinner is ready, try and fix my hair slightly or something, you will figure it out as you go.Then there is gonna be “Act Number Three”, I believe, you will need no assistance on this one - teasing. No comment on this one. I think this should do the job.”  You look at him blankly, something about this makes you irritated and anxious. 

“And what if after all of this, he still won’t be on no speaking terms with me?” 

“Then an actor's career won't be suitable for you.” 

Act Nr. 1

Your stay at The Burrow began shortly after the plan was devised. You had urged Fred to attempt a conversation with George before enacting the plan, and in the presence of Molly and Arthur, all appeared well between the brothers, they even shared a joke about Ron’s owl Gigwidgeon. However, once left alone, their relationship reverted to its former state. And you knew that it was a matter of hours before Freds attempt at Act One.

And indeed, your prediction proved accurate. The scene unfolded during dinner, just as you had anticipated. While engaged in conversation with Ginny, who sat to your right, Arthur kindly addressed you, prompting you to look left, up at him.

“Y/N, Fred shared the fact that your mother is a muggle,” you nodded looking at him. “How fascinating.” Arthur remarked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I recently got a hold on this little thing..” he reached for his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “What exactly is this?” He held it with the tips of his thumb and forefinger as if it was a little wand. “I’ve seen it ignite flames. Is it some sort of muggle magic wand, huh?”

You couldn't help but giggle at Arthur's question, but your attention soon shifted to Molly, who cast her husband a warning glance. Unbeknownst to you, Fred's focus shifted to you, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he observed the interaction. 

“Not quite, Mr. Weasley,” you replied with a smile. “It's called a cigarette. It contains an addictive substance called nicotine, which people often smoke to alleviate stress or tension.”

“Really, Dad,” Bill interjected with a laugh, “Mum will be reaching for one of those every time you mention something from the Muggle world at the dinner table.”

Suddenly, Fred erupted into laughter, his eyes dancing with amusement as he directed his gaze towards you. “Well, would you look at that,” he exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone at the table, yet his eyes were locked on you. “Our dear Y/N, the epitome of innocence, enlightening our dear old Dad about the vices of the Muggle realm.”

You shook slightly, your eyes widening a bit. What was he doing? But he only laughed at your widened eyes, the mischievous glint in his eyes indicating that he was teasing you, trying to uplift the mood at the table.

As the Weasleys' laughter filled the room, you felt a warmth spread through you, despite the slight embarrassment of being the center of attention. 

Ginny shot Fred a knowing look, her lips curling into a smirk. "Looks like someone's enjoying themselves a bit too much," she teased, earning another round of laughter from the group.

Fred caught your confused look as you were about to mouth him to watch what he’s doing, but he only winked at you. 

After the dinner you jumped quickly on your legs to help Molly. When you went to roll up your sleeves to wash the dishes, Molly quickly stopped you with a light touch and smiled kindly. “Honey, the magic will take care of that, go ahead and rest on the couch with everybody.” She rushed you to the living room. 

You turned back to look at the rest of the family: Arthur was explaining to Bill about some corruption that involved the Ministry of Magic and Gringotts Wizarding Bank; Ron and George were playing the wizards chess on the floor and by the look on George's face - Ron was winning. Ginny picked up a plate of cookies, murmuring that these were Percy’s favorite, so she had to offer some of him, so he wouldn’t starve himself to death with whatever he was doing as an exemplary Head Boy; and Fred seemed nowhere to be found. 

You turned back to Molly. “My mother always said that magic was too precious to use it on simple daily tasks, that could simply be managed by humans.” She smiled gently at you and her eyes lifted a bit from your eyes. 

At that exact moment you felt a heavy chins presence on your right shoulder. You turned your head towards it to see Fred's untidy red hair that was brushing your cheek slightly.

"Fred," you greeted softly, turning your head to meet his gaze.

His brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he grinned down at you. 

"Hey there," he whispered, his voice low and intimate despite the bustling room around you.

A sense of ease washed over you in his company, a feeling you'd grown accustomed to over the years of friendship. 

"Thought I'd join the party," he quipped, his breath warm against your ear.

“Go rest, you two,” Molly interrupted, “while I go and see where to lay you, Y/N. I hope you sharing a room with Ginny would be alright.” 

“It’s perfectly fine. Thank you, Molly.” 

Fred feigned a dramatic sigh, before nudging you gently towards the living room. 

“You are not following the plan, Fred, you ran over all of the acts in one day.” you scolded him, but he laughed loudly. 

“Y/N, darling, when was I ever following the rules?” 

Act Nr. 2

For a couple of days, the plan appeared to be on hold. The Weasley children found themselves occupied with various tasks around The Burrow, and you willingly lent a hand wherever needed.

Whether it was assisting Molly with preparing meals in the bustling kitchen, helping Arthur mend a fence in the ramshackle backyard, or joining Ron and Ginny in tending to the garden, you immersed yourself in the daily rhythm of life at The Burrow. Once or twice you caught Fred gazing at you while he took a little break to drink some water or just to catch a breath. 

However after the evening to a hold on the house and everybody seemed to be resting, gathered in the cozy living room of The Burrow, Fred subtly initiated Act Nr. 2 of the plan. With George engrossed in a conversation with Ron about Quidditch tactics, Fred seized the opportunity to position himself strategically closer to you on the worn-out couch.

With a casual yet deliberate movement, he shifted slightly, allowing his arm to brush against yours. You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow in silent amusement at his subtle maneuver. His response was a barely perceptible smirk, a silent acknowledgment of his progress in the plan. 

Every now and then, he would lean in slightly, as if to share a secret or a whispered joke, his breath tickling your ear. Each time, you couldn't help but smile at his playful antics, a silent agreement between you to maintain the facade of blossoming feelings.

Just then, George's voice cut through the jovial atmosphere, interrupting the conversation about Quidditch tactics. "Oi, Fred," he called out, his tone tinged with a hint of mischief. "You're looking a bit too comfortable there, mate. Planning on falling asleep, are you?"

Fred's smirk widened, as if he had anticipated this exchange beforehand. He shot a playful glance at George, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Can't blame a bloke for seeking a bit of comfort, can you?" he retorted, his tone light-hearted.

George chuckled, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Well, just don't go drooling on her shoulder, mate," he teased, earning a round of laughter from the others in the room.

You couldn't help but join in the laughter, though you felt a slight flush creeping up your cheeks at the playful banter. Fred's proximity and the teasing exchange sent a pleasant warmth coursing through you, despite the teasing scrutiny of the Weasley twins.

Although, ironically, as the evening wore on, the warmth of the fire and the gentle hum of conversation lulled you into a comfortable state of relaxation. Despite your best efforts to stay alert and engaged in the lively discussion, the cozy ambiance of The Burrow proved too inviting, and you found your eyelids growing heavy.

Unbeknownst to you, Fred noticed the subtle droop of your head as you began to nod off, a small smile playing on his lips at the sight. He leaned closer, discreetly adjusting his position to offer you more support, ensuring you were comfortable.

Meanwhile, George shot Fred a knowing grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he observed your gradual descent into sleep. "Looks like someone's had a long day," he remarked sotto voce, his tone filled with gentle jest.

Fred nodded in agreement, his gaze softening as he watched you drift off into slumber, a sense of warmth and protectiveness washing over him. He couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for you, his best friend, as he silently vowed to ensure you rested undisturbed for the remainder of the evening. 

That was how Act Number two acted out. 

Act Nr. 3?

You were seated on the kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in your hands, lost in thought as you gazed out the window. You sent Molly off from the kitchen.

Outside, Molly stood with her hands on her hips, a hint of exasperation evident in her flushed face. Before her, Ginny, George and Bill exchanged mischievous grins, their laughter ringing out like bells in the crisp winter air.

“Are you two crazy? No scarves, no hats on. You are going to get sick.” She urged her children to get back in and dress properly for the weather. 

In a moment of playful rebellion, George scooped up a handful of snow and molded it into a perfectly packed snowball. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he took aim and let it fly, intending to playfully tease his mother.

But fate had other plans.

In a twist of irony, just as Molly turned to face her son, the snowball found its mark, striking her squarely in the face with an unexpected impact. Time froze for a moment, the air thick with disbelief, before erupting into uproarious laughter, Molly's angry face told them enough and they all turned to get back inside. 

“Had a good night's sleep, Y/n?” George's voice rang out as he entered through the door, his laughter trailing behind him like a mischievous echo. He shook his hair, sending a flurry of snow cascading onto the floor, much to Molly's disapproval.

Your cheeks flushed slightly as you slid off from the table, reaching for the teapot and mugs to distract yourself. "Alright," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, though your embarrassment spoke volumes.

"Only alright? I thought Fred tucked you in quite nicely." George's laughter filled the room, rich and hearty, as he winked at you. His playful jab struck a nerve, eliciting a mixture of amusement and discomfort. You turned away, feeling the weight of his teasing words lingering in the air, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within you.

As soon as they all settled down to enjoy a cup of tea, you seized the opportunity to slip away, making a beeline for Fred's whereabouts. But as you ascended up the stairs, he was going down, so you practically ran into each other.

"Oh, good," you exhaled, relief flooding through you at the sight of him. "I was looking for you."

Fred's smirk widened as he halted on the step above  you, closing the distance between you almost imperceptibly. "Slept well?" he inquired, his tone laced with amusement.

Your brow furrowed slightly as you struggled to articulate your thoughts, the urgency to convey your concerns  before the family downstairs didn’t get any ideas as to why you were standing on the stairs a moment too long. "Yeah, look," you began, your words tumbling out in a rush. "Why won’t you give this plan a little break? You seem to be talking again with George, and with the plan advancing at this pace, soon enough everybody will be asking about the relationship that doesn't exist."

"Darling, breathe," Fred intervened, his hands gently finding purchase on your shoulders as he chuckled. "You only fell asleep on me, so what? You’ve done this a million times in the common room, what’s the difference? But if you want to give it a breather, it’s fine too," he reassured, his expression softening with understanding.

However, instead of finding solace in his words, you recoiled slightly, evading his touch as you took a step back. His hands fell away from your shoulders, hanging awkwardly in the space between you as you sidestepped past him, eager to retreat to the safety of Ginny and your shared bedroom. 

Fred's brow furrowed in concern as he watched you retreat, a pang of unease tugging at his heart. He hadn't anticipated that his attempt to reassure you would only seem to exacerbate your anxiety. For a fleeting moment, he considered reaching out to you again, wanting to offer further comfort, but he held back, sensing that you needed space.

Meanwhile, you hurriedly made your way to the bedroom you shared with Ginny, seeking refuge from the whirlwind of emotions that had been stirred up by your encounter with Fred. Once inside the familiar space, you sat on your bed burying your face in your hands, closing your eyes briefly as you attempted to steady your breathing.

You have indeed fallen asleep on each of the twins at least ten twenty times during your years at Hogwarts. And not once has the teasing afterwards bother you, but something about today sent you reeling. You were blushing madly and wished that that would stop. Maybe the whole plan you helped to build, was turning against you, and each, and every time Fred paid attention to you, finally started playing with your head. 

You promised yourself to be a little more careful after that. 

Act Nr. 4 - the improvised part. 

The same night, you were roused from sleep by a gentle hand shaking your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N, you up?” Fred's voice, soft and filled with excitement, whispered through the darkness as he continued to shake you awake.

You groaned in annoyance, feeling disoriented from being pulled out of sleep. “What is it?” you muttered, your voice tinged with irritation.

“Remember that star we told you about? The one me and George discovered last summer?” Fred's tone was eager, like a child on Christmas morning, and you realized where this was headed.

“Yeah,” you replied, still half-asleep and struggling to grasp why he was waking you up in the middle of the night for a star.

“Well, come on. I found it again,” he urged, his excitement palpable even in the dim light of the room.

You hesitated, feeling reluctant to leave the warmth of your bed for a star. “Why would you wake me up for a star, Fred? It's just a star,” you grumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

But Fred was undeterred, his enthusiasm contagious as he handed you a pair of special goggles and gently grasped your wrist, guiding you outside into the chilly night air.

“Put these on and look straight up from where you're standing,” he instructed, his grip firm yet gentle as he positioned you in the right spot.

With a sigh, you relented, slipping the enchanted goggles over your eyes and following Fred's guidance. As you gazed upward, your breath caught in your throat at the sight before you.

The darkness of the night sky was transformed into a mesmerizing display of swirling colors, reminiscent of oil puddles reflecting light from muggle cars. It reminded you of the evening sky as the sun finally starts to set, bringing out the most vivid colors. The bright colors danced and twirled around in the  star and all around it, creating an ethereal display that seemed to defy explanation. Shades of deep indigo melted into vibrant hues of sapphire and emerald, while streaks of crimson and gold streaked across the dark sky.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” asked Fred while you watched the view in silence. You took the goggles off and looked up again, seeing only small, little stars shining above you. “Well the other ones do not look that extraordinary, but somehow that one does. And it comes up like three  or four times a year. It’s a miracle it came up over your stay here.” 

You turned to look at him. “It's really beautiful, Fred. I’m glad you woke me up.” 

He gently stroked your arms to make you a little bit warmer as you continued to shake due to the cold of the winter's night. 

When Fred retrieved back into his room, he smiled like a dumbass. When you got back inside you asked him if he had named that star and with a gentle smile he asked you to come up with a name for it. 

“Where have you been?” Apparently George wasn’t asleep when Fred got back, and curiosity won over George.  

“Out.” 

“You showed her the star, didn’t you?” George chuckled slightly when his brother removed his clothing and fell backwards into his bed. “I noticed it appeared again yesterday.”

“I might have done that, yes.” Fred admitted with a sheepish grin.

George laughed. “Told her what you named it?” 

“No, that would’ve been a bit embarrassing.” 

George laughed loudly but then quickly stopped, before waking the whole house up. “You're  hopeless, man. But I am happy for you.” 

Fred quickly turned his head to look at his brother, even though through the dark he could only make out his silhouette. “So? Are you back on speaking terms with me?” 

“Yeah, mate,” George chuckled, “I realized I was being dumb.”

Fred was happy. He genuinely was, but something about coming back to terms with his brother stopped him from feeling completely pleased with the situation. 

Act Nr. 5

Act 5 unfolded on a brisk afternoon a couple of days later. The sun was casting long shadows across the snow-dusted grounds of The Burrow. The Weasleys were involved in their own activities. You specifically were interested in another bewitched muggle artifact Arthur promptly told you about, then he went on reading the letter from the Ministry again, completely forgetting about telling you anything afterwards.  So you sat at the kitchen table, engrossed in a book. As you finally coughed up to where you left off, Fred entered the room with a lopsided grin.

"Hey, Y/N," he greeted, his voice warm and inviting.

You glanced up from your book, offering him a small smile in return. "Hey, Fred. What's up?"

"I was thinking," he began, his tone casual yet tinged with excitement, "why don't we take a walk outside? It's a perfect day for it."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. "A walk? Now?"

Fred nodded eagerly. "Yeah, come on. It'll be fun. We can explore the woods behind The Burrow. I heard there's a hidden clearing with the most amazing view."

Despite your initial skepticism, you found yourself unable to resist Fred's infectious enthusiasm. With a shrug, you closed your book and rose from the table. "Alright, why not? Lead the way."

As you ventured into the woods together, Fred regaled you with stories and anecdotes, his laughter echoing through the trees. With each step, you felt yourself relaxing in his company.

Eventually, you reached the hidden clearing Fred had mentioned, and you couldn't help but gasp in awe at the breathtaking view before you. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the landscape, while a gentle breeze whispered through the trees.

"It's beautiful," you murmured, your eyes scanning the scenery.

Fred grinned, his gaze fixed on you. "Not as beautiful as you," he replied softly.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat at his words. But before you could respond, George's voice rang out from behind you.

"Hey, lovebirds!" he called, his tone teasing. "What are you two up to?"

Your confusion turned to disappointment as you realized that Fred's affectionate words were likely just another one of his improvised acts. With a forced smile, you turned to face your friend, masking your disappointment behind a facade of nonchalance.

"Just enjoying the view," you replied, your voice lacking its usual warmth.”Care to join?”

As George joined you in the clearing, the moment between you and Fred faded into the background, leaving you grappling with the lingering sting of disappointment and confusion.

As the days passed quickly in The Burrow, the atmosphere seemed to settle into a familiar rhythm, apart from that, the twins seemed to get back into their close relationship, which made you extremely happy. 

Once or twice Fred would act out your made up plan and gaze at you during the day at dinner or whenever you were near each other. You, of course, didn’t expect anything more than that, understanding that now the two brothers were back to their old selves and your interactions with Fred were purely out of keeping the act just for George. But that did not change the fact that the shift happened within you. You spend more and more time thinking how everything will play out in the end when you get back to Hogwarts. How you will be sitting there, in the common room, pretending not to notice how Fred flirts with other girls and then returns to you to boast about it. This held a tight grip over your heart, making your chest feel heavy. 

There you were, sitting on the couch, watching Ron make the wrong move and lose his bishop in the process, Ginny bobbing her head happily whilst laying on the ground.  

“George just now told me that you don’t know how to play chess,” Fred sat down next to you, accidentally knocking several chess figures of the ground. 

“OIII!” Ron shouted. “Watch what you’re doing.” 

“Sorry, mate.” Fred laughed and dramatically reached for the queen on the ground and put it back on board in the wrong spot. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You turned to him, shifting back from your thoughts to reality. 

Fred raised his eyebrow and laughed. “What were you thinking so deeply about? Me?” he teased and you felt his hand reach for your own. As he tried to intervene your fingers together you quickly pulled your arm away from him and stood up. No matter how angry this made you, you tried not to give it away.  You felt sickened to your stomach. The action was small. But for some reason it was enough for you. This went too far, the act he was doing and suddenly there was no going back, everything went from too early to too late to stop this stupid lie, and the only thing you dreaded for - happened. It was your own fault, you agreed to this.

“Just remembered, I haven’t reached out for my parents for a while now,” you mumbled and left the room to actually write to your parents and ask if you could get back home from The Burrow earlier than planned. 

The Finale 

You were folding your clothes and putting them back in your trunk, while Ginny watched you from her bed. 

“Did they really ask you to go back home?” She asked once again in disbelief. You nodded. “They always let you stay as long as you want.”

“Yeah, I guess something happened back home.” You lied without looking back up at her. 

“Did you tell Fred? That you’re going back home?” She sat up, while you stopped packing and thought for a moment whether you should tell her the truth. “You haven’t,” she said, quite shocked. “Why? The boy’s going to go mad.” 

“I really don’t think so,” you mumbled.

“But he will tho,” spoke George standing in between the door, his arms crossed on his chest, he looked disappointed. 

You paused, feeling the weight of George's words sinking in. Despite your efforts to convince yourself otherwise, deep down, you knew he was right. Fred would indeed be affected by your departure, you were his best friend, nevertheless. 

Ginny shot her twin a sympathetic glance before turning back to you. "He's right, you know. Fred may not show it, but he'll definitely be upset."

You sighed, feeling a pang of guilt gnawing at your conscience. "I know," you admitted reluctantly. "But I need to sort things out back home."

“No, you don’t.” Said George again firmly. He looked quite mad now. “Considering the fact that it was you, who asked your parents to go back home early, not the other way around.”

“Uhmm… How do you?...” You stammered, caught off guard by George's accusation. His words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and disbelief.

Ginny's expression softened, her eyes filled with concern as she glanced between you and George. "George, calm down," she interjected gently, trying to diffuse the tension that crackled in the room.

But George remained undeterred, his gaze fixed firmly on you. "How do I know?" he repeated, his voice low and intense. "Because you accidentally used the quill we use for pranks. It creates two messages as it writes, one to your recipient, second to its owner,  and that would be me and Fred, only I got the hold of the message first.”

You hid your face in your hands, embarrassed. 

“Then,” George continued, “I assumed Fred had done something stupid once again and pressed him until he told me everything, And when I say everything, I mean it. Merlin's beard, Y/N, I thought Fred was daft, but turns out this friendship with us made you daft too.”

“Ummmm?” Ginny interrupted. “Mind to elaborate a little bit?” 

Ginny's interruption brought a momentary pause to the tense atmosphere in the room. George sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to find the right words.

"Well," he began, glancing at you briefly before continuing, "apparently our dear Y/N here concocted a plan to get Fred and me talking again. She thought we needed a little nudge to mend our relationship, so she came up with this whole scheme of them faking a relationship."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You did what?" she exclaimed, turning to you with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

“First of all,” you raised your finger angrily at George, “ it wasn’t my idea, Fred came up with it. Secondly, it wasn’t a fake relationship,” you said angrily, “it was for you to believe he had feelings for me so you would drop your stupid not talking to Fred phase, because you thought he was still in love with your girlfriend. So in the end, who is to blame?” you asked him. 

Ginny looked from you to George. She was sitting dumbfounded, and if it wasn’t for the angry looks on your and George's faces, she would’ve started laughing. 

“Okay, it was stupid, I agree with you,” George mumbled. “But you're as thick as it gets, Y/N.”

“Why am I the thick one?” 

“Because you actually thought Fred would fake having feelings for you,” these words from George stung like a slap in the face, the truth of them hitting you harder than you anticipated. You felt a surge of embarrassment and hurt wash over you, realizing how naively you had fallen for Fred's act. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Even Ginny’s mouth fell open. 

“George…” she murmured silently. 

“What? Wasn’t he like in love with her for a couple of years?” He said angrily. “And then you,” he pointed towards you, “went on and let him continue this charade and now because you can’t take it anymore, you’re leaving. Of course this is going to upset him.”

You tried to say something, you really tried, but words just did not form inside your head. 

Thank the spirits, cause it was Ginny who spoke after. “No, George, wait. I don’t think she knew.” 

You met Ginny's eyes, grateful for her unwavering support in this moment of turmoil. 

“I… I didn’t know,” you finally managed to utter, your voice barely above a whisper, but each word weighed heavy with sincerity. “I didn’t realize... I thought...” Your voice trailed off, the words catching in your throat as you struggled to articulate the whirlwind of emotions that churned within you. “I genuinely thought that he was doing it for you. I was leaving because I didn’t want to…” the words died out from your mouth and you didn’t finish your sentence. 

“I didn’t want to end up hurt afterwards. I assumed he only saw me as his best friend and the act would die out eventually when we got back to Hogwarts.” 

The snort from George interrupted the silence that followed after your sentence. “You and Fred must be two of the dumbest people I know. Y/N, he named a star after you, you were more than his best friend for a while now.” 

“Oi, mate, not nice to throw me under the bus like that,”  Fred quipped, entering the room with a lopsided grin.

You turned to him, quite in shock. 

“And I think this is our cue to leave,” said Ginny gently, sending a wink to you and grabbing George by his forearm to lead him out of the room. 

“Complete idiots,” George managed to yell whilst leaving. 

Fred chuckled, stepping closer to you. "Ignore him, love. He's just jealous because he hasn't named a star after anyone yet."

“I am extremely confused, Fred.” 

Fred's grin softened into a gentle smile as he reached out to take your hand in his and intervene your fingers together. He smiled as you let him. "I know, Y/N. It's been a bit of a mess, hasn't it?"

You nodded, still trying to process everything that had unfolded.

"I promise to explain everything properly," Fred reassured you, his eyes earnest and sincere. 

Fred took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before he began to explain. "Okay, so... I know this whole situation might seem incredibly confusing, but there are a few things you need to know." He paused, searching your eyes for any sign of understanding before continuing.

"Firstly, yes, I did come up with the plan to pretend to have feelings for you, but it wasn't just to mend things between George and me. It was also because..." He hesitated, his expression turning earnest. "Well, because I actually thought I might kill two birds with one stone.”

Confusion flickered across your face as you processed his words. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred took a deep breath, steeling himself before he continued. "I mean, yes, the initial idea was to help George and me patch things up by making him think I had feelings for you. But... it was also a way for me to... explore my own feelings for you."

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. "You mean... you actually do have feelings for me?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

Fred nodded, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes. "Yeah, I do. I've liked you for a while now, Y/N. I just didn't know how to tell you."

Emotions swirled inside you, a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and a flicker of hope. "But... why didn't you just tell me?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion.

Fred sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was scared, Y/N. Before our friendship even began, you seemed to be annoyed everytime I approached you. I am not even going to mention the looks you gave me when I tried to flirt with you. Then I dropped it, I thought you weren’t interested and it proved me right, cause quickly after you joined our trio. (A/N: We can not forget our Lee.)”

“I thought you saw me as one of these girls you always flirt with, I thought you were being a tease for your own entertainment.” 

Fred's expression softened as he listened to your words, a tinge of regret coloring his features. "Y/N, I understand why you might have thought that. And I'm sorry if I ever gave you that impression.”

“But why did George think you were still into Angelina?” 

“Because before you came into the picture I kinda liked her. And we got along pretty well, I just did not realize at the time she was being extra friendly with me, cause she liked George. Then you came along and my feelings changed. I mentioned them to George once or twice and then dropped it. Didn’t want to annoy him, didn’t want to hear him tease me when you joined our friend group. When he fell for Angelina, he must’ve overthought everything. But he kinda put everything together after I returned to our room after I showed you your star.” He raised his free hand and gently tucked your stray strand of hair over your ear, and then pressed his hand over your cheek, to which you leaned in. 

“Pretty soon after you arrived, you fell asleep on me, literally in front of everybody,” you closed your eyes in embarrassment as he spoke, he started softly caressing your cheek, “I thought you finally started to catch on, but you asked me to put the plan on hold, and I genuinely got scared I was pushing you away with the way I acted.” 

“I am so sorry for not catching on sooner, for avoiding you…” you tried to explain yourself, but Fred interrupted you. 

Fred shook his head, his expression tender. "No apologies necessary, Y/N. You did what I asked you. I hope you will now understand that everything was sincere.” 

You closed your eyes again and as lovingly as possible said, “And I hope you will understand that I sincerely fell for you.”

He laughed as he leaned in closer, “I got that while you were having a little chit chat with my brother, otherwise it would’ve been me who stayed over with the gnomes.” He looked deeply into your eyes as if asking if it was alright, you slightly nodded, so he closed that little space that was left between you and kissed you. 

[pdpenpals]

happy to have found your blog, love the concept!

could we maybe get a confession letter from pdh!travis? 👉👈

hi!! thank you so much, anon. hope you like the liberties i've taken with this request (you didn't specify what kind of confession it was going to be!! /silly), hehe. you'd wanna hear what this lil guy has to say, but he thinks it may be a little too much.

as expected, there’s another letter waiting for you at the usual spot. sure, it’s exciting, but you can’t help but wonder how fast it takes for your “secret admirer” (as your friends like to put it, even though you insist you're just friends) to send you a reply and leave it without you being able to catch a glimpse of him. maybe you should be scared instead. is it even possible to do that? who would have so much free time on their hands to go through the trouble of this anonymous (sorta) exchange? you two apparently.

the envelope as always is the plain white ones you can easily buy in bulk for cheap. there’s no seal, but you can easily tell it’s been shut tight by glue. you look around and find no one else within the vicinity, so you decide it should be fine to open it and start reading then and there. as usual, it's left unsigned.

My dearest cruel friend,

Re: your last letter, ouch. After how I’ve bared myself to you these past few weeks, that’s how you reply? As someone who’s been in Phoenix Drop longer than I have, I don’t think that’s very “bleeding heart” (I don't think that's the actual word they use but does anyone actually memorize the school's core values??) of you. Just kidding. Sorry.

I still wonder what life would be like if I never transferred to PD. So far acads and socializing have gotten better than expected but never easier. To be honest, what I have now isn’t exactly how I thought my high school experience here would be like. This year, I imagined going out with friends more, maybe even a nightly rendezvous with someone who’s caught my eye, but my words and I are falser than vows made in wine. 

My bad, practice has been way too fun to not quote this year's play. Seriously though…

I say all that, yet here I am, spending more time at school than I should, sticking around for a while longer on campus, checking every other hour for your next letter. Before I knew it, I’d spent the majority of this semester getting to know you. Now I do, and I am sure that there’s no one else like you in this world. I guess you could say I’m absolutely smitten by you.

My friend says I should just go up to you and reveal myself already, and as much as I want to say I don’t think it’s the right time yet, or that I prefer the intimacy of being your faceless penpal (free to quarrel with you all I like in pen without being judged), I’m honestly very very afraid of what you’d think of me when we finally meet face to face. No matter how hard I try, I'll never be like said friend, forward and confident and cool.

It is as clear as day that my fate is sealed.

You’d hate to hear this, but I’ve been meaning to distract myself from our exchange by choosing to hang out more with other people, hence my slower replies. But hear me out when I say that there’ll be this little something about them that makes me think all about you, and then I’ll get upset since they will never be anything like you. So there’s no way for you to tell me that don’t think of you every day.

PS. You’ve probably figured out who I am by now, haven’t you?

[st4rgzer]

PROM QUEEN (matt sturniolo)

summary: loosely based on the song “prom queen” by Beach Bunny

genre: angst but fluff at the end!

cw!: self deprecating, insecurities, this is a heavy one!!

a/n: had this one in my drafts for forever and i’m not sure if i’ve ever posted this or not so sorry😭

I looked in the mirror and barely recognized the person looking back at me, my eye bags were far more visible then normal, my skin, pale, I had not gone out in at least a week. I had about 15 missed calls from Matt, nothing happened between us, I just didn’t feel like responding, life doesn’t feel real. I feel heavy when I walk and every step is a mile, mirrors have always been my biggest enemy but since I’ve started dating Matt it had gotten better, for some reason, I’ve started to fall into my bad habits again. I’m once again the kid that would always insist on being the one piggybacking, always the one at the bottom of the pyramid, and in high school I was never cut out for prom queen.

Pretty wasn’t a word I’d use to describe me, even if people insisted in calling me that, I never thought the same way, what were they seeing that I wasn’t?

Matt always seemed to ease these thoughts when he thought I was getting self conscious, or saying negative things about myself. Him being a popular public figure, girls are all over him, pretty girls, why was he wasting his time with me when he could be with them?

“don’t think that baby, you know I love you, only you, I promise I wouldn’t change you for anyone” he’d say. But he had to say that, it’s his duty as a boyfriend, i doubt he even means that.

After rotting in my bed for another good hour I decided to pick up one of his calls, I didn’t want him to think I was dead.

“y/n? where are you? are you ok-? why haven’t you been picking up?” He said, the panic evident in his voice.

“I had my phone on silent and I was- I was taking a shower” I responded hesitantly, seeing if he was buying it or not, I didn’t want to make up something so bizarre but I didn’t want to have to tell him the truth. I realized how hoarse my voice sounded.

“well, open up. I’m at your door.”

My thoughts froze. I hung up, repeating the word “no” in my head, I got up, I wasn’t going to just leave him hanging. As I went downstairs I remembered how much of a mess I looked like, absolute rubbish. I reluctantly opened the door with my head down, I couldn’t bare to look him in the eyes.

When he caught a good glimpse of me I could see the way his face softened, feeling pitiful for me.

“baby…”

He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me in tightly, closing the door with the back of his shoe. As i felt my breath becoming quicker, I let it all out, sobbing against his chest, his heartbeat guiding my breath somehow.

“okay look at me love, follow my breathing ok?” he said softly, grabbing my shoulders slightly and tilting my chin up so I’d look at him. I did as he said, my shaky breath trying to slow down and imitate his.

“good, you’re doing so good baby” he whispered. Eventually my breaths slowed down, my eyes stung and my head was hurting from the previous crying, my hair was messy and frizzy, my cheeks were swollen and wet, yet he held me, he kissed my forehead and just held me, he didn’t force me to say anything right now. He didn’t insist on telling him what had happened. He whispered sweet nothings and “i love you”’s in my ear every once in a while.

I’m grateful for Matt, im going to to take more care of myself, for him, and then eventually, I’ll be able to do it for me.

a/n: if this is shit i apologize but have this while i finish my other fics i have coming up😭

taglist: @dwntwn-strnlo @eyelessdemon @gabbylovesreading @ssturniolo @thetriplets3 @strnlsblog @stvrni0lo

[dodger-chan]

The first scene of a direct sequel to Confuse(d) with Absolute Truth came to me in a dream. And since I had to write it down you have to read it.

(mild drug use and platonic shotgunning to follow)

The thing is, there were rules to things like this; dinner with a girl’s parents. And not being high at dinner was a pretty basic one. So basic that Steve had always thought it went without saying. But this was one of those - what-its - special circumstances. Robin’s mom had been the one to offer the joint, and it wasn’t like he needed to convince her he was a good, responsible boyfriend for her daughter.

Besides, Robin was crying.

And, yeah, they were happy tears, because Bobbie was one of those people who cried about good feelings when they were big enough. But seeing Robin cry still felt wrong, like he needed to fix something. Getting a little high together might help her turn off the water works.

Steve hadn’t counted on Robin being bad at it; choking on the smoke before she’d even taken a complete drag.

“Some of us haven’t scarred our lungs with poison yet,” Robin said, glaring at him while he laughed. The effect was lessened by her coughing.

“I can’t believe you’ve never gotten stoned before.” Not with a mom who’d just bring pot around when things were stressful.

“I have gotten stoned before, Dingus. Just not by smoking.” Robin handed him the joint. “My mom makes pot cookies every Christmas for their friends. I’ve been allowed to eat them since I was thirteen, as long as I wasn’t going out after.”

“Pot cookies?” That sounded kinda gross. Who’d want to bite into cookies full of dried leaves?

“You cook the buds with the butter and strain the plant bits out,” Robin explained. That did sound better. “And I’ve gotten contact highs before, just hanging out around people who were smoking. I’ve just never smoked myself.”

“Don’t kill me for saying it, but we could shotgun it. If you wanted.” Shotgunning was usually an excuse to make out, or almost make out, but it really seemed to be easier for first time smokers. “Or not. If we take the joint into your closet-”

“No, it’s - oh, we are not definitely not hiding in my closet, Stevie. Not anymore.” Robin looked at him like when she was trying to figure out if he was being funny on purpose or by accident. He had no idea what he’d said so he just smiled. She’d figure him out eventually - she always did - but for now he could look smart. “We can do the, uh, shotgunning thing. I trust you.”

Steve could not fuck this up.

“So I’ll just tap your knee right before I exhale? And you inhale?” Steve could do this. Robbie was pretty, but he’d been friends with plenty of pretty girls before. He’d even shotgunned with Carol without making things weird.

“I do know how breathing works.” Robin even reminded him of Carol, sometimes. Only when Rob was mean to him it wasn’t because she didn’t like him anymore.

Steve took a drag on the joint. Holding it in, he leaned forward until his nose was almost touching Robin’s. He looked her in the eye as he tapped her knee, then slowly breathed out, aiming the smoke at her mouth and nose. Quickly, he sat back on his heels. Gave Bobbie her space.

“That was better.” She coughed, but only once, and it was a small cough. “Is it okay if we do it again?”

[somethingvicked]

True Love of Mine part 11.

warnings: female read, fluff, mentions of oral sex (female receiving)

Chapter 10.

Now

Y/N

There was a comfortable silence between you two after that. One might think that after all these years you would have a thousand things to catch up on and you did, but right now you just wanted to enjoy the feeling of being together again.

You studied the new additions of tattoos on Eddie’s body, your fingers moving from one to the other while he kept twirling strands of your hair around his fingers while taking as much care to study your body; not so much for tattoos – because you had only added two to the one he already knew about – but for every new mole, every scar, including the faded stretch marks on your hips and breasts.

You blushed beneath his scrutiny. “I know, it’s not what you’re used to.”

Eddie looked up at you in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I’m not looking like I did back then. Or… probably like the girls you usually… see.”

You settled for ‘see’ because you didn’t want to use the word ‘hook up’.

Eddie’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his fringe, looking at you as if you were crazy.

“First of – no, of course you don’t look like you did back then, but… neither do I. We’re older, it’s natural.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. Even though Eddie barely had any stretchmarks like you did, he had a couple of lines around his eyes, and while he was still lean and had more muscles you could see that his stomach wasn’t completely flat and smooth any more.

Yes, both of you had gotten older, but you didn’t care. And it seemed Eddie didn’t either.

“Second of all, what do you mean? What girls?”

“Come on, Eddie, you can’t tell me you haven’t… there are more than hundreds of girls that are barely in their twenties that throws themselves at you, are you telling me you have never taken up the offer?”

Eddie snorted. “Not recently, no. Honestly… I’ve been single for a long time. Five years, I think.”

You almost gasped. “What?”

“Yeah. I tried dating a few women after establishing myself, but it never went anywhere. And hook ups? I did have one or two, but in the end it always made me feel terrible. The women I dated – I couldn’t help but compare them to you and that hurt them. Hook ups and groupies? I had to imagine your face just to get it up, so I figured… why bother? It was a plus side though, it did help me with my reputation, no dirty laundry in the gossip mags.”

You were still shocked but couldn’t help but giggle at that.

Eddie looked at you, stroking your cheek. “What about you and… Brent?”

It was obvious that it hurt him, saying his name.

“What about us?” you wondered, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers. “You already know that I didn’t love him like I loved you. No one ever compared to you either.”

“Did he make you feel good?” Eddie wondered and you knew what he meant.

“Honestly… we had sex like… once every six months,” you admitted. “It wasn’t that he was bad in bed or terrible looking but… I’d had a taste of what true passion and love felt with you. Nothing could be as good after that.”

Eddie smiled, looking somewhat smug and you scoffed, giving him a little shove, but he grabbed on to your hand, and placed it above his heart.

“Kitten, this is yours. You have always had it. I was an idiot for letting you go and hurting you like that. But I seriously thought I was doing the right thing. Even if I knew I would never love another, I did think you would be able to. That… that you would find someone better than me.”

“I know that,” you said, moving closer to him, “that you thought you did the right thing. And that I would move on. But it was and is impossible for me. Eddie… there’s one thing I want you to know. You remember how I used to write poems?”

“Yes, of course,” Eddie nodded.

“I still do. In fact, I’ve written poems all of these years. I’ve even had some of them published.”

“Wow, really? That’s great…” Eddie started but you held up a hand to stop him.

“Eds… the collection I published is called Love Notes For No One. That book… all the poems in that one is either about you or written to you. It’s been my way of expressing my love for you through all these years.”

Eddie was listening to you, his mouth hanging open. “Holy shit,” he said and it reminded you of the young Eddie, making you laugh.

“You’ll have to show me later,” Eddie said, wrapping his arms around you and rolling on top of you. “But this is exactly what I mean. Now I know that there is no way for either of us to live without the other. Which is why I’ll never let you go again. I love you kitten. Always have, always will.”

“Just like the song you sang to me, back at the Hideout. You remember?” you said, kissing his neck.

Eddie nodded, inhaling deeply. “Of course. And just the like the song I wrote to you now – that you’re the one true love of mine – no matter that you don’t look like you did back then. You’re my kitten, that’s all that matters.

You nodded. “What about your motorcycle? When did you decide to get an MC-card?”

Eddie shrugged. “I made a promise to stay away from drugs, kitten. And I rarely drink. But with all the shit I got bagged up… and the memories of you… I need some kind of vent. I’ve always liked to drive fast, you remember that? But on a bike, with just the engine and the wind… it’s peaceful and yet exhilarating. I started do kickboxing too. A good way to get the frustration out.”

“Wow,” you said, your eyes big, finally understanding where all the muscles  came from.

Eddie waved it away. “We can talk more about that later. Right now… there’s something else I want to do.”

He started kissing his way down your body. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you. And how much I desire you, regardless of how you’ve changed. Take my time.”

You gasped as you felt his mouth against one of your breasts, his lips closing around your hard nipple, sucking on the erect bud while he slid his thigh in between your own, spreading you open for him again.

He switched to your other breasts, rubbing his thumb over the now damp nipple, making you moan. Then he continued kissing his way down, taking extra care to kiss every stretch mark, every bump, all the little things you’ve been so self-conscious about.

Finally he came face to face with your sex, moaning himself as he saw that you were still leaking his cum from earlier.

“This...” he mumbled, not saying anything else, words clearly failing him.

Then he finally wrapped his arms around your thighs, all but pressing you in half and then dove in to taste you – and himself – for the first time in so many years.

You felt it was kind of a blasphemy to call something so filthy divine but that’s how it felt.

THEN,

Hawkins, 1984.

Eddie

Eddie didn’t know if he had thought there would be any difference in his situation when he began selling weed but if he had, then he realized very soon that it wasn’t the case.

People still talked shit in the halls and made up rumors, jumped him for no apparent reason as well as thinking him some kind of satanic Jim Jones.

There was one difference, however. The girls.

Girls usually ignored him or walked the other way when seeing him but since he started selling he had noticed that girls – especially the cheerleaders – had changed their demeanor towards him when he sold to them.

Not otherwise, God forbid, but when it was just him and them at the picnic table in the woods where he usually conducted his business, there would be a flirtatious comment, a hand on his arm, skirts that had been pulled up so high that it would be considered an offense against the school policy if it had been there.

Eddie wasn’t stupid though. He knew what it was about. They thought they could flirt and charm their way towards a lower price, thinking that he was actually so desperate he would just happily accept whatever crumbs they threw him.

Screw them.

He rarely said anything, because he didn’t want to scare off any customers – he needed the money – instead he pretended like he didn’t notice but sometimes, just out of pure pettiness he would raise the price.

There was one incident though, with Deborah Wallace, where she had gotten pissed because he didn’t seem to notice her hitting on him and had outright asked if he wanted to have a little fun.

Eddie had stared at her with badly hidden disgust. “I have a girlfriend,” he told her coldly and Deborah had just rolled her eyes.

“She doesn’t have to know. I wasn’t planning on screaming it from the rooftops, silly. I bet one time with me will ruin you for her anyway.”

Eddie had gotten so furious he was tempted to throw the bag of weed into her face in hopes that she would choke on the fumes, but he didn’t want to be like his dad, losing his temper and hurt people.

Instead he said through gritted teeth: “Being with Y/N has ruined me for everyone else already. Not that there was much to ruin in your case, Wallace. Get your weed from someone else from now on, because you can consider this business contact ruined.”

Then he had gotten up and walked away, leaving her steaming back at the table. He had thought that it would end there but since Eddie hadn’t had much to do with girls other than Y/N he severely underestimated the quote ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’

taglist: @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @mewchiili @melodymunson @ches-86 @jenniquinn @eddiemunsonfuxks @stolen-in-moonlight @alastorssimp @pandemoniusstuff

(let me know if you want to be on the taglist!)

please, like, comment and reblog!

Your likes are wonderful but reblogs expand my reading circle.

[sysmedsaresexist]

Mod Quill with some feelings tonight as I scroll the syscourse tags in the usual pits of despair with a bag of popcorn and too little free time. As always, that show I sometimes stumble upon and leave running in the background while I do laundry is on, 24/7 it seems like. The TV station really loves running that particular producer’s re-runs.

I watch for a little bit, but the main character is just… painful to watch. She constantly pushes people away in some sort of way to get her goals each episode — but the series has never ended. It just is the same exact plot line each episode. It gets spicy sometimes when there’s a recurring plot line, or a story arc. They’re all a little… circular sometimes though. She gets sassy too, but that’s few and far between nowadays.

This latest arc, she’s clearly blue.

…

Okay so now that I’ve rambled enough on this metaphor about Sophie-

Her latest bait for trying to hurt a clearly traumatized person is just as painful to see as it always is. Just... god forbid she do something to actually further plural acceptance. I find it so ironic how she peddles that goal to her followers — The Future is Plural, right? — while consistently and actively working against it. She consistently tries to bait people who are against her in an attempt to prop herself up higher, never realizing that all the outside world is seeing is her stomping on others. 

Blue-Bubonic is very clearly fragile, at least in my eyes. I haven’t forgotten their (pronouns unsure, but please feel free to correct me) first foray into syscourse. And yet she sees it as more acceptable to continue needling them -- and taunting that fact and touting it as a badge of honor -- in order to... do what? She's said she's painting herself as a villain, she's being the Bad Guy, but genuinely, how is that helping plurals? How is this helping further her goals?

She is quite literally attacking her own with this and further aggravating an already clearly traumatized individual. And she constantly does this. From my perspective, it must almost be fun for her, and if I remember correctly, she's admitted it's fun. She revels in it. I can't condone people who sit and just... soak in other people's misery. I have literally been working on overcoming some doubts of mine today due to harassment I received, simply because I said I thought people deserved better than literal death threats. And here she is, just... spreading negativity for negativity's sake. How is that helping anything? Isn't it just putting more negative into the world?

The worst part is, I agree with her on so many things. I have to restrain myself from reblogging her posts to my real blogs (you’re welcome, SAS, this blog isn’t real anymore, you’re free) simply so I can avoid syscourse there as much as possible. I’m also scared too. I’m scared of her. I’m scared to reblog something, both because her eyes might be on me if I do, and because the entire system community on tumblr that touches tulpamancy with a 5 foot pole is watching too. Every single action I do is not only scrutinized by her; it’s scrutinized by the community.

I just… wish there was a better way to spread positivity. I wish there were more The Plurality Of… posts, ones that aren’t written with the direct correlation of “let’s stick it to those anti-endos!” I would love more plural headcanons with the goal, “let’s uplift all plurals!” I try to do this as much as possible, but I’m one man.

I see her with her 😈 rightful anger (and I do believe she is justified in that anger, please don’t think I am saying she shouldn’t be angry, she has gotten so much shit that was undeserved, something I regret deeply playing any part of in the past, and something I want to apologize for now again)… I see her with that anger, and I just wish there were a way to help. I wish there were a way to turn that negativity away. I’ve managed it! I’ve managed to escape it in little ways. What am I doing that’s so different? It’s not because I’m a DID system and she’s not — lord knows I’ve had my fair share of harassment for my existence. It’s not because we’re different syscourse stances — I’m as pro-endo as they come in everything but label. Hell, shocker of all shockers, I’ve come to accept I have willed-to-life alters, so I can even relate to her way of existence, at least to some degree.

And yet, I feel so different from her. And it’s sad to see someone you agree with, someone who you know is just doing their best, causing so much harm for the things you also believe in.

…

So I turn off the TV. And I try not to watch. But in my head, my stupid writer brain gets the monkeys and the typewriters out. And it goes to town.

In my head, I’ve written a story where I sit down with her. Sometimes it’s discord, sometimes it’s via tumblr asks back and forth, and too often to count it’s some nebulous cafe somewhere where I’m drinking hot chocolate and she’s drinking some sort of white chocolate coffee. Not sure why that’s what I imagine, but it makes sense to me.

And I just… talk to her. Like a person. We set aside syscourse entirely and have a proper sysconversation. We talk about plurality and our feelings about it; we talk about how my disorder impacts me in similar and different ways to her tulpamancy; we even discuss how this very fanfiction-like-dream is, in a way, plural in of itself, because i don’t control what she says, not willingly. I guess she got her dream, an anti-endo (in a way) with a Sophie introject (in a way).

And I laugh, and she laughs, and it’s good.

And then I go online and see the latest callout post about why Sophie is a bad person. And I sigh, because I know they never work, and I personally know how traumatizing it is to have a callout post detailing everything you’ve ever done wrong.

And then I write up this, feeling like a hypocrite. But I want her to know, I’m not trying to paint her as evil. I don’t think she is. I think she’s just… a person, trying her best, and this is me publicly saying I disagree with her methods.

I hope the show reaches a final season soon. Maybe a spinoff series will get made. Crossover episode when? I vote for Sophie Through The Looking Glass as a sequel series name.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

The Night Shift

Chapter 2

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite!

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! NON-CON, sexual assault, Sleep paralysis, roofed, oral.

Summary: You start a new job at the best hotel and resort in your beautiful beach town. Things start to go bad when your transferred to the night shift.

Jonathan Pine x Reader

🌺

The dreaded time has come. You’d tried to prepare, but sleeping during the day was still somewhat impossible.

From the time clock you hear the cheerful chatter from the 2nd shifters. They’ll be more happy to see you than you than the other way around.

As you near the archway to the lobby, you spot Sarah, Connie and Amber busy at work. You haven’t really gotten to know the other two yet; they always seemed a bit distant. They probably thought you’re weird, like everyone else in your life. Maybe that’s the real reason why they moved you to the graveyard shift.

Sarah spots you and waves. You’re gonna miss her. She was the only friend you’d made so far, and now you’d be back to square one.

Third shift ran on a skeleton crew you found out. One clerk, you, and one manager, Mr. Pine, who you suspected would be holed up in his office all night like the other managers. Housekeeping and security were always on the move, never in one spot for long, and worked out of a separate building, making it nearly impossible to even cross paths. The kitchen was fully staffed but always hectic and intimidating, and shutdown at midnight.

If you could have your phone, you could push through the impending loneliness, but it was strictly against policy to have them during shifts.

“Ready for your all nighter?”

The sudden voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you let out a squeak. Heads turn from the lobby to you. You quickly lower your gaze and hide, their attention doesn’t last, but it’s still embarrassing.

“Oh, sorry darling, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mr. Pine apologizes, patting your back comfortingly.

You stiffen when his hand slips to the small of your back and lingers a bit longer than you’d like. He’s probably just being nice, you reason, but the thought doesn’t quite ease the awkwardness.

You force a small smile and he releases, as if it was what he was waiting for.

“I-It’s ok. I was just a little startled. I didn’t notice you there.” You reply, still a little frazzled.

“I’ve been told I’m a bit light-footed. I’ll do better next time and try to make myself a little less invisible." He remarks with a grin. You appreciate the light-heated attempt to comfort you. Maybe one day you'd stop acting like a startled rabbit—but probably not.

🌺

Check-ins cool down and Connie’s the first to log off. You offer a meek goodbye before quickly scurrying away to take her spot.

Connie smiles as you cross paths, and you smile back, but realize too late that her attention is on Mr. Pine and not you.

They share a laugh and converse while you quietly take over her station, brushing off the interaction. It’s not the first time its happened, being ignored was more of what you were used to.

You log into your stations computer. Despite how modern and luxurious the hotel, the clerk computers are old and clunky and only good for handling guest and nothing more.

“Hey heads up. Bachelor party checked earlier, but left a while ago. Already drunk,” Sarah informs as she approaches. “When they get back expect a lot of noise complaints. If they get out of hand let security know, it’ll finally give them something useful to do.”

“Thanks. Will do.”

Rowdy guest were nothing new to you. If they did cut up at least it would spice up your night.

“Are you OK? You don’t look so great.” She inquires making you worry how bad you must’ve looked.

“I-I'm fine, just tired. Not used to the change yet,” you answer a bit self-conscious.

“Sarah as lovely as always,” Mr. Pine charmingly chimes in and Sarah lights up.

He’s behind you again. You should expect it by now, but you don’t. He was worse than your cat—always sneaking up on you. He really did need a bell.

🌺

Amber leaves shortly after Sarah and your left alone on the front lines. The guests dwindle to a trickle, their footsteps echoing through the empty lobby. The usual chatter, the clink of luggage wheels, the constant buzz of activity—it’s all gone, replaced by a heavy silence. Even the light feels different at this hour, dimmer, as if the hotel itself is winding down.

As the minutes stretch on, your body feels heavier, the hum of the computer and the soft ticking of the clock blending into a lullaby that pulls you into a sleepy haze. You blink slowly, fighting to stay awake, but the lack of sleep presses down on you. Shifting in place, you try to stay alert, but your vision blurs as the screen fades in and out of focus.

A sharp knock jerks you awake. You straighten upright, heart pounding, blinking away the fog. Your eyes dart to where Mr.Pine stands, his knuckles still pressed against the archway.

“Pardon me darling, I hope I didn’t catch you unaware.”

“Oh no your fine,” you stammer, stifling a yawn into your hand.

“I see I’ve arrived just in time. Here I got you this. A gift.”

He wiggles the insulated cup with the hotel logo. You raise an eyebrow, “Coffee?”

“Its salted Carmel espresso blend, compliments of the kitchen,” he replies, handing it over. “I hear it's quiet the favorite amongst the guest these days.”

“Oh you didn’t have to,” you insist, but take it anyway. The warmth bleeds through your hands, spreading a comforting heat up through you.

“Nonsense. It’s the least I could do. Especially after earlier.“ he chuckles softly. “Hope you like it.”

You take a sip and hum at the sweet taste. It’s a bit too sweet but the spike of sugar and caffeine you hope will help fight off sleep.

“Thank you.”

He smiles at your response, but you can’t keep his gaze. He is handsome, too handsome. You pray for a guest, a call, or anything to interrupt this interaction, but nothing comes. You take another big sip as he stays. It feels like he wants you to say something, but you’re the worst person for conversation.

“How have you been finding your time with us so far?” Mr. Pine asks breaking the growing awkward silence.

“Its really great everyones so nice,” you begin to answer, but you find yourself fighting to stifle another yawn. “It’s… usually busier during the day.”

He chuckles softly. “Yes, quite right the night shift’s a different beast. No rush, no chaos.” He pauses, tilting his head.

You nod taking another sip, though your mind is starting to blur. His words are becoming harder to focus on. He’s talking, asking you another question, but you feel the weight of sleep creeping in. Your eyes start to close involuntarily. The coffee isn’t helping and now your struggling to keep your eyes open.

“Darling?” Mr. Pine softening voice breaches your haze and hand touches your shoulder gently.

You blink quickly, “Sorry, I-”

“Why don’t you take this. Our little secret.” Mr. Pine interjects. He hands you a card key to your surprise. “A nice thirty minute nap might do you some good. I’ll cover for you.”

You hesitate, but your body is begging for rest. This can’t be good for your probation period. You frown and fight through your resolve.

“I couldn’t—”

“It’s fine, this won’t reflect poorly on you,” he insists, gently nudging you. “3rd shift takes some time getting used to, and it’s dead here anyway. If by some miracle it gets crazy I’ll come for you.”

His tone is easygoing, but there’s a firmness to it, as if he’s not giving you a choice. You nod defeated and head toward the back to get your phone.

Maybe he was right, if you could get few a minutes of sleep you might be able to make it to morning.

🌺

Its a struggle to make it to the third floor. Your eyelids grow heavier with each step, your body sluggish as though you're wading through molasses. The door numbers blur as you shuffle down the hallway, fighting to stay awake.

Finally, you find it and you fumble with the keycard, nearly dropping it in your exhaustion. The lock clicks, and you push the door open.

A breeze greets you as you enter. The soft neutral tones of the room blur in your vision, and the wooden accents gleam under the gentle lighting. The velvet armchair in the sitting area barely registers as your eyes fixate on the bed. King-sized, it beckons with its plump pillows, and white quilted duvet that looks as inviting as a cloud.

It’s a struggle to set your alarm, the buttons blur and you're not even sure you did it right and you’re too tired to care. Your phone lands on the nightstand with a thud as exhaustion takes over. You collapse on top of the duvet, if you don’t disturb the bed, no one will even know you were here you think.

Your body feels unbearably heavy, limbs unresponsive as you try to shift. Exhaustion pressing down as your head sinks into the pillow and the world fades away. You wait in the calm serenely, but sleep doesn’t come. Its frustrating. Dreams hover just out of reach, fragmenting and fleeting.

The soft click of the lock rouses you from the haze. Your lashes flutter open, each blink heavier than the last as you try to make out the silhouette at the doorway. Light cast a shadow over the figure as it looms quietly. The door shuts with another soft click swallowing the light with it.

Your eyes roll back and you slip back into the void and float in the darkness that surrounds you.

Through the fog you feel the bed whine and dip, gently rocking your body with it. You’re so drowsy, barely aware of what’s happening. You feel your body being shifted, but can’t quite understand why.

Your pants slip away, replaced by soft cool pecks that trail up and down your thigh slowly. Your skin bristles from the touches that trespass over your expose parts.

You mumble grumpily as you feel your thighs spread open wider and wider. Weight holds them apart and the strain begins to tingle painfully.

Desperately, you will yourself to wake up, to snap out of it. You manage to twitch your toes, but nothing else. You're frozen, trapped in your own body.

You cant see it, but you hear the slick sounds of your juices being lapped up gingerly. Your body aches as the darkness dives deep sinking into you tenderly.

It’s not right, it shouldn’t feel so good, but you can’t pull yourself out of it.

Your clit vibrates as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to ignore it, but it’s there. The sensation too intoxicating to bare. Hot breath tickles your tender bud and you moan out helplessly.

The orgasm surges throughout your body, but no sound escapes—your tight throat. Your body buzzes its so electric, but fleeting. Warmth wraps around you sinkingly, weighing you down, drifting you back into the void.

🌺

[luveline]

small vent (please don’t read if it will stress you out or if you’re young — cw of past self harm and unhappiness but I am in no active danger and there’s nothing to worry about, but also just mentioning that in case someone were to open this and then get surprised by the content)

I feel so lonely lately and I don’t know what to do because i feel like I am making an effort to connect with people, maybe I’m not, but I feel as though I am and it’s just really frustrating to have that disconnect of what I feel like I’m doing and the actual result of it, I feel like no one really wants to talk to me, does that make sense? Like I can’t actually have a conversation with anyone, and I’m not blaming anyone for this, because I’m not a good conversationalist, this isn’t me trying to make bad people out of anybody at all but just I’m so frustrated and so lonely and it’s not getting any better. and of course as tends to happen I feel like, really down( and like time is slipping through my fingers, and I feel like I can’t do anything I want to do because I end up worrying or upset about something instead, I can’t stop thinking about stuff I’ve said or things I need to do or things other people have said and what I thought they’re thinking of me. I used to basically feel like this all the time a few years ago but it was going away, until recently when I feel very alone and like it’s worse than it was. I also feel super pathetic once again for putting this here instead of a diary but it’s hard sometimes to not want to know what you guys think, like —is this normal? I worry I’m too concerned with myself

I’ve also been thinking a lot for the last few weeks about hurting myself, because I used to in the past. I won’t do it of course and like if I were to do it it’s not as though I would want to mention that here because I know it’s catching and it hurts people because hurting yourself shouldn’t be presented as an option and it isn’t an option, so I won’t do it, but I do want to hurt myself because I just don’t feel well!! I actually did contact my doctor a few days ago to talk about how I am and my health but they haven’t gotten back to me yet. I know that it’s not how you should cope with bad feelings, but it’s also the only thing that’s ever worked for me

I think all in all I feel really alone, and I feel like I’m always embarrassing myself, like, I feel like the people around me are embarrassed of me. I don’t know why I feel so bad and if it’s normal or not. Like, should I more urgently go and see my doctor, or does everyone struggle feeling such low self esteem? I know life is hard for everybody, and for many much harder than I’ll ever experience, and so I’m caught feeling very ashamed of myself and alone, and like I’m doing things wrong but unaware of it. It’s a relief at least to not be suicidal because in the past I would get so anxious about things I would get tunnel vision and I’d need it to stop, whereas now I just feel quite depressed (sorry if that’s the wrong word) about it. I wish I could identify what it is that’s throwing me off kilter so badly. I hope it’s okay to talk about this here because I don’t think anyone will understand in my life how I’m feeling, I try to talk about it with my mam sometimes but she’s not the most empathetic person, or like she’s too empathetic maybe, and if I tell her I’m feeling depressed she’ll say me too and then guide the conversation about her life without really giving me a chance to speak to her about what’s really on my mind, or she might tell me (again) to go on ozempic (which I do not medically need). And I love my sisters but I can’t tell them either, so it’s just like desperately wanting to confide in someone, but everyone else is too busy

I think my life is just a black hole forever, you know, I don’t mean to be upset about it because things are better than they were, but it’s hard knowing that I’m not experiencing what other people are, and that I’m not connecting with people, and that I’m hard to like

[e-to-the-v]

I’m on a journey of figuring stuff out about myself and well I need somewhere to vent.

For a long couple of years, my siblings have suggested over and over that I might be gay. And frankly, I don’t know if I am. To me saying if I’m gay or not feels like, and this is a crazy comparison, it feels like self diagnosing, which I never want to do. I’d much rather someone tell me what I am, but I have to figure that out myself. In the last year or so I’ve narrowed it down to thinking that I’m either pan or aro. But in the last 2 days of self reflection, I think I’m aro.

Where that thought comes from is that I think I accidentally went on a date? I got asked to lunch by a boy I was pretty sure I was just friends with and I’m 90% sure he thought it was a date, which is bad for me because I don’t like him like that. And not only do I not like him like that, I don’t think I have romantically liked some one since I was 10 (and even then might’ve been a misunderstanding of feelings). Like I haven’t even liked fictional characters in a romantic way, and I don’t understand when people like them either.

In high school, I was never in a relationship and only really went on 1 date with someone and I’ve only verbally been told that someone had feelings for me once. I think part of me just feels so unloveable and that no one would ever be able to like me romantically, so it would be very odd if someone did. I also can’t pick up on any signals (i.e. I have a lot of anxiety and easily obsessive over things, so I try not dig to deep into intent behind peoples actions), and need to be outright said that something is a date or that there’s feelings so I believe it, so I might be just missing if someone did like me, but oh well.

There’s only two times in the recent past that I’ve ‘liked’ someone and I think both can be pretty written off. The first was my junior year of high school, there was a girl in one of my classes that I thought was really cool. I don’t think I actually liked her, I think I just wanted to be her friend really badly and couldn’t place those feelings. The second time was near the end of my senior year, I went to prom with some boy I ran in the same circles as but had never really talked to. My friend, who was good friends with him, made it seem that he had a crush on me, and it made me sort of obsess over him. I became hyper aware of everything surrounding him. I think I just got attached to the idea someone could like me and obsessed over the possibility, but I don’t think I ever really liked him.

So why do I think I’m aro? Well I don’t like most romantic actions. I think kissing is gross, I don’t love being touched by most people, I see a interactions that could be perceived as romantic as platonic, and I don’t see myself ever being in a romantic relationship.

Am I asexual? That a great question, I do not know. It’s a high likelihood that I am, but I am just too inexperienced to fully conclude that. The reason that I’m not completely sure is the fact that I have consumed sexual content, but I’ve never read it in a sense of it relating to me. Like I don’t reasonably see why someone would want to have sex. To me it feels like a fictional concept, and solely something made up for stories. That way of thinking might also come from the fact that I grew up religious and sex wasn’t a open topic.

For years what I wanted from a romantic relationship was just someone who was so deeply in love with me and now that I realize that it’s actually a possibility, I don’t think I want that. I think what I really wanted deep down, was the validation that people like me and want me around. I wanted someone who would pick me first, and make me their favorite person. I had some really shitty friends (and some medium shitty parents) that just lead me to believe that I would never be a main person to someone, that I’d always just be a background friend. I have since gotten some better friends. I have people who genuinely like me for me, people who like my little quirks, people who I can tell about the silly fan fiction I wrote or the show I’m invested in and it’s honestly one of the greatest things. I think I’ve realized that romantic love doesn’t have to be the most important thing in my life and it feels great to know that.

And who knows maybe one day someone will come along and just be someone to be my best friend and nothing more and we live as each others main priority, but I’m not at that stage yet. For now I just get to be a college girl who figures out that no, I don’t want to be romantically involved with someone and that it’s okay to say that.

[wwillywonka]

1, 6 + 7 !!!!!!

hiii thank you so much for the ask! link to the ask game here. also, for context if anyone doesn’t know, my special interest is willy wonka/charlie and the chocolate factory, though you can probably tell from my url lol.

going to answer these two together because i think it makes more sense!

What first got you into your special interest? & 6. How long have you had this special interest?

okay so this is always hard for me to answer exactly because i've always loved willy wonka and catcf. i literally can't remember a time when the story didn't matter to me. i read the books when i was little, and i used to watch the gene wilder movie over and over as a kid (j have it on laserdisc lol, my family is very into physical media). i really could not tell you how old i was the first time i saw it. also, i have a very distinct memory of being very young and walking into the living room to see my dad watching catcf 2005, specifically the scene right after the shoe-shining conversation where willy bumps into the glass elevator and goes, "i gotta be more careful where i park this thing teehee<3.” i was 4 years old in 2005 so i really can't say if it was actually that year, but i don't think it was too long after the film's release (though i don't think my dad would have gotten it from the library/blockbuster. he's a huge film buff but has always hated burton's work, and he was probably just watching it because he caught it on cable).

anyway, all that being said, i became interested in burton's work back in 2013/2014 when i was first entering fandom spaces as a preteen, and i remember seeing a lot gifsets, fanart, etc. of various burton films (as was very common for the twilight years of emo culture during the early 2010s). my family has had our nightmare before christmas vhs since the movie came out, and it was another i watched on repeat as a child, so me getting into burton in general wasn’t that far of a stretch. i watched and rewatched all of his main films during the halloween season of 2014, and for some reason, the two i latched onto were catcf 2005 and alice 2010. (also i saw alice in theatres when it first came out and i remember enjoying it because alice 1951 was another film in the regular rotation during my childhood). looking back now, i genuinely think it was because i was first discovering my queerness, and 2005 wonka is just the Epitome of gender fuckery and general offbeat-ness. he's queer in every sense of the term, and i found myself relating to him, especially, too, because of his relationship with his father. because, well… things.

fast forward to 2020 when things were obviously Bad. let's just say i was pretty lonely and discovered a little thing called self-shipping. though i didn’t really participate, it became something i entertained myself with in the privacy of my thoughts and various google docs. i found myself fascinated by the f/o community and, along with my budding interest in studying fandom from an academic angle, i delved into this world of self-inserts, y/n, and canon character x reader fics. i know, to some, that culture is considered “cringey” or what have you, but i think the art that comes from those communities can be very beautiful and heart-warming — not to mention that it’s a far better and healthier coping mechanism than some, ah, more socially acceptable ones. anyway, i then created my character ross able (who i reference often on here but haven’t really explained in depth. there’s not much to say other than he’s me if i was a 200 yr old british man with a world-famous chocolatier for a wife). i listened to and watched bootlegs of the musical, then, i bought my own copies of the dahl books and annotated them. and i started writing heaven on their minds. AND THEN THE PREQUEL WAS ANNOUNCED, and i became even more dedicated to creating my own version of the story. and now we’re here.

(this also lead to me being generally interested in dahl’s work, too, which led to my interest in wes anderson, which led to my interest in bong joon-ho and on and on and on. not to mention being into burton’s work led me to oingo boingo and danny elfman, whom i’ve seen in concert three times, and to my general interest in film music, music theory, and their intersection with psychology and emotional development. it’s all connected.)

it was also around this time, around summer 2021, that, after lots of research and discussion with therapists, etc., that i realised i’m autistic. and it wasn’t long before i understood that my interest in wonka is… different, special if you will, from the “normal” way people interact with their favourite media. i genuinely think i would be a different person if wonka wasn’t so important to me. you know this if you have a special interest, but everything i read or watch or listen to seems to come back to him and catcf. i don’t really know how to describe catcf’s presence in my life other than it’s here and i can’t rid of it, not that i’d ever want to try. 
 


Have you had any other special interests before? What were they?

correct me if i’m wrong, but don’t most people only have One Main Interest? like something that is part of their identity and way they live their life that they couldn’t rid of if they tried? at least, the way i’ve always experienced my own interests is that, while other things come and go, wonka never wavers. i could be, as i have been lately, deep deep deep into star trek: it being the only thing i can think about, the thing that makes want to get out of bed in the morning, the only thing i want to talk about with others - but wonka is always here. sometimes, my need to watch star trek or make art about it can make me genuinely forget about my responsibilities to the point of consequence. but other times, i simply don’t care about it at all in favour of another piece of media (though my love for it never truly goes away), like arcane for example. however, when it comes to wonka, i have that Need to engage with him always, but unless i’m deeply focused on him, as i was while writing heaven on their minds, i can go on with my day-to-day life without feeling like my skin is on fire with withdrawal. if that makes any sense.

genuinely curious because i see the term confused with hyperfixation A Lot, and i’m always curious if/how other people experience it differently.

anyway, i would consider alice in wonderland to be my second tier Main Interest, even if it isn’t necessarily special. the level to which i’ve researched the lore and history of catcf has also applied to alice over the years. when alice through the looking glass came out in 2016, i became more invested in the story because of my need to fix it, lmao. a lot of my motivation to engage in fandom, especially to write fanfic, comes from that need to amend. i get really protective (and possessive) of my favourite characters, and the hatter became one of them. as you might know, i’m currently publishing my attlg 2016 rewrite, so if you’re curious to know more of my thoughts, i’d recommend checking it out…

other than that, i was known from late middle school to early college as That Guy Who Likes Loki Too Much, and while i never published any fic about him, the majority of my fandom engagement during my teenage years was centred around him and marvel. i definitely didn’t actually start participating in the wonka fandom until 2020 despite enjoying catcf so much on my own. i even performed a poem i wrote about loki during my college freshman orientation. i am cringe but i am free.

tldr: my main interests, besides wonka, are alice in wonderland, loki, and star trek. also doctor who but that's a long story for another time <3.

this was super fun to write about, thank you!

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hiii! Here’s the bookcomb for Katniss receiving affection, Catching Fire Edition 🥰🥰🥰🥰. Again, I tried to limit this to when she was receiving affection, not giving, so like the see you at midnight kiss couldn’t make the cut, etc. Anyways I love doing these! 🩵🩵🩵🩵

-

I gulp my tea even though it’s too hot and push back from the table. “I better get going. Make myself presentable for the cameras.”

Hazelle hugs me. “Enjoy the food.”

-

Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn’t see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn’t have much choice, because I’d gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink.

-

I’d given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I’d skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn’t even know I’d gone hunting and they’d be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me.

-

“Has anyone touched this since you last saw us?” he asks sternly. “Remember, we specifically asked you to leave your hair alone.”

“Yes!” I say, grateful that I can show I haven’t totally taken them for granted. “I mean, no, no one’s cut it. I did remember that.” No, I didn’t. It’s more like the issue never came up. Since I’ve been home, all I’ve done is stick it in its usual old braid down my back.

This seems to mollify them, and they all kiss me, set me on a chair in my bedroom, and, as usual, start talking nonstop without bothering to notice if I’m listening.

-

When my hair is done, I find Cinna downstairs in the living room, and just the sight of him makes me feel more hopeful. He looks the same as always, simple clothes, short brown hair, just a hint of gold eyeliner. We embrace, and I can barely keep from spilling out the entire episode with President Snow.

-

Just then, Effie Trinket arrives in a pumpkin orange wig to remind everyone, “We’re on a schedule!” She kisses me on both cheeks while waving in the camera crew, then orders me into position.

-

My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta’s direction. Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips — he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg — and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry.

-

We slog back to the train in silence. In the hallway outside my door, Haymitch gives my shoulder a pat and says, “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

-

“You know, everyone’s always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven’t seen them,” I say.

“Well, I’ve got a whole train car full.” He rises and offers me his hand. “Come on.”

It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand.

-

Someone clips a microphone on me. Peeta takes my left hand. The mayor’s introducing us as the massive doors open with a groan.

-

The man has only just crumpled to the ground when a wall of white Peacekeeper uniforms blocks our view. Several of the soldiers have automatic weapons held lengthwise as they push us back toward the door.

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building.

-

Somewhere below, musicians begin to play. As the first wave of our little procession begins down the steps, Peeta and I join hands.

-

Cinna begins to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circles under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment.

-

President Snow himself makes a surprise visit to congratulate us. He clasps Peeta’s hand and gives him an approving slap on the shoulder. He embraces me, enfolding me in the smell of blood and roses, and plants a puffy kiss on my cheek.

-

The music’s slow and dreamlike, so Peeta pulls me into his arms and we move in a circle with practically no steps at all. You could do this dance on a pie plate.

-

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he’s already awake.

[…]

“I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.”

“Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead.

-

He steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale’s neck to brace myself. He’s laughing, happy.

-

“You’re sure?” I say. “Because it’s going to be hard, with the kids and all. I don’t want to get five miles into the woods and have you —

“I’m sure. I’m completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure.” He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. His skin, his whole being, radiates heat from being so near the fire, and I close my eyes, soaking in his warmth. I breathe in the smell of snow-dampened leather and smoke and apples, the smell of all those wintry days we shared before the Games. I don’t try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you.”

That’s why.

-

After a while, my mother comes in and treats my face. Then she holds my hand, stroking my arm, while Haymitch fills her in on what happened with Gale.

-

“No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him.

“And avoiding a stroll by the Hob . . . that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building.

-

“None of you deserves candy!” I say.

“What, because we’re right?” Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m hurt. “Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we’re all idiots. How’s that?”

“Better,” I say, and accept his kiss.

-

When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily.

-

She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there.

“Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” I say.

Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his.

[…]

“No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today.

-

My whole body aches with exhaustion. So I let my mother doctor me and feed me breakfast in bed and tuck another quilt around me.

-

Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television.

-

I want to ask them more, but Cinna appears to give me a hug and check my makeup.

-

As I stagger up the steps to my house, the front door opens and Gale pulls me into his arms. “I was wrong. We should have gone when you said,” he whispers.

-

They appear in the doorway, holding tea and toast, their faces filled with concern. I open my mouth, planning to start off with some kind of joke, and burst into tears.

So much for being strong.

My mother sits on the side of the bed and Prim crawls right up next to me and they hold me, making quiet soothing sounds, until I am mostly cried out. Then Prim gets a towel and dries my hair, combing out the knots, while my mother coaxes tea and toast into me. They dress me in warm pajamas and layer more blankets on me and I drift off again.

-

Downstairs, my mother and Prim embrace me again, but they’re not overly emotional. I know they’re holding things in to make it easier on me.

-

When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It’s the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he’s offered me any sort of affection. He’s been more like a very demanding trainer, always pushing, always insisting Haymitch and I run faster, eat more, know our enemy better. Lover? Forget about that. He abandoned any pretense of even being my friend. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go.

-

Cinna just smiles. “Had a damp morning?”

“You could wring me out,” I reply.

Cinna puts his arm around my shoulder and leads me into lunch.

-

I’m determined to keep him alive, knowing the cost will be my own life, but the part of me that is not so brave as I could wish is glad that it’s Peeta, not Haymitch, beside me. Our hands find each other without further discussion. Of course we will go into this as one.

-

It’s such a short ride that there’s no real time for conversation, but when Peeta takes my hand, I don’t pull it away.

-

Peeta and I are finally left alone. He reaches across the table to take my hands. “Decided what to do for the Gamemakers yet?”

[…]

We sit in silence awhile and then I blurt out the thing that’s on both our minds. “How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?”

“I don’t know.” He leans his forehead down on our entwined hands.

-

We finish the meal in silence, but when we rise to go into the sitting room, Cinna puts his arm around me and gives me a squeeze. “Come on and let’s go get those training scores.”

-

Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His hands slide up my back and his cheek leans against my hair.

-

It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn’t realize until now how starved I’ve been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn’t wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight’s streaming through the windows.

-

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta’s lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he’s practicing his knots.

-

The other tributes begin to line up as well. I’m confused because, while they all are angry, some are giving us sympathetic pats on the shoulder, and Johanna Mason actually stops to straighten my pearl necklace.

“Make him pay for it, okay?” she says.

-

I automatically rise and, as I do, I sense Peeta reaching out for me. Tears run down his face as I take his hand.

-

“Any last words of advice?” Peeta asks.

“Stay alive,” Haymitch says gruffly. That’s almost an old joke with us now. He gives us each a quick embrace, and I can tell it’s all he can stand. “Go to bed. You need your rest.”

-

Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest.

-

Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says.

“See you soon,” I answer.

-

We sit, as we did last year, holding hands until the voice tells me to prepare for the launch. He walks me over to the circular metal plate and zips up the neck of my jumpsuit securely. “Remember, girl on fire,” he says, “I’m still betting on you.” He kisses my forehead and steps back as the glass cylinder slides down around me.

-

When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land.

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended,” I answer.

-

We position ourselves in a line at the mouth of the hut and Peeta slips his hand into mine.

-

I stretch out, pressing my hot cheek on the grass mat, staring at the thing in aggravation. Peeta rubs a tense spot between my shoulders and I let myself relax a little.

-

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins.

-

While Johanna collects water and my arrows, Beetee fiddles with his wire, and Finnick takes to the water. I need to clean up, too, but I stay in Peeta’s arms, still too shaken to move.

-

Peeta and I sit on the damp sand, facing away from each other, my right shoulder and hip pressed against his. I watch the water as he watches the jungle, which is better for me. I’m still haunted by the voices of the jabberjays, which unfortunately the insects can’t drown out. After a while I rest my head against his shoulder. Feel his hand caress my hair.

-

This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind.

-

I let him lead me over to where the others are. He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick.

-

There’s nothing to do now but wait. Peeta and I sit at the edge of the water, hand in hand, wordless. He gave his speech last night but it didn’t change my mind, and nothing I can say will change his.

-

“Gale,” I whisper.

“Hey, Catnip.” He reaches down and pushes a strand of hair out of my eyes.

-

[deathsmallcaps]

I wrote this poem back in high school and I still stand by it

A poem ‘Palms’

Your palm against mine

Clasped

Is such an odd sensation

I always believed

That my palms were too large

And my fingers too short

Wishing to have piano fingers

Elegant

The feeling is not bad

Exactly

It’s just alien to me

I’m used to the hands of my family

And sometimes my friends

Slightly rough or surprisingly soft

My mom has scratchy hands

Her palms are no exception

The thing is though

I haven’t touched another’s hand regularly

For more than three seconds

For a while now

And it leaves an impression

Each time that I do

Your palm was larger than mine

And our fingers didn’t fit

Yours were longer

But it didn’t matter anyway

Because

We were just taking a full-cast bow

Stretching across the stage

Barely fitting and slightly tipping

Over the edge

Someone else was holding my right hand

But I had a crush on you at one point

So I focused on my left

And wondered if we would’ve fit better

If I had gotten the courage

And plowed over my anxiety

And asked you out

Before this year started

And we only saw each other in the halls

And I started to avoid your gaze

Instead of saying hi

You know

I used to hold hands all the time

(I still shake them

I’m very mature

And good at that)

Crossing the street

Or just plain old walking

I guess I’m needy in the physical sense

Then I thought that I was being infantile

Eleven year olds

Of course

Know everything about growing up

So now the only hands I know really

Are my mom’s and mine

And ours are so similar size wise

That if it wasn’t for the texture and age

I’d probably mistake mine for hers

I let myself touch her hands

Because she’s my mom

And age doesn’t change that

I let my mind get in its own way

And it only allows itself

Small concessions

I guess

So the alien touch of a boy

Surprises me

Especially since you

Have no callouses

And I do

Mind

They are small

But it’s more than most high school boys

That I’ve touched hands with

And I guess that bothers me

It’s stupid

I know

But when you touch a hand

That is as squishy

as the day as it was born

And you know it belongs

To a teen

It’s a little surprising

I’m not calling you out

The squishy guy is a different guy

You probably don’t know him

But I remember it

One and a half years on

And despite his literal

Eighteen inch growth spurt

His hands haven’t changed

A bit

In squishiness I mean

And that makes me think

When I find a guy

I can be happy with

Will our hands fit

Or will it be too big fingers

Slotted into spaces too thin

But expressing a happiness

That none of my parents have

Will we fit

Will his hands and mine

Have grown

To fit perfectly

together

I dunno

You probably don’t know either

Unless you can tell the future or

something

Until I find out

And until you do

I guess we’ll have to wander in this

Question filled space

Parallel but not together

I wish you well