#i've actually been rotting away this summer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kaahgyuya · 9 months

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hi! i wanted to ask if you can do a Scaramouche × female reader when scara finds the reader self harming/trying to suicide. Thank youu! <3

YES YES OFCC!!!! IDK HOW LONG THIS HAS BEEN IN MY INBOX, AND FORGIVE ME IF I HAVENT SEEN THIS FOR A WHILE.. 😭😭😭

Who knows, maybe I'll add a lil twist to the end for suspension... 😈😈 /hj

—————

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

★ SYNOPSIS : He caught you trying to do it. Who knows what his heartless mind will do?

THEMES/WARNINGS : Suicide, SH, dark topics, some of it is in first person, you've already dated someone, u r 7th fatui harbinger, anything you can think of as bad..

Everyday,

Every night,

Every week,

Every month,

Every.

Day.

Fatui meetings, missions, every minute it's so frustrating.

Every day, is just the same. Nothing changes. But the only thing changes, is my motivation.

All I just wanted was for someone to notice my hard work, at least just a single praise can bring up my hopes.

Overworked, tiring and restless days, food just tastes bitter. After I joined the fatui for personal purposes, my partner left me. They said, "I wouldn't want to date someone who'd work for the devil."

Not that I was doing it for her.

As the 7th fatui harbinger, what could ever go wrong? I mean, treated with some care by the other harbingers isn't bad at all. Columbina is the kindest one of them all, yet terrifying. Arlecchino is barely here but when she is here, she treats everyone to a meal. How could everyone have a kind heart of their own?

Dottore is very foolish despite his rank. Pulcinella takes care of Tartaglia's family which is very kind. Pierro is actually gentle despite his cold and harsh demeanor. Sandrone gave me a small doll of a flower, to always make me remember that summer will always be with me wherever I go. Pantalone once broke a valuable vase, but he fixed it on his own when he had the time. He told no one but me.

Tartaglia always checks up on the Fatui harbingers. He seem outgoing and cheerful most of the time, but when he's alone, he's so quiet and dense. Captiano is scary, but can also protect us. Scaramouche isn't here often, but hes not a trouble to bother. He sometimes comes to talk to me to rant or just come to bother my company. Signora was the closest to me. She's strict yet I sometimes catch her playing with the children at the House of Hearth. Ever since her death, I felt... quite lonely. But I've accepted it.

How can everyone be so busy and kind of their own?

And I'm just a rotting body.

I envy them.

"Comrade! What are you doing just wasting time away like this?" You turned your head immediately to the familiar voice, to see a ginger colored head with a beaming smile, but void like eyes.

"Oh, um.. I'm.." You looked back at the table to see a desk full of unfinished and uninteresting papers. You game to the main hall to work on paperwork. Only to realize you've zoned out and gotten no progress.

"Let me help you." He immediately scooped up a pile of papers, some of them fell but he lifted his foot to catch one drifting to the ground.

"How long have you been here? You okay, Comrade?" Childe gave you a friendly smile, the dim moonlight coming from the large windows only casted a small glimmer in his eyes.

"I uh... I don't—"

"Don't worry about it! I'll come back to you once I've finished, but you owe me a meal!" Childe left as he threw the paper on his foot back into his tall pile of papers and walked off.

"W-wait! Tartaglia!—" You stood up from your seat to turn around and stop him. To only be met with an empty and dark hallway, only being lit by the moonlight from the windows.

"I..." nothing but mutters came out of your mouth.

"How can I be so pathetic?" A quiet voice came from you. Only to sit back in your seat to see no papers. Columbina was suddenly there. It was normal for her to appear out of thin air around the Zapolyarny Palace.

"It seemed like you had some trouble, I'll do the rest of the papers." She was holding all of the papers somehow, and you felt nothing but guilty.

"You really don't. It's my work.." you muttered slowly.

"Fatui harbingers may work independently, but some cases, we're all family." She replied. She didn't open her eyes once, but that's just how she sees..

"I'll—"

"You don't have to pay me back, otherwise people will have other useless debts to pay." She turned around and vanished. Not to be seen in or within the wind.

"I just.." All of the 8 years of working and working up and up to only end in this rank feels terrible.

Am I really that useless?

"Y/n." A quiet but loud voice came behind them.

You jumped a little from the sudden small shout, but you looked behind you to see a mysterious figure with a big hat.

"Ah, um. Scaramouche." You quietly said.

"Is my name really that hard to forget?" Scaramouche clicked his tongue then approached you. His figure slightly got taller as he approached.

"I'm sorry."

"Anyway, what're you doing? Shouldn't a mortal like you be in the dormitories?" Scaramouche looked down at you if you were a bug. Even though you were only one rank behind him..

"Oh, I forgot." You mutter. He sighed and gave a small flick to your forehead. You wouldn't really count as him as your friend, but he talks to you more than the other harbingers.

"Humans are so forgetful.." He mumbled.

"Sorry.." You blandly said.

"Stop saying sorry over everything."

"Huh?"

"When was the last time you said sorry?"

"When I... said your name."

"Is that something to be sorry for?"

"I.. um."

"Just go to your dorm. Captiano has something assigned to you tomorrow. Get rest." Scaramouche brushed past you and hushed along to his own way.

"Im.. sorry." A quiet mutter came out of you.

You walked to your dorm only thinking about that moment and past times. You remembered Tartaglia and Scaramouche came to save you in battle against a few hillichurls after you were injured. You couldn't help but cry after that night because you weren't even powerful enough, even though being the 7th fatui harbinger.

Why do I say sorry all the time? Why am I so useless? I'm just only here like a doll for showcase. Why is everything the same? Why am I so weak? Why can I even defend myself? Why...

As soon as you opened the door, you threw off your jacket and didn't even bother to switch out of your clothes. Just flopped in bed and huddled in a ball. Silent and quiet tears fell.

You've never told anyone your problems. No one.

My problems are useless. So what's the point of telling someone them?

You're now standing at a cliff no where near Zapolyarny Palace.

The cold air just felt bitter against your skin.

The pretty lights of the northern lights and stats glimmered. They lit up the whole place..

If only the last time you'll see them is today,

That's okay.

The lights are so pretty.

If only when I was a child, I would be able to jump in joy.

8 years of suffering and loss will be over soon.

I promise you,

It will end today.

I wish my tears would've been spent on something else,

But these lights are so pretty.

I wish..

That maybe someone...

Will love me just as much...

The height of the cliff wasn't scary. But it was a long way down to the cold sea.

The sea reflected the pretty skies.

"So cold.."

To only feel the pressure of wind dropping down.

Im falling.

You're falling.

"Ah!—"

a cold but sudden embrace was there.

A tight grip around your waist was found.

"You're an idiot!"

You looked behind you to see a dark indigo haired figure holding you tightly.

"Do you go so far out by killing yourself because you didn't want things to go out like this!?" He shouted at you.

"Your idiotic mind is killing me!" Scaramouche plunged back before setting himself in front of you. He drapped his jacket over your shoulders.

"Do you plan on being so stupid and killing yourself!? Do you even know how long it took me to find you only to come to you almost dying? Is death your only wish!?" Scaramouche scolded you and shouted at you. His raised voice people could possibly hear from a 5 mile radius. The rest of his shouting blurred in your ears.

But he suddenly paused in his words.

"Why are you crying?"

"Huh?"

"Stop crying." Scaramouche said. Although his voice sounded harsh, his tone was soft.

Soft little streams of rivers were coming out of your eyes, and you didn't even notice.

"I said stop crying."

"I don't..." He paused.

"Wanna see you cry."

"Again."

You just sat in the snow, buried in his large jacket staring at him.

"Wha—"

"You're coming with me." Scaramouche gripped onto your arm and pulled you up without an effort.

"Scara—"

"I said you're coming with me."

Next morning was all a blur.

You were in your bed, how?

You remembered you were outside.

You could've swore you...

Whatever,

Today, the sun was out. The sun isn't usually out during winters like these.

You went to the small kitchen in the dormitory to cook something.

You opened the knife cabinet... only to find no knifves. So you decided to skip breakfast, not that you really had breakfast anyway.

During that whole day, Scaramouche sat next to you without a word. He's usually never at meetings. And today he's always somehow near you...

Talking to Columbina? He's right behind you.

Finishing a task Tartaglia gave you? He's right there.

Hes like a stalker..

It was until a few hours later, you went to do something.. a little dangerous.

You picked up a sharp object until it was immediately grabbed away. You looked to your side to see Scaramouche standing there with the sharp object.

"You've been following me all day. What's wrong?" You immediately said.

"You're stupid."

"What?"

"You already know the answer."

"Huh?.."

"Shoo. I'm taking this away."

"But I need it to give it to captiano—"

"I'll do it." He then walked away.

For some reason,

Your mind told you that...

Maybe he didn't want you to get hurt.

You then turned around to go back,

To only see a shining cryo vision on the table from where you picked up the sharp object.

"Visions are granted by powerful wishes." You once heard someone say long long before.

I wish that someone will love me as much as someone used to in the past.

@xyouami 12/21/23 8:32 pm.

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moon-is-a-cryptid · 1 year

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AH! HERE ME OUT ON THIS ONE!

Pro-Hero Shoto goes to visit his family! (In a world where endeavor is somewhat forgiven and Rei is back home and safe). And because Fuyumi is the way she is, she asks Shoto to bring his girlfriend(reader) and Nastuo, Rei, and Enji second that because they all want to know the mystery girl who makes Shoto light up so much is. (and endeavor really wants to know how to make shoto like him).

So when Shoto and reader get there its a nice greeting with everyone and through out the dinner and rest of the time they are there Reader is constantly praising Shoto, Cupping his cheeks, tracing his scar in an affectionate way, ruffling his hair, So many words of affirmation, Just all in all praising him and making him feel special. And Every time Shoto just Lights UP.

And on top of that reader is so polite and gets along with absolutely everyone.

Lemon, my sweet honey pot is it too late to say I love you and that brain of yours 😩🫶🏻 this is such a good idea!

Summer lovin’

⭐️pairing: Shoto Todoroki x F!Reader

⭐️CW: pure tooth rotting fluff

⭐️Type and A/N: placed in the summertime, preexisting relationship, despite my hate for enji I made him tolerable if the dress isn't your style feel free to change it! had Summer Nights from Grease playing in my head while I wrote this, used a french nickname for sho because I live in a world where sho dates someone who knows another language, I've given the reader a quirk as well

Mon chéri- My darling

As the car pulls to a stop outside of the Todoroki household, you feel your heartbeat quicken. Shoto steps out of the car and you watch as he walks around to open the door for you, offering his hand out you gratefully take it to exit the car. "Are you sure you're okay with this my love?" He asks while you smooth out your dress, "Mon chéri, I told you its okay, we've been together a while I should meet them" You look up at him with a soft smile. You two have been together for almost a year and have dodged meeting them for Shoto's anxiety and your own. His father, although forgiven was still tactical about Shoto as a hero, worried he wouldn't approve as the quirk you have isn't quite a match for his quirk. He had pestered Shoto about it a few times after finding out about the girlfriend Shoto had acquired.

After a few seconds, you and Shoto make your way to the door, his hand intertwined with yours, he knocks. Rei opens the door "Shoto!" she smiles, giving him a small hug "and you must be Miss. Y/n, I'm Shotos mother Rei. So nice to meet you" she beams giving you a small bow that you return. Shoto guides you into the house, both of you slipping off your shoes before making your way to the living room where Enji and Natsou sit on the couch, with backs toward you watching a sports event. Shoto clears his throat to get their attention, the loose grip you had on his hand tightens as Natsou leans his head back and Enji turns.

"Whoa, Shoto! you actually brought her! i was starting to think you'd, made her up" Natsou laughs standing up from the couch. "I'm Natsuo" Natsou ruffled Shoto's hair "This guy's big brother" you giggle and give a small bow "Y/N L/N, but please call me Y/N" Shoto grunts moving his head away from his older sibling, his eyes meet yours and fill with adoration as you reach up and fix his now erratic locks. With a small bow of the head while still fixing Shotos hair "Nice to meet you Endeavor."

"Enji, you may call me Enji while you are here" Enji Stands to bow Shotos eyes flick to him, the solemn expression returning to his face "If you'd like to sit we are watching the sports festival for this year, Rei and Fyumi are finishing up lunch." Enji sits back down "you can meet Fyumi later lets let them finish" Shoto softly says as he guides you to the couch with Natsou taking a seat in the chair next to Enji. Shoto takes your hand once again in his, rubbing soft circles into your knuckles to help ease your anxiety. the awkward silence making the air feel thick enough to cut through is present for about five minutes before Enji breaks it "So, Y/N," you turn your head in Enjis direction with a curious look, ready to answer any questions thrown at you "since Shoto refuses to tell me, I must ask what is your quirk?" heat rises to your cheeks turning them a Small shade of pink. "oh uhm-" is all you can get out before Shoto speaks up "father, didn't mom tell you to be nice?" the slightly annoyed tone in his voice tells you Shoto is on edge with his anxiety as well. "Sho, Mon chéri it's okay I can tell him" You softly smile at Enji "My quirk is called Green House, When I activate my quirk I can make plants grow, depending on how strong of emotion I put forth will affect the Plants strength and my ability to use them" you stick your hand out and sprout a lotus flower to fill your palm "I can grow them out of my skin or in a medium area of land around me, i just have to get plenty of sun and water to make them grow"

As you are explaining the extent of your quirk to Enji, Natsou's eyes flick from the TV to Shoto. Shoto's eyes have softened from his usual solemn expression, a smile tugging on his mouth as he looks at you with what can be described as pure love. "and what do you do with this quirk? If you're a hero I haven't heard about you." Enji gruffed out "oh well, I run a flower shop!" you return with the pink in your cheeks deepening Enji lets out a 'hm' before Rei enters the room snapping everyone's attention "Lunch is ready and on the table"

Shoto pulls out a chair for you to sit down before sitting himself down beside you, the table set with plates of Karaage. Fyumi sits across from you "Oh you must be Y/N, Shoto has told me all about you when we have our lunches!" Fyumi smiles, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose "Shoto talks about you a lot as well Fyumi, its nice to meet you" you bow your head slightly as everyone begins to eat their lunch, Rei and Fyumi asks you questions as to what you do for a living, what school you went to, how you and Shoto met. with each answer, your anxiety lessens. Looking over at Shoto beside you as you tell the story of how you met when Shoto used your flower shop as a hideout from crazed fans and paparazzi, Fyumi and Rei witness the same look Natsuo did when you had been talking about your quirk, and how Shoto seems to only fall deeper in love when you take your napkin to wipe the sauce from the corner of his mouth.

Shoto's Tag list 🏷️: There's nothing here...

Masterlist📃

#todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki fluff #shoto todoroki x you #shoto todoroki x f!reader #g.moonchaser🌙🗯️#moonchaser🌙#the lovely lemons🍋🍋#moons asks 🗣️

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channnel · 2 months

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Okay, so- My drawing of Jules is nearly done BUT my hand hurts from drawing the flowers and my eyes hurt cause I've been staring at my tab for a week and my back's a banana now.

So, since I haven't posted some actual art in this blog- Here are my random headcanons of the brothers in My Dear hatchet man. This is purely fan-made, alright? I'm bored and this headcanons have been in my mind for months.

Claude

Claude fully knows that he looks good in dark colors and will not wear any other hues even if you paid him. Even if it's summer, he will still wear dark clothes.

The type of man that will glare down a kid in public if the kid is being a little shit (Same goes to the parent).

Claude would stare at wall for long minutes before answering a call from Jules.

Will judge Jules' healthy eating diet despite having the same exact diet.

The type of guy that hates being treated differently because he's handsome but also often uses the same treatment to get what he wants.

Nobody in his workplace know who he is. Nobody knows where he lives, nobody knows if he has any family- pretty sure that most of his ex-partners doesn't even know that he got younger brothers, and so on, and so forth. They just knew that Claude is a rich, good-looking photographer with a French accent.

Believes that Alan is probably working in an organized crime, he watches the news just in case Alan's name come out... Same goes to James.

Jules

Use filters, stickers and quotes in all of his social media post.

90% of what he says are all passive-aggressive and he genuinely thinks that he helps people.

Probably has a bit of a hoarding problem.

Would judge James' DIY hobby despite also doing it.

The type that would watch a kid being a little piece of shit and would promptly tell the nearest person where their parents at and judge their parenting style. same thing goes with noisy pets in public.

Would give Claude fruit bouquet everytime they meet cause Jules know damn well that Claude can't throw it out and will be force to appreciate and eat Jules' gift so it will not rot.

Would say to others that Alan simply move away and that they haven't talked for a long time. His neighbors and friends probably believed that Jules' younger brother is simply living in a cottage with a bunch of dogs and cats. Would also say made-up stories of Alan if his neighbors asked more before promptly shutting it down.

Alan (Honestly, I don't have much headcanons on the two younger bros)

Will recite the full script of any classic horror movie in rapid succession, filled with actions and diy sound effects. If it's night time, then get ready for him to shout out every words.

Still uses Canadian terms rather than the American one.

Sometimes wonder if he looks cool using other types of weapons instead of a hatchet. Knows a lot of trickshots with his hatchet.

Doesnt like statues.

knows every domestic dogs and cats in Doomsbury, he even has his own names for them and he probably knows the pets even more in a spiritual level.

is also the type that would glare down a kid if they're being an annoying piece of shit, and immediately disappear if the kid starts crying.

In college au, I like to headcanon that not only did the boss in that AU gave him a scholarship- but also hide an unfortunate event between Alan, a hatchet, and some guy.

James

⬆️That's him everytime he argued with someone, lost a friend, or had another break up.

Believes that Alan is now living in a forest away from society, which is somewhat accurate. Often thinks about Alan a lot, and wonder if he's doing okay after the incident- doesn't hide away the fact that Alan ran away and will tell what actually happened to very, very close friends of his.

The type of guy that would deliberately trip a kid in public without the parents noticing- especially if the kid is being a little shit.

"Shit, I accidentally have way too much fun solving those problems in my exam and now my brothers are gonna expect better from me" Got immediately accused of cheating.

Saw his two older brothers years after the incident but was disappointed to see that they haven't changed, so he doesn't talk to them nor accept Jules' multiple invites. Ended up changing his number after some time, did not regret about it.

Always give himself a pep talk everytime he woke up.

Can efficiently argue with someone in fluent sign language without pause, Style all of his clothes on his own, has wrote numerous songs in his guitar, very good at Parkour, and he can juggle three crowbars.

Dixon Dallas, Good lookin.

And that's all folks.

#my dear hatchet man #mdhm game #mdhm alan #mdhm jules #mdhm claude #Mdhm James #my headcanons #random

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someonexsomeone · 4 months

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Death is Easy, Afterlife is Harder

Title: Death is Easy, Afterlife is Harder, Chapter 1: Esme's New House is Haunted

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 4.5k

Pairing: Edward Cullen x Ghost!OC

Summary: Edward was starting to give up on the idea of love. Well, maybe not the idea itself, since he was surrounded by it all the time, but maybe more the idea that it would ever happen to him. He was still working through some complicated vampire feelings, his family was trying to get things back in order after a vampire mishap, not to mention they had to start all over in a new town again. So, when Esme rounds up the family to try and renovate a new house over the summer, what could he do other than go along with it? It was better than rotting away in his sea of lonely thoughts.

But, when his seemingly boring summer gets turned on his head, and he has the closest thing he can have to a human heart attack while meeting this strange new woman, he starts to realize maybe the world isn't as black and white as he thought.

Or; who better for a vampire to fall in love with than an undying ghost?

Warnings: Discussion of depression + death + legacy, downplaying murder

Authors Note: hello hello!! i'm sorry ive been away for so long, but I've actually been uploading this story over on AO3 for the past couple months and totally forgot to post it here. i'm really debating whether ill post all chapters here, since as far as ive planned this will be 50-60 chapters, so we'll see! otherwise you can always find it on AO3 or FF.NET. thank you for reading!

It was a privilege to live a whole life, Edward mused, gently folding another starch-stiff shirt, the cloth miraculously clean despite its many years being hidden away in this dusty attic.

To be born, to grow, to run freely, to be burdened, to fall in love, to die. It was a privilege to have and lose and find and long and all things that make the soul feel like a tangible thing rather than a concept, some far-off idea that has been written and studied for years but has no real definition. It’s something that’s easy to forget. Those integral parts of life that make it worth living, or even just existing, blend into the everyday. To have a body and be in the world and struggle to understand it; those are what constitute a life.

Some humans believe that their life is composed of the various parts that make up the whole, parts that feel so vastly different that it’s almost like they were a completely different person. And who says they weren’t? A parent was once a child, a worker once carefree, a body once a cell. All are composed as a whole, but unique on their own. The thoughts that once consumed your entire life suddenly mean nothing at all. A person, once your entire life, becomes nothing but a memory. A decision made 10 years apart is filled with the knowledge and wisdom collected in between that didn’t exist before, so the outcome will always be different.

To a vampire, one moment changed everything. Unlike the common human experience, the change blends so seamlessly into every single moment, every day, every year, every decision that it goes unnoticed until one trigger that causes a moment of reflection. To a vampire, that change is a blip in its life, but the difference is night and day. To go from one day being so afraid of death it drives you every decision, to all at once becoming death itself…

It feels unexplainable, no matter how many words you learn.

That struggle of how many different lives a human leads, those multiple that make up the whole, suddenly takes on new meaning. You were not what you once were, and yet, you will always be the same. To live so many years, to know that eternity is waiting, to not have the innate fear of living that most people do. What is the point of working to get better at something if there is no pressure to get it done? What is the point of surviving if the days endlessly bleed into each other until it feels like one never-ending film, an onlooker to your own life that should fill you with all of those wonderful mishmash emotions that somehow make meaning that only end up feeling forced or faked? Life is a constant existence of opposition.

At least, that was the only way Edward was able to think about it,

It was easy to fill those endless days at the beginning. At first, it was learning to control his most basic instincts, feeling more animal than human by knowing nothing but hunger and how to satiate it. While difficult, it was easier with the help of a devoted Father, something he only remembers vaguely craving in his past life, but Carlisle was a kind and patient teacher. It took many years, but slowly he was able to trade his nightly forest walks for afternoon city strolls, basking in the pockets of silence between crowds. An introduction of Mother returned him to his early years, craving her endless attention and spending as much time with her as possible, practically glued to her hip. Both son and teacher, Edward remembers fondly the first time they were able to sit at the park, hiding under the shade of the tree to lounge like the normal families around them. Esme had never looked happier.

A “teenage crisis”, as his Mother calls it, a dark period of his life, that changed the course of his existence into a neverending spiral of self-loathing. It was easy to ride the wave of dulled distance that his vampire life brought him, to hide behind those emotions to justify his own actions, despite their now glaringly obvious atrocities. Sometimes he wishes he had those feelings again, just for a little while, just to break up the new dull that replaced the old.

Anything, he sometimes thought, anything was better than apathy.

It was now in that aftermath that he lived his timeless life. Try as he might to fill his life with something other than dullness, it never lasted long.

He had to admit to loving the opportunities presented to him with these new hours. He was able to go back to school, relearn the things that slowly disappeared from his memory, and feel the joy of learning something new. He was able to rejoin Carlisle at the hospital again, just like old times, and actually do something to help people. He got to learn new skills and try new hobbies. He even got to lay in the sun for a whole day and not worry about dehydrating or starving or having to get up to use the bathroom to distract from the quiet serenity of nature.

He loved the new family that found him. Esme and Carlisle guided him with a gentle hand and endless love. Two new women in his life, opposite in every way, Alice and Rosalie were like the sisters he never had, always keeping him on his toes, and annoyed him to no end. His newest brother, Jasper, grounded him while Emmett, his not-so-newest brother, pulled the rug out from under his feet, and both laughed when he made a fool out of himself. He loved them more than life itself. They gave him those precious fleeting moments of happiness, of distraction that kept him out of his own mind. Jasper placed a book in his hand, one selected from Carlisle’s suggestion, while Esme sat beside him, Alice humming quietly across the room as she worked, Emmett obnoxiously whittling next to her, while Rosalie indulged him in a boisterous argument about the newest passage he read. The family he didn’t feel he deserved, so he held onto it with all his might.

He would do anything for his family. Anything.

Which, unfortunately, led him to help Esme with her latest project, the only one to really be doing any work at the moment.

She was a kind Mother, probably kinder than she ought to be, what with 5 inhuman young adults running around the house. She let them have minimal chores during the school year so they could focus on school despite everyone’s insistence that they didn’t need the extra time, in exchange for every couple summers being asked to help sort out the house she was working on. It was surprising that she was keeping the tradition going, what with the abrupt change they had to do earlier this year that brought them back to a place they had stayed in less than 100 years ago. Not completely out of the ordinary, but Emmett needed time to heal, and the house was the closest that was ready to live in.

“We need some normality,” Esme mused as she planned the trip. “Well, as normal as a family like ours can. And this place was too beautiful to pass up!”

This year’s project was the furthest from their settlement yet, all the way in this sleepy town on the East Coast. Despite their return to Forks for the school year on the year prior, and the trend they’ve had for staying on the West Coast, there was something about this house that called out to Esme, so here they all were for the next week. The downstairs needed the most work, with crumbling walls and ivy growing out of every nook and cranny. Originally, there was no indicator that there was an attic, not until Emmett got a little too rough and accidentally uncovered the furniture-covered door. Straight out of an old novel, the wardrobe would have been too heavy for any normal human to move without help. The door was completely hidden behind the massive wooden case, not a hint that it was there, with a dented doorknob that suggested whoever placed the wardrobe all those years ago couldn’t care less about the state of the place.

Esme had stepped out to grab some more spackle from the store, Alice accompanying her (claiming it was so that Esme would know exactly what brand would yield the best results even though this wasn’t the first home Esme restored and she already had a list of products she trusted). Rosalie had respectfully declined this trip, instead going to the vintage car show with Carlisle for their yearly father-daughter trip. That only left the three boys to make decisions while the usual leaders of the house were gone.

It was moments like these that Edward really got to muse about the hilarity of his family's hierarchy. The three looked at each other, each gesturing for the other to walk up first, to make the first decision in a place none of them felt comfortable in. People? Leave that to Edward. Planning? Leave that to Jasper. Attacking? All Emmett. But knowing whether to go up a dilapidated flight of stairs into a very old-smelling attic in a home that was being restored? Well, that was out of any of their depths.

“Are you getting any feelings?” Emmet whispered conspiratorily, his burnt orange eyes wide with the closest a vampire could have to fear. Jasper and Edward gave him a funny look. “What?! It’s a justified question.”

“I’m an empath, not an Anthropomorphist.” Emmet furrowed his brows.

“A what-?”

“It’s someone who attributes human traits, emotions, or intentions to non-human entities,” Edward replied.

“Okay, Mr.Dictionary.” Edward rolled his eyes and Emmet turned back to the blonde. “We’re vampires. You have powers. Can’t you get a feeling if it’s dangerous or not?”

“That’s just instincts. You have those.” Emmet sighed at his brother’s response.

“Not what I meant and you know it. This is a secret door, behind an old wardrobe, in an abandoned house.” He gestured wildly up the dark steps. “Use your freaky feelings tingle and tell me if it’s haunted up there or not.” Jasper and Edward shared a glance, exchanging a small smile. Edward was happy to see his brother was feeling a bit better, enough to have some of that ridiculous superstition return to his regular vocabulary. He was sure Jasper was going to include this little conversation in his text to Rosalie later, one of the many update texts she asked him to send as she spent time away from her husband when he was still recovering.

Jasper was the first to move, carefully positioning himself in front of the other two to walk up first. He bickered quietly with Emmet that there was no way for him to tell if a house was haunted on ‘feelings alone’, and that if he could he would have felt it long ago. A simple platitude, if nothing else. There was no doubt in any of their minds that there was no person upstairs, they would have heard or smelt them long ago, but even Edward could admit there was something off about this attic. Caution was always better than carelessness. Edward had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at Emmett’s internal monologue about ghosts and ghouls that resided in old houses, stepping behind Jasper, readying himself should anything strange occur, just in case.

Once upstairs, it was easy enough to see the real price of hiding away from the outside world. The downstairs was filled with evidence of squatters over the years, rotting food, and left-over knick-knacks here and there that didn’t match the time period of the peeling wallpaper, but up here, despite the heavy layer of dust, everything looked frozen in time. Mannequins with dresses still draped with pins, a rack of winter coats that were drooping on their rusted hangers, an opulent mirror with a hairline fracture in it, hidden behind a lace sheet. There were chests and boxes filled to the brim with jewelry, decor, and housewares. Furniture, both big and small, were stacked neatly on the far wall, plush chairs that had sunk into one another after being stacked for so long. There was only one window high up on the wall, no doubt the one Edward saw as he approached the house earlier that day, too far to do much more than cast colorful shapes on the floor from the stained glass. There was a familiarity in the items around the room, clothing pieces he vaguely remembered as a human, though only the oldest women in his social group still wore them.

“You lived through this era, little bro!” Emmett cried, immediately blowing past both people in front of him to beeline to the rack of clothes. Edward wasn’t allowed a correction before Emmett’s newly returned childlike control grabbed a corset by its hook, snapping the fragile bonning of the piece into brittle sections. His sheepish look made the other two roll their eyes, though Edward did notice the wince on Jasper’s face from destroying precious history. “Uh…oops?”

“It’s like a time capsule,” Jasper commented, mimicking Emmett’s movements, though with much more care, and gently pulling a dress from the rack. The lace and beading made it look far too heavy to do any dancing in, though Edward knew from the bodice that a young woman, probably around his age, would have worn it for a ball or social gathering to impress the gentlemen in the room. Jasper’s thoughts mimicked the look of familiarity in his thoughts. “How long do you think this had been hidden away?”

“I think we’re the first creatures up here in decades,” Edward replied, following their lead to carefully open one of the many chests to reveal a stack of papers. “Take a look at this.”

The papers, though nearly crumbling apart at the edges from age, were legible enough to read. Letters, most of them, all addressed to the same man, one Mr. Dorsey Carnall. The top of the pile all seem to be from the same woman, one Mrs. Theodora Whitney, who frequently wrote about the elder man’s will, the last one being dated 1887. Both Edward and Jasper exchanged glances at the crass way the woman spoke about the man’s diseased family, demanding his will all be given to her and not some other gentleman, no other identifier other than his name, ‘Tommy’. The more they moved into the pile, the more the letters mixed with other lost names, most wondering about the man’s health and lamenting the loss of his direct family.

“Letters that catalog this man’s last years alive, and they’re all about his sadness and his money. What a lonely life.” Jasper patted Edward’s shoulder comfortingly. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the barrage of their thoughts from entering his mind, both equally concerned that his mood dropped so quickly.

“You know better than anyone that this box wasn’t everything.” He lived a whole life outside of these letters.

“Yeah!” Emmett, as always, was just a touch too loud for the enclosed space, echoing words around them. Come on, Eddy, don’t depress yourself. “Maybe whoever cleaned after he died just chucked everything into a box. I bet if you look around some more, you’ll find this guy lived a sweet life up until his death. No need to get all depressed for a guy you haven’t met.” Edward ignored the heavy elbow Jasper dug into his brother’s side at the comment, choosing to glare despite the relief he felt at Emmett’s continuous ability to say whatever he was thinking out loud. Makes it much easier on Edward, who spends most of his time trying to differentiate the difference between thoughts and spoken words.

“Emmett.” You’re an idiot. Edward didn’t need his mindreading to know the unspoken language of Jasper’s tone. “Didn’t Esme want you to take apart those cabinets downstairs? What are you still doing here?”

“Oh sh-” Emmett turned, nearly crashing into the door in his haste to get back downstairs. Although Esme was always a saint of patience, Emmett had already filled his quota of mess-ups for the day. If Esme returned before he managed to clear the kitchen, he knew there would be her patient little sigh of disapproval, and that hurt more to him than getting his arm ripped off. It was silent only for a moment before the two heard a crash downstairs.

“I’ll go check on him,” Jasper sighed, returning the dress carefully back onto the rack. “Are you coming?”

“If it’s alright with you, I might stay up here. These things’ll have to get organized eventually.” Edward barely spared him a glance. “Don’t think that. I’ll be fine. You’ll know before I do if things get too intense for me.” Jasper gave him a once over, asking one more time in his mind if he would truly be okay alone, before heading downstairs.

It took some effort, but Edward dislodged himself from the letters, conceding that if he continued to read them it would only hinder his mood even more. He instead moved to the other side of the room, boxes seemingly filled with more household items that lost their purpose over the years. He sorted things quietly for several hours, wrapping the precious pieces that could be donated, and setting anything else aside to be thrown away later. Esme checked in on him as soon as she returned, marveling at the pile of things that surrounded him, before leaving him to his own devices (not without a little prodding). Alice also popped by to say hello, but, as a girl who only valued old things as long as Jasper enjoyed them, she didn’t care much for the goblets Edward was sorting through and returned downstairs to help Esme finish peeling up the old wooden floor to reveal the original tile below it.

He was both relieved and lonely. There was something peaceful in the work he was doing, taking several extra seconds to gently clean an old vase or reminisce fondly on the ceramic ashtray, but he was also starting to feel extremely isolated from the others the longer he was up there. Edward could hear the pairs as they worked, two doing genuine work while the other two changed from genuine demolition work to a game of karate chopping wall debris.

It took a long time to get adjusted to the playful side that Emmett brought out in Jasper, but Edward always indulged them when it happened. He noticed the way he became comfier with the Cullens, noticed the way he allowed his gift to guide him more than before. No surprise he liked being around Alice the most, her infectious happy attitude must be a nice change for him, but more often than not Jasper let his leading emotion seek out the others in the house that matched him. Almost a reassurance of his own feelings, Edward mused, a confirmation that what he was feeling was correct. Emmett was open and inviting, even when he didn’t want to be, so it was easy for Jasper to get overtaken by his emotions, which, more often than not, was some form of goofiness. The life that Jasper led, both human and vampire, made plenty of patience for some tomfoolery, a chance to act like the stupid 19-year-old he should have been. And, with the guilt that has been eating Emmett up recently, it was nice to have a break, to feel a little normal, as normal as he could, at least for a little while.

He let the thoughts of the two on the floor below him play like a song in his head, broken up only by the childlike giggle they would let out when a piece of debris exploded into fine dust. He knew Esme wouldn’t be too upset if he joined them, in fact, she would probably be overjoyed just like she always was when her kids got along. There was so little she asked for, after all.

But he was far too comfortable to move now, and there was something…therapeutic about sorting the old pieces of jewelry, carefully tucking them into spare pieces of fabric or their appropriate boxes. This one was too rusted, barely hanging together, so he dumped it into the trash, but the one next to it only needed a good wash before it was as good as new. This one had a beautiful gem, so he ripped it out of the crumbling metal to deposit it into a small box he found, before carefully wrapping the intricate necklace that was hidden underneath. The methodic movements had him in a nice rhythm, similar to the trance he entered when he organized his music back at the house or the books in his Father’s library. Pick up, examine, wrap, toss, pack, repeat.

He moved slowly, or as slowly as a vampire did when no one was looking, tracing his hand over each piece with sharp eyes, using the little he knew about history and its many ages to see if anything was worth salvaging. He knew Jasper would throttle him if there was any historical value in any of the pieces that he tossed, so he paid extra attention to those that looked well-loved or unworn. Every new item in his hand gave him a little more space for mindless thinking, a perk of being a vampire if he was being honest, trying hard to ignore the stray thought here and there of the sadness of the old owner’s last few years.

He stood, reaching for another jewelry box that was shoved just as carelessly as the other things, this one half hanging off an armoire. This box was similar to the others, covered in dust that swept away to reveal the complicated gold flower design. The dark blue outside still held a brilliant shine, the gold siding still looking good despite the time it’s been hiding. The inside was velvet lined, sparse save for a few earrings and a necklace that miraculously looked in good condition despite the relatively cheap material it was made out of. Silver, he knew, would have tarnished left in this musty attic for as long as the other items up there, but this was perfectly new, the pendant in an intricate frame surrounding the painting of a Victorian couple that almost looked freshly done. Edward’s finger hesitated over it, tracing the air around it. For some reason, this piece in particular caused him pause, some strange feeling surrounding it, almost like it was thrumming with life. The design was similar to something he recalled seeing only a moment ago…

His eyes raised sharply, suddenly, scanning across the room towards the painting propped up on the far wall. Though draped with a piece of velvet, a curtain of some kind, it was tossed haphazardly enough that he could make out the bottom half of a portrait. A woman, though he couldn’t tell the age from there, poised and delicate in her stiff posture. Her dress was beautiful, no doubt even more so in real life, deep blue and covered in layers of ruffles and lace. The large sleeves hung low on her shoulders, exposing her collar bones and the beautiful, ornate necklace hung around her neck. Near identical to the one that he had in his hand, but this painted woman wore it attached to a velvet collar, glimmering gold instead of the dull silver in his hand.

A replica? He thought to himself. But why make a replica out of different materials?

His eyes slowly drifted back over to the stack of letters across the room. Though he didn’t have a single letter from the man himself, no doubt lost to time and recycled a hundred times into modern things, there were very clear indicators of the life he led, both in the words of others and the items around him. A loving wife, though not a hint of her things despite the portrait and a replica necklace, a daughter he adored more than life itself, an accident or accidents that took them both away from him. The countless different acquaintances and friends that wrote to him in his time of grief and well after. Edward tried to wrack his mind for notable events of the time, things that maybe could be the reason for those who obviously loved the man to be so far away in his time of need, and felt the hole in his being ache in sympathy.

All alone for the last years of his life without anyone to mourn with him, to take care of him. No one to take care of his things after he passed, beyond shoving all of his possessions into the attic, never to be seen again.

He couldn’t help his eyes from focusing, eyeing the writing on pile of papers he barely made halfway through, his keen vision drifted over the words he could see.

“Condolences…our hearts…happier place…” he murmured to himself, feeling both annoyed and emotional. He knew logically that the people in the letter were just trying to offer some comfort, a scrap of empathy for a man who presumably lost everything dear to him, but just as he felt, the words read as nothing short of empty. He knew from experience that human families were greedy (so far he had been very lucky in his second existence that his family wasn’t), he’s faux inherited to himself more than once with complications from long-distance relatives trying to get a scrap of the fortune he possessed, so the flutter of kinship deep within him wasn’t surprising to feel. He barely registered the brush of cool metal under his hand as he thought through the various ways he could organize the delicate letters to unravel the man’s life. A week they had been there, a week pulling apart the floorboards of a place this man may have been born and died in with no regard at all for who he was. And now, presented with the opportunity to learn, how could he pass that up? It was the closest thing to getting to know the man outside of a supernatural force, and as far as he was aware, there was no such thing as-

“--despite the many chances you’ve had, you continue to drift away! How is your hand close and yet so far from its surface? Lower your finger a touch and…”

There was so little that could startle a creature like him.

Children of the Moon? Sure. Shapeshifters? Probably, but he’d never openly admit it. He hadn’t had any experiences with witches or spellcasters, though Carlisle insists they’re out there somewhere. Honestly, it was hard for even another vampire to surprise them, let alone anything remotely close to human. But here he was, startled in a way he had never experienced before, the closest he could fathom a human heart attack would feel like.

With a yelp, he stumbled back from the voice. If he were any less a creature, he would have been on the floor in shock, tripping over the mess under him in a humiliating manner.

“Oh!” His head whipped up at the delicate voice. And, there, before him, was a ghost.

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read more chapters on ao3! l masterlist l twilight one shots

#someonexsomeone #edward cullen imagine #twilight imagine #edward cullen imagines #twilight imagines #edward cullen fic #edward cullen fanfic #edward cullen x oc #edward cullen/oc #twilight fic #twilight fanfic #ghost fic

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kittensartswriting · 11 months

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Writing update

I haven't done these in a while! Mostly because I haven't written much past couple of years. Well I have written, but mostly disconnected scenes, not actually any of the wips. I haven't had much time and I got a pretty bad burnout from uni which I'm still recovering from. I need to like properly get into the story and in my case that means getting a brain rot and obsessing over the story non-stop to be able to write it. But when I have important uni work to do, I can't get too obsessed or I will neglect them. That's why I've been writing disconnected scenes. Then I'm obsessing over one scene and the obsession will pass after I've gotten it off my system and written it. That doesn't derail my obligations too bad.

After I was able to recover a bit during the summer break, I got back into writing Bear Castle Chronicles. I'm more capable of handling more things, but I have one fear of the brain rot getting out of hand and overtaking too much of my time and energy :'D

I've said before that after I took a break from BCC, I decided to change a lot of things and restart it for the millionth time. A major shift is that it now has a narrator, the Bear. It's the titular bear of the Bear Castle, the guardian spirit of the main sibling's clan. It can see the minds of the clan members and through that it tells the chronicles (addressing itself in third person) and also literally in-world curates the in-world text that is the Bear Castle Chronicles by possessing the Chronicler (but that comes into play mostly in the later books). I'm now writing it in English too. I'm not far in this version, I've written (almost) the prologue and I'm two chapters into Valeri's storyline, which is a total of slightly over 10K words.

Not sure if I'll attempt nano this year. I would not aim to win and not follow the rules like usually. But if I will I would probably continue writing BCC. I'll see if I'm doing okay with uni work when it comes around.

Here's a little excerpt from Valeri's first chapter!

Pain shot through his body. He gasped for air until he was kicked in the stomach again. Blood dripped from his mouth to the sand. His head was spinning. Everything around him faded, except his opponent. In his mind there was only image of his brother. He had to gather his strength. He had to get up. When the other leg left the ground, grimacing he leaned on his hands and kicked the leg still on the ground. The lieutenant lost his balance falling backwards. Valeri acted quickly. He kicked sand to the lieutenant’s face and used the confusion to get on top of him and hit him in the face with all the strength he had left. The lieutenant tried to wrestle him. Valeri hit him again. And again. And again until his face was cover in blood. Only the revolting sound of fist against flesh rang in his ears. Finally, when the lieutenant raised his hands in surrender, Valeri snapped back to reality. Panting and spitting blood, Valeri stumbled to the sand from the top of the man. There was a roaring applause from the Virénian side of the audience. He felt sick. Not only because of the pain in his stomach. For a moment he had felt like he was fighting for his life. He had almost killed that man. He was shaking, when he slowly got up to his feet. He offered his hand to the Angusian lieutenant, who had managed to sit up. For a moment the lieutenant hesitated. Then he took his arm and Valeri pulled him up as his comrades rushed to assist him. He knew. He had felt that Valeri had fought to kill. People gathered around Valeri. He didn’t see them, didn’t hear them. The touches of the faceless hands made him flinch. He wanted out, away. The Bear felt his mind fade. It watched as he stood motionless, face bloodied and stern, while the people around him joked and congratulated. No one noticed his distress. He moved passed them to his clothing and hung them on, unaware of himself. The Bear could only observe. Something human stirred in it. This child shouldn’t have been here. Someday he would find his way back home.

Tag list under the cut. Let me know if you want to be removed or added!!

BCC tag list: @siarven @worldbuildng @emilyoracle @frvnwrites @kainablue @writingrosesonneptune @contes-de-rheio @faelanvance @outpost51 @dotr-rose-love

#this is continuation of the find the word excerpt i just posted :D #writing #writeblr #fantasy #my writing #writing update #excerpt #am writing #bcc #bcc update #bcc excerpt

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3416 · 5 months

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Listening to good luck babe! by Chapelle Roan and can't get this brain rot several years in the future 1634 AU out of my head because it's just SO Mitch coded. I've never understood why all the fanfics have Mitch as this super out there confident gay when he's arguably the most jock like good Canadian boy that wakes up decades later and realizes oh shittt.... meanwhile Auston confident bi king has been seeing dudes on the DL for years and like lol. Lmao even get back to me when you get over yourself and realize this isn't ever going to go away idiot... good luck babe!!

i really need to get into chapelle roan... loved everything i've seen and heard, i'm just not in a music headspace rn, idk but LOVE THIS. YOU GET ITT TT T T T TTTTT

i try to cut fic characterization some slack bc we all see them differently obv, and if i put myself in the shoes of some of these writers, esp back when auston and mitch were rookies... they prob DID look different than they do now with a more fully formed picture year after year. auston more the calm/quiet/repressed one and mitch the flamboyant rookie who latched himself onto 4983242 men and was open and happy w his emotions before he kinda got smothered by the hate and media..., so i get where the initial thoughts come from but. you are absolutely RIGHT that where they actually stand as people in an rpf canon space imo is like......... mitch is heavily like Just Bros ! Just Dude Things ! Wanna spend my life around my Guys and it's where I'm happiest and most myself ! while going and following the conventional path of marrying your longtime teenage sweetheart with 2.5 kids (ok just zeus for now) in the suburbs of your hometown. auston's certainly come into his own in a lot of ways externally, which i love to interpret that as internally too... figured out what he likes and doesn't... knows himself pretty well. splits time between his fancy condo townhouse in toronto where he calls home now but ALSO in his massive ass summer mansion in arizona. best of both worlds in lots of ways.

#easks #and that is why i NEEED the fic of my dreams of mitch trying to finally detangle those feelings when #theyre all not wrapped up in his livelihood and his hometown like they are rn..#auston. biggest yearner of all fucking time #will absolutely wait for him adn then be offended when mitch insinuates hes been waiting for him fkldsjfdisfakd

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landinrris · 6 months

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(same anon as the one who yapped about early norrix)

& NOW FROM A FICTIONAL ROMANTICIZED POV BC I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT.

i know a lot of ppl headcanon them as quick, instant connection, fast and furious kinda love. met in 2022 and could not be separated since. my counter-offer: slow burn.

think about how lando was listening to martins music for a while now. think about them being moots before they met in 2022. (i....think. not 100% sure but LET ME HAVE THIS.) think about how their in-between mutual friend was probably max v, who we all know is a close friend of both martin and lando. THINK about the ANTICIPATION. THE LONGING. THE WATCHING EACH OTHER THROUGH SCREENS. THE BUILDUP TO THEIR FIRST MEETING.

like to me nothing will ever be as slow burn-y as being internet besties. maybe they were friends and then they saw each other in person and BOOM. fell in love. used the winter break as their honeymoon. wrote songs about him. soft launched on instagram. stole his shirt. the rest is history.

Hello for part 2! 😅

Oof yeah, I do love a good slowburn. If you will allow me to add my two cents into the (fictionalized) shippy side of things. The slowburn of when they met is great especially when you consider that Lando was still in a relationship in August Ibiza 2022. They stay friendly, Lando throws himself into DJing because Martin encourages it and it's an excuse to hang out together outside of race weekends.

When they go to Finland/Ibiza in January 2023, that's when things start to slowly shift. Maybe they start something casual? But by the time they get to New York/Canada, they're on the downward spiral to giving in/acknowledging actual feelings. Up until recently, I liked to headcanon that Spa 2023 was the breaking point. When you consider Lando sits as close as he can get backstage during the Tomorrowland set while Max sits like 5 miles away with Kelly and the rest of the family. Then following the set, Martin and Lando go out together, and then the next morning/afternoon Lando's in Amsterdam posting views from Martin's balcony. Cue summer and the rest of the season. The way Lando (and Jon) is so over-the-moon to see Martin in Vegas... [I've talked about my thoughts on this scenario in a little more detail here]

And then I spent the last three months rotting with Josie about the prospect that maybe somewhere in these last months is a better timeline. Maybe in Vegas they were on the precipice-- aware of their feelings but unsure how to act on them yet. Martin making the effort to show up in France for the ski trip in the middle of his busy end to the year was pretty significant, and it's been history ever since.

And now post winter holidays, they're comfortable enough in who they are and their relationship that they don't mind toeing the line that much more until it gets to an "if you know, you know," type thing.

#emphasizing the word fictionalized here because of recent events #this is a little long and headcanon-y so I'm shoving it in my writing tag #thinking of how they've grown together in the last year and a half is a little wild and makes me a pile of mush real or fictional #lando #martin #norrix #writing tag #ask

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creatorofuniverses · 7 months

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Day 17 – Size Swap

Today's prompt is size swap! For this I decided to go with a size-swap AU for In Deep Waters (regular story here), because it's a thought I've had for a while now and this is as good an excuse as any to write some of it. Enjoy!

____________________

My name is Jeremy Waters, and I have never left New Mexico.

I say this just to point out how mundane my life should be. I don’t take risks, I don’t put myself in dangerous situations. I’m not the kind of person who would, say, go hiking through the Alaskan wilderness. The most excitement I normally get is going out to happy hour with some friends.

I’m fine with that. Really. I don’t need or want much more excitement- I get anxious when there’s more traffic than usual. Boring suits me just fine. Hence why I live in the same town I grew up in, less than an hour from my aunt and uncle, in an apartment owned by a friend of a friend. The college I recently graduated from is a few blocks away, and my upcoming job as a court stenographer only necessitates a fifteen-minute drive.

My life, by all rights, should be entirely normal. Yet, recently it’s been nothing but strange.

Strange, and dangerous.

It started with a walk in the park.

Well, not really, I’m sure it started in some other strange place with a much more unusual set of circumstances, but for me it started then and there. The park was a familiar one to me, being on the walk from my current apartment to the college I’d just graduated from a few weeks ago. Now, in the decent chunk of summer I had between graduation and the start of my new job, I often wound up at the park just to relax. It had a few trees for shade, as well as a retention pond, where ducks liked to hang out. Sometimes I would come and feed them lettuce, just for something to do.

I actually had brought lettuce that day – there was some in my backpack, flat and nearly-empty given that I had no plans for the day and no classes to go to anymore – but there were no ducks in the pond. Looking back, I think that’s why I wandered over rather than staying in the shade of the trees. It was kind of strange to not see even one bird there. The day was hot and dry enough that they would surely seek out the water.

I stepped off of the paved sandstone path and into the scraggly grass, which was doing its best to be green but had only reached a sort of parched greenish yellow. They didn’t waste much water on a sprinkler system for a park that was mostly rocks and benches. The grass got a little greener near the edge of the retention pond, and I stopped there, looking out at the relatively small body of water.

The surface was still. There wasn’t much wind that day, and no birds, so that didn’t strike me as odd at the time. What did seem odd was the amount of wood floating on top of the water, like some rotted old tree branch had crumbled into the pond. Only, there weren’t any trees close enough to do that, and all the trees in the park seemed perfectly healthy. Weird.

I crouched down near the edge of the water, watching the pieces bob slowly. One of the larger bits of wood, a few feet away, seemed to have something on it. I squinted for a few moments before realizing that it was a… doll? Must be. It was only about four inches long, though it was curled up with its eyes closed, as if it were sleeping. It was probably made to look that way. It was all wet, from its short black hair to its little boots, and I looked around with a furrowed brow, wondering if some kid had lost it here or if it had somehow been washed into the pond with the rest of the debris. There had been a bad storm the night before, though I hadn’t heard about anything drastic happening.

Maybe there was a parks and rec lost-and-found I could turn it in to or something. I leaned forward and reached for it, my arm outstretched and my fingers barely brushing against it before I managed to snag the edge of the wood and drag the whole thing closer.

Then it opened its eyes.

I yelped, caught by surprise with my own eyes wide, and then the little not-a-doll shrieked in return. It scrambled to its hands and knees – dexterously, way too naturally, oh my god it must actually be alive – and skittered away.

And fell right off the edge of the wood and into the pond with a quiet plop!

“Oh shit,” I breathed, at a loss for anything else to say for a long moment. Too long, my brain clamored at me, what if it couldn’t swim? I pushed past the impossibility of it all, which was conspiring with my anxiety to grab my full attention, and after only a moment of twitchy hesitation I plunged my hand into the water after the little thing.

I waved my hand around in the water blindly for a moment before feeling some movement, and I managed to cup my hand around something small and flailing and pull it up out of the water. I had barely managed this, my hand and wrist dripping water and my fingers loosely holding onto the little whatever-it-was, when a tentacle – yes, you read that right – shot up out of the water after me and wrapped itself around my wrist.

I shrieked. It was an embarrassing shriek, far from manly, but in my defense I was thoroughly freaked out by this point. I waved my arm madly, trying to dislodge the slimy, completely unwanted grip of the tentacle even as I tried to backpedal further from the edge of the water. It clung to me, slick, sucker-covered muscle squeezing my wrist with shockingly strong tension, until I’d pulled enough that a good length of the tentacle was stretched out of the water. I caught a glimpse of something, a shadowy suggestion of some larger body coming towards the surface, before it finally let me go. The tentacle whipped back into the water, which rippled with the motion before falling still again, as if nothing had ever happened.

Rubbing my wrist with my other hand, I scrambled to my feet and made it all the way back to the benches before I remembered why I’d been reaching into the water in the first place. Peeling open my fingers, which had clenched up in a loose sort of cage around the little doll-thing, I looked down and tried to assess what the fuck was even going on. My heavy breathing and pounding heart settled a bit as the confusion of this new mystery overwhelmed my previous panic.

Whatever it was, it was definitely alive. It pushed against my fingers with weak little hands and feet, struggling to sit up in my palm. Upon closer look, it seemed to be dressed in teeny furs, which were drenched after being submerged in the pond. It had short black hair, dripping with the tiniest droplets of water I’d ever seen, and its features looked vaguely indigenous. When it finally managed to sit up, it looked up at me – with a little face so round and babyish that it must be young, whatever it was – and babbled out something miserably. “Na’awa eren al? Eren al an ch’itok?” I didn’t recognize the language at all, much less the strange clicking sound the little thing added right in the middle, and my confusion must have shown because that tiny expression only got increasingly distressed. The little thing sniffled, face contorting into pure childlike dismay, before it burst into tears. “Il ta-impi ilo nani!” it wailed, before curling up even smaller and sobbing as noisily as something that small could.

When I say I was both heart-stricken and shocked, both are an understatement. No matter how impossible the situation, the fact remained that for all intents and purposes I had a four-inch-tall child crying in my hand, and there was nobody and nothing around to help or explain. A quick glance showed that no other regular people were around, and there weren’t even any other impossible, tiny people floating on the pieces of wood that remained in the pond. This was up to me, and I had absolutely no idea what to do.

So I did what I do whenever any situation gets strange and unpredictable- I went home.

I tucked the sobbing little kid close to me, hoped like hell nobody would notice, and walked on home at the fastest casual power-walk I could manage. It probably didn’t look casual at all, but thankfully nobody looked at me twice (even if they did look at me once, something my social anxiety couldn’t help but clock, and the fear of being asked what I was doing chased me all the home).

My brain raced even faster than my feet along the way. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Tiny people weren’t supposed to exist, and the retention pond in a city park sure as hell wasn’t supposed to have anything in it with tentacles like that. The storm last night couldn’t explain that. I’d heard stories about creatures in the ocean getting picked up and put somewhere else during hurricanes, but the storm had hardly been a hurricane, and besides, this was New Mexico. We were way too far from the ocean for that to be a thing. Had an octopus escaped from the local aquarium? Did we even have an aquarium in town? I was positive we didn’t, actually.

I arrived home with a lot of questions and a total of zero answers. Still, shutting and locking the door behind me was a huge relief. I might still have a reality-breaking little kid in my hand, but at least no zoo-escapees were about to lunge out at me here. We were safe.

Looking down, I carefully pulled my hand away, peeking in at the tiny anomaly. The miniature child looked back up at me with obvious fear and hesitation; they’d stopped crying, but their expression still held all too much misery, their dark little eyes watery and their cheeks flushed with emotion. Poor thing. I hadn’t exactly made the best impression.

“It’s okay,” I told them softly. They startled at my voice, flinching back against my fingers, but still stared up at me. Maybe they were trying to understand; I had no doubt that they understood my language about as well as I understood theirs, but I was hoping my tone might come across all the same. “I’m not going to hurt you.” They kept staring for a moment before sniffling and rubbing their eyes with the back of one teeny hand.

They were still soggy – holding them so close had made a little wet spot on my t-shirt – so I figured the first order of business was to get them dried off. I hurried to the bathroom and rummaged around in the linen closet for a washcloth (a whole towel would obviously have been overkill). Setting them down carefully on the bathroom counter, I watched them get to their feet before hesitantly offering the washcloth. “Do you… want to get dry?” I asked, hoping at least the question would come across. It suddenly felt awkward. This was a kid, impossibly teeny or not, and they weren’t my kid. I was hoping they were old enough to be able to do stuff for themself, like drying off, because I suddenly very much didn’t want to come across as some weird stranger trying to do that for them.

To my extreme relief, they looked at me quizzically but reached out for the washcloth with two teeny little hands. I let them take it, though the moment I let go their arms fell down with the weight of it, and they had to work hard to wrangle it enough to wipe their little face with. They were just so small. How was this even possible?

I ruminated on that as I took a seat on the edge of the nearby bathtub, putting me a little closer to their level but far enough away that I didn’t feel like I was hovering weirdly. The tiny kiddo barely seemed to notice anyways. They gave me a few little glances – more curious than scared, though that might have just been me projecting my own hopes there, as the miniature expressions were hard to see to begin with – and started toweling off their hair.

They then plunked themselves down to a seat, with a motion that only enforced my idea that they were just a kid, and pulled off their little boots. They emptied the water (barely a droplet) out of one with a small “egch!” of disgust and I couldn’t help but smile at the tiny theatrics. Once their boots and socks had been peeled off – revealing the tiniest little toes I’ve ever seen – they set them next to each other with fastidious perfectionism. They then patted down their hair, attempting to get it into order, before unfastening their leathered fur jacket with little toggles that were almost too teeny for me to see. They had on a little fabric shirt on underneath, a deep red in color, that they then dabbed at with the edge of the washcloth. They’d been soaked through, poor thing, but at least they seemed content to get dry now. Children were pretty resilient about that sort of thing; my entire day would have been ruined for sure. The jury was still out on whether my day had already been ruined by a sudden octopus attack.

The careful way in which the tiny kiddo arranged their jacket to dry and the little ways that they kept taming their drying hair made me guess that this was a little girl rather than a little boy. I leaned forward a bit, trying to see if the features of their face matched this assumption, and they turned toward me with wide, dark eyes and a look of surprise on their tiny face. It was hard to tell with kids, but I was pretty sure I was right. I could at least go on that assumption until we figured out enough communication for them – her – to tell me otherwise.

Once she seemed to have dried herself off as much as she wanted to, I reached over to grab the washcloth. The tiny girl flinched, looking alarmed, and I suddenly realized that she probably thought I was going to grab her up again. Whoops. “It’s okay,” I assured her, making my voice as gentle as I could. I tried to move more slowly, curving my hand around her to pick up the washcloth. “All done?” I asked, gesturing with the cloth as much as I dared.

She tilted her head a little, looking between me and the washcloth with utmost concentration, before nodding. “Tyo,” she announced. I took that as a yes. I pulled away the washcloth slowly, giving her time to protest, but she didn’t.

Well, that was our very first tally mark under “successful communication”. Here’s to hoping we could keep that up.

I stood, eliciting a wide-eyed stare from the teeny girl on my counter, and hung the washcloth on the shower curtain rod to dry. A strange smell wafted towards me from it, and I sniffed the washcloth a bit to double-check. It smelled like… salt. Like seawater. Brow furrowed, I lifted up my own shirt, smelling the damp spot that had been formed when I carried the drenched little girl home from the park. Saltwater again.

That made no sense at all. It was a retention pond in the middle of a landlocked state, it shouldn’t have any salt in it, much less smell like the ocean. I stared down at the little girl on the counter, and she looked up at me, tiny and impossible and unable to give me any answers even if she knew them.

Just what on earth was going on?

#GtWAC #my writing #yes still catching up but also this was fun #I've had this AU in my brain for so long you don't even know

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somewitchymusings · 9 months

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End-of-year witchcraft in the Southern Hemisphere

I've been thinking a lot about how we do end-of-year witchy stuff during the summer. Many of the witchy creators I follow talk so much about winter being this great time to reflect on the year, with the Winter Solstice being this cosy, meditative time for reflection. They then speak to the welcoming of the sun during the solstice, allowing you to dream big for 2024 and set those goals and intentions which get brighter with the sun, etc, etc. Naturally, these kind of descriptions and energies aren't super helpful for me in the Southern Hemisphere. As such, I have been trying to cultivate my reflections and new-year dreamings to move with the unique weather.

I just celebrated the Summer Solstice/Litha. It was sunny, I said prayers to Helios, bought some sun flowers for my home, and did a big spring clean. I feel a big clean before harvest season/Lammas or the "height" of the hot summer makes most sense for my practice. It clears out space for the upcoming year and helps me ground before the busyness of Christmas.

Although that day happened to be sunny, as I write this post a great thunderstorm is rolling in. Living in Naarm/Melbourne (Australia), our weather is pretty inconsistent (yeah the: "melbourne has 6 seasons in 1 day!" comment is pretty true). The Wurrundjeri people and other Kulin nation peoples call this season Garrawang, Kangaroo-Apple Season. It is characterised by changing, thundering weather and long days with short nights. I honestly feel that this chaotic weather suits the "silly season," especially as a queer person when holidays are always that bit trickier. I'm no chaos magician, but I think it would make a lot of sense to harness that in a way that feels good to you. I think this energy is overlooked by trying to fit our experience of weather to the (Celtic, and frequently Americanised) Wheel of the Year - just because it is "summer" really doesn't mean it's all about sunshine magick. Especially in Australia where summers can be a brutal time for many crops.

For me, this shifting weather has been an opportunity to reflect on the previous year of 2023. Not just reminding myself of things I achieved, but things I didn't. Some goals can move into the new year, but many I came to realise were just unrealistic or didn't actually resonate with me and the things that make me happy. I have a tendensy to over-interlectualise my problems - trying to find reasons for not achieving or under-achieving. All of this is, of course, a whole bunch of capitalist brain-rot, but nevertheless the perfectionist in me struggles with the New Year. Instead, I try to reframe and witness that there is a lot that is entirely outside my control. I'll be writing out some of these things on paper, burning them, and blowing them out to the wind for the chaotic weather to take away - a symbolic reminder to go-with-the-flow and that the wheel keeps turning. I don't know about others, but The World and Temperance have been showing up in my readings pretty consistently.

I see this time as very 9 of Wands vibes, like a message of push through: there's more goodness to come! (i.e. the wands court cards, and the harvest season/Lammas/the height of summer). But also, there will there be much change, and change is good (i.e. New Years, this thundering weather, how Autumn proceeds summer). Feels appropriate that the 10 of wands - a card of carrying too many burdens - proceeds this. We then get that lovely playful page of wands, keen to explore and create. End-of-year reflection, to me in the Southern Hemisphere, is not so much a cosy, introspective time; but instead a fiery, chaotic, energetic time. I have to actively cultivate calm moments, because everything else is shifting. And as everything shifts, I'm finding ways to go-with-the-flow and shift with it - honoring what I can't control.

#helios deity #southern hemisphere witch #litha #summer solstice #helpol #hellenic polytheism

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ask-thedepressedkidatthetable · 3 months

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░𝒲𝐼𝒫 𝑀𝑒𝓂𝑒 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒲𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈

Fill out the form for your current WIP ( Finished it! Posted on my so called "art" blog here ) and tag your fellow writers to share the fun!

TAGGED BY: @heartxshaped-bruises TAGGING: @ask-flip-frost @exquisitexagony @eeliabwrites @fangsandmagic @godstrayed @wehavefoundthestars

( Wild shots coming in here but hopefully I hit a mark on some of you?? )

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒯𝒾𝓉𝓁𝑒? Extinction. Not like, amazing, but it certainly sets the tone and sometimes a simple title works best.

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒? Horror with some psychological and mystery themes. I think it's a bit short to really claim it as a mystery or psychological horror since it has a somewhat open-and-shut ending but the mood was certainly there.

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓈? Isolation, Falling into insanity, Sickness, Rot and Death

𝑀𝑜𝑜𝒹𝒷𝑜𝒶𝓇𝒹 / 𝒜𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓉𝒾𝒸? ( Included above! )

𝐹𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝐿𝒾𝓃𝑒 / 𝐿𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝐿𝒾𝓃𝑒 / 𝐹𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝐿𝒾𝓃𝑒? Here's the first line to ( hopefully ) pull you in:

"There was a day no more missing posters were pinned to the old cork board and the morning commute was quiet."

𝒞𝓊𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉? 931 - It's a short-story!! Plus, I've been struggling with inspiration for another novel or however you want to call it, a decent sized book.

𝒜𝓃𝓎 𝐼𝓃𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈? Actually took up the whole short-story concept after reading a collection from Shirley Jackson, in addition to The Haunting Of Hill House and We Have Always Lived In The Castle. I was particularly moved with Pillar Of Salt and The Summer People. That is my exact brand of horror and I thought it'd be fun to play with the genre and format length. Since I've been struggling with the longer stuff, trying to shift my mindset away from this idea that it has to have a high word count to be good.

𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 / 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓂𝑒 𝒮𝑜𝓃𝑔(𝓈)? Just since they fit the aesthetic :)

Remedy - Kaiti Kink Ensemble

Lullaby Of Woe - Ashley Serena

The Foundations Of Decay - My Chemical Romance

𝒜𝓃𝓎 𝒮𝓆𝓊𝒾𝒸𝓀 / 𝒯𝓇𝒾𝑔𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈? I feel like the themes section of this covered it pretty well. It doesn't have a happy ending if that bothers you.

#ooc #tagging game #[thank you!!]#[this finally got me to post a bit of my writing]#[rather than just hording it...]#[also very happy with that aesthetic]

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nyctophobia-au · 1 year

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Where I've Been

Okay, so, 'sup babygrills. This is going to be a bit of a lengthy post, but I feel like I should update followers on here as to where I've been because I haven't been active for, like, months.

If you don't care to read all of the stuff under the cut, that's fine. Here's my TL;DR: I've been having issues with mental illness, trauma, motivation, gender dysphoria (?), and have been busy with college and YouTube/social media stuff. However, luckily my HK special interest has returned and I plan on posting more often hopefully. (Mild cw for mental health mentions ig.)

Okay, so, to begin, I've been gone a lot due to responsibilities outside of making Nyctophobia content. So, up until recently, I've been working on graduating from college. I've been finishing up my final class this Summer, but last quarter in the Spring was really difficult for me time-wise and mental health-wise. I've had a lot of issues with depression and anxiety throughout my life, and being at college was torturous and sapped all of my energy. It did not help that, last quarter, I had to be there at the college for six hours of my day five days a week. It was not easy to make art for myself and my channel, much less for this blog.

Outside of college, and I've mentioned this before in passing, but I also make YouTube videos and, at the moment, YT is my income (alongside comms as well). I've been pretty focused on keeping my my schedule at least a little bit consistent, and that alone has been draining and tiring. It also affects the kind of art that I can create, as I have to draw certain things for certain videos. I've been really weary when it comes to making content as of late, and I really need to take a small break so that I can work on stuff I actually want to work on rather than being stuck drawing certain things for the sake of videos I'm not inspired to make.

Pivoting more into specifics about my mental health, I have been needing to see a therapist for a long while, but I haven't had the motivation or the funds to pursue that option up until recently. Hopefully, I will be attending therapy soon. Last year in, uhm, September I had a particularly bad mental health episode and I've come to realise that some events that happened during that time have left me with trauma that I'm still currently working past and healing from. I've had issues with self-harm, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and self-perception for a long time, but in the Spring they were stifling and impossible to ignore. Lately, they have been better, though. So, that's nice. There hasn't been just the usual stuff lately (oh no, that's be too easy), but I've gotten jumpscared with gender issues (hooray, my favourite /s) during this time, and am struggling with my self-perception regarding my gender up to current day. (Hi, I currently go by Rot or Sexy Fictional Bug Enthusiast and my pronouns are they/them, but they may very well be they/he soon). Also, I had a bad identity crisis a couple of months ago and had to do this whole rebrand thing that was a lot of work and it kinda sucked away a lot of energy and time.

On top of all of that, ya boy's special interest metre has been focused primarily on OC stuff and other things outside of HK. It's pretty well-known that I have autism and Hollow Knight is one of my special interests. I'm unsure how it works for most people, but my fixations tend to come in waves and fluctuate (though super special meaningful ones stick for a long time). So, like, I had this whole issue with my mind always being fixated more on things outside of HK. It's been my OCs for a few months, but alongside that, I also suddenly became enraptured by The Owl House and my Digimon special interest sleeper agent returned for a hot second there. As of recently, I've been interested in HK again, but have been afraid to start/work on projects related to my AU because of me having to work on OC content for my channel and also for my friends who are invested.

As of right now, I have some more time on my hands to make the content I want to make, and my HK fixation is back (thank fuck). I've generally been doing a bit better in the mental health arena, but I will also be taking some time off of YT and posting videos regularly in favour of focusing on making stuff I want to make. So, like, expect me to be more active here for some time. I might be finishing a fic in the next month (hopefully) as well, and I have some general comic and art ideas. I just want to draw Auric again, god dammit. My beloved. <3

Anyways, thanks for reading if you did. Just figured I'd make a post about this for people who thought I died or something (and for the people who were once interested in my projects on here and are starving for content, lmao).

#updates #vent kinda #absence explanation #rot rambles

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flowerypotter · 2 years

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thinking of you, with my head underwater

For some reason she thought something would be fundamentally - biologically - wrong about being with him; like his calloused hands and messy hair and clean childhood simply could not belong with her sharp smile and dirty blood. Even so, her body has embraced him as her own; nestling him in her cooked grip and keeping him safe inside.

summer jily! in love jily! they love each other!!! yes they do!!

read here or on ao3!

and you’re moving, through my bloodstream

with every heartbeat it’s getting hard to remember to breathe

(Upstream - Anna Bates)

August has a restlessness to it - an urgency she feels and fears cannot escape. Something has been brewing in the pit of her stomach, rotting her liver - she knows the word for it; oh she’s used it many times. Never with him though, not just yet.

As the third weekend of the month approaches and her boyfriend invites her for a refreshing day by the pool she finds herself pondering if the questionable amount of sunscreen she’s applied makes her look like a bit of a snowman. She's in the midst of reflecting this pressing concern when someone puts an arm around her.

‘Red, please get your boyfriend to come out and have some fun.’ Sirius greets her. ‘He’s been moping about you abandoning him since the minute you left. It’s kind of pathetic actually.’

Sirius Black had not changed since she last saw him, same raven-black hair and aristocratic features. Same carefully careless mannerisms and slightly crooked smile.

She grins. ‘Hello to you too Sirius.’

He pats her head. ‘We’re out back. Did you bring drinks?’

She wiggles the bag hanging from her fingers. ‘Do you know where-?’

‘Yes yes, go on, he’s over there.’

James is leaning on the gateway to his pool. Messy hair sticking up and sporting summer-tanned skin glowing incandescently. He’s mid-laughter when she looks.

She admires him and his blinding smile - not at all ready for the overwhelming feeling that arises from her lungs and into her brain - leaving her lightheaded and unbalanced. She stumbles on a tricky step and he rushes to right her. ‘All right there, Lily?’

And there go the butterflies, always when he calls her name. So many years of curses and vicious surnames blossomed into affectionate touches, secrets and summers by his side.

‘Yeah, just the heat I reckon.’ Ohmygod what is wrong with her, he's her boyfriend for god's sake. She shouldn’t be blushing and stumbling around like some school-girl with a crush. Although, fair to say, indeed she is.

‘And your enthralling physique Prongs, I know you make me stumble around you too.’ Sirius winks.

‘Fuck off’

He salutes, bringing two fingers up to his temple. ‘As you wish.’ And promptly jumps into the pool, splashing Lily and making her squeal in surprise. ‘Fuck you.’ She calls after him.

James chuckles in response and turns his head to her.

Lily looks at him then, cupping his head and bringing it closer to her; their lips brushing. She smiles. ‘Hi’ .

James smiles back. ‘Hi.’

They pull apart and he tugs her into a hug. She rests her chin on his shoulders and he presses a kiss the crown of her head. ‘How was your summer?’

‘James, I saw you two weeks ago.’

‘Oh so now it's a crime to ask about my girlfriend.’

‘Shove off.’ She makes to step away from her but he grabs her by the waist.

They stay in silence for a few seconds, the air heavy with something sweet. Maybe she’s imagining it but it seems as though they’re both trying to bite back the same words.

James kicks a stray rock and brings a hand up to his hair ‘I’ve missed you, you know.’

She looks down at the water to avoid the intensity of his gaze; his reflection is so bright it hurts her eyes. I’ve missed you too, so much I can taste it, so much I've had to stop myself from showing up on your doorstep and taking your face in my arms and shouting my love for you from the highest rooftop in this cursed city.

‘James..’ She starts, she almost says it right then.

‘Hi Lily’. Interrupts a voice before she can complete her answer.

Remus Lupin comes into the garden wearing a white t-shirt and green swimming trunks, he’s shouldering a bunch of towels and maneuvers them to one side as soon as she sees him, raising a hand in greeting.

‘Remus!’ Lily screams and runs up to hug him. She wraps his fingers around his neck, and they lose balance with the force of the impact, he laughs into her hair and pats her back.

‘Wow, I did not get that much enthusiasm. Did you Prongs?’ Sirius comes up from behind, raising his sunglasses to his head in contempt.

James sighs. ‘We all knew Moony would steal her away eventually.’

‘Tough luck, you had a good run there.’

‘Oh shut up’ Lily replies, making a very rude gesture that her mother would most definitely not approve of.

She brings her head closer to Remus’. ‘How was last night?’

He avoids her gaze ‘Oh, you know, same as usual.’ He nods at James and Sirius, now performing a fairly dramatic play in which she rips out each of their hearts and proceeds to stomp on them while executing some very intricate dancing routine. ‘They help.’

She nods. ‘I brought around that potion I told you about.’

He starts shaking his head. ‘Lily you don’t have to-’

‘I know.’ She turns to look at him. ‘I want to.’

He quiets. ‘Thank you.’

She presses a kiss to his cheek and hears the drowned screams arise behind her.

—--

He’s laying in the sun and she’s admiring the glow of his golden skin, and how basking in his light is making her see things differently. Like when she woke this morning and thanked a higher power for allowing her to be here at the same time as him. She doesn’t particularly believe in God, much to her family’s disamy; but it feels a bit sacrilegious, to be with him and offer nothing in return - to have him hold her and not ask for forgiveness.

She thinks if there is a God- if she ever met him, she’d just want to thank him, for everything; for him.

She leans down and presses a kiss to his sun-kissed forehead. ‘You’re hot.’

He squints up at her. ‘Thanks?’

She slaps his chest lightly. ‘Your temperature you idiot.’

He laughs softly and nods to the pool. ‘D’you want to go in?’

She offers her hand and pulls him up. ‘Sure.’

—

Of course she knows she has to say it first, it's the natural order of things. She knows he’s waiting for her, not wanting to pressure her, letting her take the lead - write their narrative. And she does feel it, deeply, inconsolably and seraphically. It is almost a tangible thing, a ball of light that has grown in the base of her throat, taking her breath away. But still- something stops her from saying it, fear maybe. Not of rejection- of acknowledgement, of admitting she’s out of control and he’s the only thing keeping her grounded, that she’s been burnt so many times and his kisses are a balm on her red-scrubbed skin.

Shaking her head out of its stupor- she plunges into the pool with a resounding splash, her muscles spasming from the cold.

Lily dives downwards, laying down at the very bottom of the pool, and looking up at the blurry surface.

She thinks about love; and how you dip your feet and get pulled down by the current, how you taste a drop and your head gets tipped back, throat bare, more and more being poured down your lips into your lungs, pooling until you’re drowning in it - gasping for breath but still thirsty for more. Always thirsty.

As her head breaks through the water to come up for air, she can feel his eyes following her every move. ‘Why don’t you quit staring and get in with me?’

He blushes a bit at getting caught, but quickly recovers - messing up his hair and standing to meet her at the edge of the pool. ‘Aren’t you cold?’ he looks up at the suddenly cloudy sky, ‘it’s about to rain I reckon.’

Lily circles his wrist and tugs. ‘Freezing. Come warm me up.’

He sputters out a laugh. ‘Alright then.’

As he takes off his T-shirt Lily can’t help but stare at his toned muscles, he smiles at her like he knows what she’s thinking and pushes himself into the water, grimacing when the cold hits him. ‘Fuck, it’s cold.’ he can hear Lily’s teeth start chattering. ‘C’mere’.

He brings her into her arms and rests his forehead on her shoulder. Rubbing her arms to bring some warmth into them.

Something screams inside of her. She realises that she’s in so deep she can barely feel the bottom.

Every time he does something like this - like kiss her temple or smile from across the room, or take her hand while having dinner with their friends, she feels as though that is it- she has no more love to give to him, no more space in her overflowing heart. He proves her wrong every time, there is always more pouring out of her into his ready steadfast hands.

The glistening warmth inside her is ready to spill out. ‘James.’

Her words must have sounded graver than intended because he quickly rights himself and looks in her eyes. ‘Lily?’ he asks ‘is everything alright?

‘Yes.’ she starts laughing nonsensically- the world’s secrets being revealed to her. It's so simple. ‘Yes, everything’s perfect.’

He brings his hand up to his hair. ‘I’m not sure I underst-’

‘I love you.’

He looks like a deer caught in headlights. Eyes wide, as though confused. ‘What?’

Lily starts to repeat herself but he looks like the words are sinking in and suddenly he’s messily kissing her, every part of her. Her cheeks, her chin, her eyelids, her nose, her shoulder, her throat - making his way up until he finally presses his lips to hers.

Something about him is he kisses with his whole heart; you can feel his love pouring out of his sleeve - which is why when he says it it’s like she’s been hearing it her whole life. Still, it takes her breath away for a second before he swallows her pleasant sigh. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’

She starts to feel wet drops fall out of the sky, splashing and splintering when coming in contact with the surface of the pool. Water meeting itself, reuniting in the cycle of all things known and unknown. The birth and the rebirth, cleansing her soul and clearing her vision.

Her name sweet on his lips ‘Lily, Lily, Lily’. He leans down again and presses his lips to hers; it's messy and kind of awkward because they are not able to stop smiles from bubbling up; relishing in this moment when even in the rain he’s holding her and everything is good.

For him it was different.

James has always known they belonged together; were meant for each other. Didn't need to make sure or question fate; there are times he’s doubted of course - but he’s never given up hope. Really, he’s always known in the back of his head that this could - would - be the outcome.

So when he tilts her chin upwards after hearing the words, it's not anything completely new. It feels like coming home. And when he says them back he can't help the feeling that he's playing right into some sweet cosmic game.

Rain is now ceaselessly pouring, wet pearls peppering their skin as they embrace. Thunder rumbling.

Her eyes inexplicably start watering - the emotion of the moment too much for a second, their whole history resting upon her shoulders. It’s like he understands though, his fingers immediately wiping the tears from her eyes, his lips gently brushing them away from her skin.

‘Alright, Evans?’

She softly nods. ‘We should get out.’

‘We should.’

‘I love you.’

‘I know.’

—---

She’s wearing his sweater, wet hair dripping onto the marble floor. A Bowie record can be heard from across the room. A mug of tea piping hot in front of her. A summer storm waging outside. It’s love.

#jily #jily fic #happy jilytober!#my first fic aaajsdljsd #marauders #james potter #lily evans

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