#ill tag those two tagging anything else feels weird

[slocumjoe]

usually when people apologize for something being long its like...two paragraphs, but i admire that you actually come through on that

I personally lay hexes on people who post very long text blocks without a readmore, so I did have to go through and just copy+paste so I could put a readmore. Also, I italicized quotations/parentheses and italicized+bolded+colored the names, as I usually do, just because it’s easier for me to read. sorry for like, hijacking your stuff

anyway, @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis’s band au

Sole: is the director of the band. It’s more of a community band that they formed up after being medically discharged from the marines. Always wanted to be in a concert band/have their own band, and was in college for music education before enlisting due to financial disparities. Allows anyone and everyone who has a passion for music to join, and is a very open and free director, does their best to be friends with everyone in the band so the members don’t just see them as a director. Has even reached out to many people (some of the companions) to join. Though they’re fun, they take the band very seriously. If someone doesn’t take the band seriously with their commitment/dedication they very firmly ask them to consider their involvement. Does their best to help out anyone in need (practice, transportation, etc). Does their best to put together community concerts to raise funds for charities or funds for the band so they can travel/have music or instruments. Will put together specific pieces to show allow people to show off their skills.

Cait: I think she would be a trombone player. She used to be a trumpet player throughout grade school, as it was one of the only escapes from her abusive home life. After school practices, concert nights/trips, spending time in the practice rooms after school to avoid going home. Though it was originally a tool to escape home, she grew to love playing in a band, the support of her director and the friends in her section/bandin general. Though, when she was in high school her parents stole her instrument (which was loaned to her by the school since she couldn’t afford one of her own) in order to buy drugs. This made Cait very understandably upset, and it caused her a lot of trouble since the trumpet belonged to the school, so she wasn’t allowed to play anymore despite it not being her fault. She never forgave her parents for that, and without the support of the band, and her lack of stability at home caused her to fall off, much like her parents. Drugs, fights, etc. It took several years of her life, but after one-too-many arrests, she was forced to join NA (narcotic anonymous), and saw a flier for Sole’s community band. She wanted to pick up trumpet again, but too many fights ruined the dexterity of her hands, but Sole helped her pick up trombone, since it doesn’t require finger movements, and since she had past experience with a brass instrument, she didn’t have to learn an entirely new embouchure, just adjusted it to the new instrument. Being in the band has helped her stave off any relapses, as she knows Sole relies on her to be the principal trombone player, and she’s also grateful of all the help they offered her when she was at one of her lowest points.

Curie: I think she would primarily play violin, but her eagerness and desire to learn has caused her to attempt to pick up just about every other string instrument. Though, her primary job as a pharmacist already makes it difficult to dedicate a ton of time to the band, which has caused her much grief and has even caused a minor break-down, because she wants to dedicate herself to your band, and wants to learn so many new instruments. Sole, doing their best to be a good friend and director, allows her to learn on the donated instruments they’ve gotten, or the few they've bought and restored themselves. This allows Curie to try a new instrument every few concerts, which involves months of learning while they practice the new pieces. So far, Curie has picked up viola, and cello. Though, Curie is more than happy to play the violin if Sole really needs her for a specific piece or two.

Danse: Is also a veteran, in fact, it was through the service that he met Sole. They were under his command for the first few years of their service before being transferred to put their skill elsewhere. He was medically discharged after a mission went wrong. Danse entirely blames himself, because he believes it was his decision making that led to the deaths of his entire team, sans himself for being in power armor, despite the fact that his mission was doomed from the start. He completely lost his self-confidence and his purpose in life after his injuries made it impossible for him to rejoin the service. He reconnected with Sole at a veteran association, where they told him of their band. Sole offered Danse to join, as there were a few other veterans from the community in. He refused at first, since he didn’t know how to play a single instrument, but reluctantly accepted their offer to be taught one. I had a bit of a hard time choosing which instrument he would play, since I think he would be either a french horn or euphonium player. Sole let him try out both, and since I’m more partial to him playing french horn, that’s what I’m gonna go with him choosing. Being in Sole’s band has helped him regain his self confidence, and has given him a purpose. He is a dedicated and quick learner, which has made learning the instrument very easy for him, though he has a tendency to over-play when practicing. He was also a little hard to get along with at first, since he treated his section like a unit of soldiers, barking orders and sharing his not-so-nice opinions towards players who weren’t as dedicated as he thought they should be. Though,after a meeting with Sole, he became more mindful of his behavior. Speaking of Sole, he is extremely proud of them, growing into a leader/director/teacher, as he remembered how they were when they were first under his command years ago.

Deacon: Deacon is adaptive, and loves to move around, which is why I think he would be in percussion. He is a sort of jack of all trades, knows how to play most instruments that involve mallets, drum sticks, chimes, etc. If it involves a stick and something to hit, he’s on it. This may involve him having to move around to different instruments throughout a concert or even in a single piece, but he’s got it under control. He moves so fluidly and quietly you sometimes don’t even see him transfer instruments. He is just suddenly playing when he comes in. He can even play piano in a pinch, though he isn’t a fan of being that close to the edge of the stage, so far in the front of the band, which is why he is particularly fond of percussion, because they’re in the back. He is sort of hidden back there, that’s something he very much vib(raphone)es with. He will also lightly make fun of Sole for the faces they pull while directing after practice/concerts. He has even made faces back in the middle of practices, which has caused Sole to get distracted more than once, to which they will lightly scold him afterwards.

Hancock: Saxophone. When I think of Hancock, I think of smooth, really mellow and slow jazz. He is an amazing player, but prefers slower songs, songs that don’t require much technicality or any strong concentration/practice. He is a very lax person, not much of a fan of hard and rigid genres of music. He much prefers jazz, pieces that have interpretive solos/duets up to the players. I think at first he didn’t take the band seriously, would occasionally not show up for practice and a few concerts, because he either didn’t care or got too high (more than just weed with this guy, he does harder drugs usually). After Sole had a talk with him though, he initially quit. He originally joined the band because he liked how fun and free Sole was, and how loosely they managed the band. When Sole had that talk with him about needing more dedication from him to be in the band, he initially was upset, believing that went completely against the “freeness” of the band. But, he very much missed playing for Sole’s band, and worked out an agreement with them. He helped Sole form a full jazz band, which was much more lowkey, and comprised a smaller section of the band, purely for those that wanted to play full on jazz pieces. The smaller band had less practices and would usually play 1 or 2 pieces at the end of a normal concert. Out of respect to Sole’s dedication to the band (and to Cait’s triggers) he no longer shows up high, and doesn’t not mention his drug use/habits during meetings.

MacCready: I see Mac as a violinist as well. He played throughout most of grade school, but had to drop out of school when he accidentally got his girlfriend pregnant. He had to drop out of school and drop the cello in favor of working to support himself and his son. His girlfriend’s parents thankfully watched Duncan while Mac went to work, but that stopped after his girlfriend died. They blamed it on him, and in a way, he blamed himself too. She had been on her way back to her parents when she was in a car accident, which she unfortunately passed away from. This resulted in Mac almost falling apart. It was a really tough time for him, and became even harder when Duncan became seriously ill. This is how he met Sole, through one of their charity events. Sole’s charity raised a ton of money for the families of sick kids, helping them afford treatment. Once Duncan got better, Mac felt like he had to thank Sole personally. This is where they offered him to join the band. He was hesitant at first, since he had very little time as it is, and thought he needed to find extra childcare for Duncan, but Sole encouraged him to bring Duncan to practices, and has even helped him with childcare, offering to watch Duncan for free while Mac was at work, and Sole even started teaching him how to play piano. It was very difficult for Mac to make friends as a single father, especially since his girlfriend died, but joining the band has given him a chance for friends, even some around his age with kids of their own.

Nick: When he was younger, Nick was a very good trumpet player. Though he hadn’t picked it up in many many years by the time he met Sole. As a retired detective that suddenly had a ton of time on his hands, he looked for ways to occupy himself. He heard about Sole’s band through the paper, and when he read that it was an open community band that required a little more than light commitment, he pulled his old trumpet out of storage and showed up to practice. Though it took some time to get used to it again, and after a few cleanings and tune ups, he was back to the star trumpet player he had been back when he was younger. Though he makes jokes about how difficult it is to keep up with the younger members, he is constantly impressing everyone with his range and speed. Nick has taken a very strong liking to Sole, due to their kindness and dedication to the band and the members of it. He tries to take them under his wing, helping them manage the band and concerts and charities and everything else. He worries Sole will overwork themselves, much like he had during his job, so he offers his help where he can, and reminds them to take breaks, both physically and mentally.

Piper: Played the flute and also picked up the piccolo throughout grade school, though it was more of a hobby and hadn’t played either since high school until she joined Sole’s band. She found the band while reporting on it during one of the charity events Sole put on, and liked what she heard so much she decided to pick up her hobby again. Her being a journalist for the local paper has its benefits, because she will write articles about the band, upcoming concerts, etc (she may or may not include how beautifully the flute section played, and write about how one unknown flutist in particular played so beautifully, it moved the crowd to tears). Her contacts and connections through her job have elicited larger donations for the band and the charities it supports, but has also gotten them very prestigious concert opportunities. Piper herself is a wonderful flute player, and since her job requires a lot of typing, technical pieces where her fingers are flying over the keys are her specialty.

Preston: Clarinet and assistant band director. Also a veteran, and was in an army band before his enlistment contract ended. He enjoys marches the most, but is also a fan of jazz pieces, which has allowed him to explore his confidence a bit more with all the interpretive pieces. Joined Sole’s community band for his love of playing clarinet. He offhandedly mentioned wanting to learn how to direct to one of his section-mates, to which Sole had heard and taken seriously. He was extremely unconfident throughout his life, especially in leader roles, but has slowly grown much more confident under Sole’s direction. They will switch out during concerts, with Sole picking up their own instrument and joining the band while he gets to direct. Sole has involved him in deciding the theme of the concert, picking out songs based on what strengths the band had/things they wanted to improve. Sole even handed the reins entirely over to Preston so he could coordinate his own concert and direct it entirely on his own. Preston has excelled with directing, but has unfortunately fallen victim to Deacon’s light bullying over his “director faces”.

Strong: Strong is a huge man, in every way. There aren’t many big-person friendly instruments besides the tuba, though he still manages to make the tuba look small. Strong had a somewhat rough upbringing, and very rarely had kindness in his life. So when he meets Sole, someone who is genuinely kind and does their best to offer help, not only to the members of their band, but their entire community, Strong is immediately transfixed. He has not known kindness like Soles’s someone who just gives it out, whether or not the person deserves it. And according to himself, he was not worthy of kindness for the things he’s done. As an ex-con, he struggled greatly to find places that would accept him, which is only strengthened by the way he looks. Big, intimidating, mean. But Strong is also kind at heart, and only wants to learn how to be able to give his kindness instead of the cruelty given to him and expected of him. When he heard of Sole’s band, he really wanted to join, but didn’t even know how to play a single instrument, though that has never mattered to Sole. They offered to teach him some instruments, starting with the tuba since it was the easiest for him to play, size wise. But then someone donated a harp to Sole, hoping they could put good use to it. Strong was mesmerized by the beautiful and large instrument, and was the first to volunteer learning it for the band. He fell in love with it instantly, to the point where Sole gave him an extra key to the practice room so he can come in and practice when he pleases. Sole does their best to find pieces that include harp, but Strong still plays tuba when needed.

X6-88: Growing up, his guardians brought him up playing piano. He was forced to play the instrument for the majority of his life. Practices almost every day, concerts, school band, church band, etc. His guardians were very strict, and didn’t let him quit or have any of his other hobbies. They told him he was made for piano, he had a gift. He was naturally quite good at it, and through the rigorous routine and harsh punishments of his guardians, he excelled at it. A prodigy, if you will, winning competitions, playing in state, etc. He even got a scholarship for a prestigious music school for it, and he went through with it because that was what was expected of him. That is where he met Sole. The college was near their community, and they were looking for students wanting to play in concerts, as many college music students were constantly on the lookout for opportunities like that. He took Sole up on their offer, because he knew it would be expected of him were his parents there. He did his role perfectly, playing piano, but Sole was able to pick up that it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do. And it was through Sole X6 was finally able to explore different hobbies, different interests. Sole also helped him gain the confidence to stand up to his parents, accept that he was his own person, an adult at that, and that he could choose his own hobbies and interests. He changed his major in college and has decided to pursue an entirely different degree, but he still plays in Sole’s band as their pianist. Now that he was able to pursue his own interests, he found that he did like piano, and was now playing as a choice instead of an expectation.

[namikawa]

— [the perfect host]

featuring: s. geto, s. gojo

cw: smut, implied threesome, cunnulingus, implied m/m, phone sex (?), daddy kink (ofc), established relationship (reader & gojo), fingering, fem reader, chubby reader, getting “caught” masturbating, use of the word cunt (sorry lol), aftercare, not proofread fr, anything else i forgot lolz, pet names (mama, baby, pretty, sweetheart, love). wc: n/a.

notes: this is actually a fic my friend wrote (never published) & i re did it with two diff characters & finished it for her cause she never did… so if yall like it GO TO HER BLOG ILL TAG HER. this wasn’t my og idea i just wrote the smut and tweaked & added. but enjoy pls, sorry i haven’t posted in so long life has beat me up. @nvmjccnluv !!!

“so explain to me why i’m watching her again, she seems completely capable of staying in your apartment alone yknow.” suguru questions over the phone. it’s not that he hates you, but what if he was busy? he wasn’t, but gojo didn’t need to know that, he didn’t even ask to be fair. quickly dropping you off after handing the long haired man a small bag of your things.

on the other end of the phone gojo lets out a huff of laughter. “had a few things to finish up, she gets too lonely when i leave her at home so i didn’t want her getting into things. you know how it is.”

“i actually don’t, but okay man.”

“anyway, she doesn’t like many people but she didn’t seem to mind you the last time we hung out, you seemed like a safe option.” gojo continues, sounding a bit strained.

“okay, whatever, fine.”

“where’s she at anyways? if she was with you she would’ve jumped your bones to get to the phone.”

walking toward the the closed door in the hallway, geto chuckles before reassuring his friend. “relax dude, she’s in the room taking a na- holy shit.”

-

“what happened??”

the dark haired man places his ear on the door to make sure he’s not hallucinating, not saying that he’s hoping to be.

muffled moans greet his ears, but not muffled enough evidently. no, you wanted him to hear. he would have to pass by your room anyways, given that you two would be sharing a wall for the night. but him being on the phone with your boyfriend was just a coincidence, an extremely embarrassing one.

he listens to your soft whines and high pitched whimpers for what feels like days, though its hasn’t even been half a minute, paying no mind to the man yelling at him on the phone.

“SUGURU? ANSWER ME! IS SHE OKAY? I SWEAR IF SOMETHING HAPPE-” at this point geto tries to think as hard as possible to come up with a lie that won’t get him killed by his friend.

snapping out of his daze, he finally gets enough courage to respond, “yeah um i’m pretty sure, maybe i’m wrong, i think she’s uh masturbating.”

“oh, oh okay” suguru can basically hear a smirk he knows all to well forming on gojos mouth. “don’t be a rude host, go help her out man.”

what the fuck is he talking about help you out? he can’t be understanding that this is his girlfriend he’s talking about, right? on top of that, shouldn’t he be asking you for consent as well.

“are you insane man? i know you’re into all that weird shit, but her? she’d probably kill me before i even got close to the bed and throw my dead body out of my own apartment.” as nice as it sounds he didn’t know if you’d be okay with any of this. he wasn’t going to just walk straight in, right?

there’s a loud howl that comes directly from the other end of the phone. “are you really being this much of a pussy right now? i’m giving you full permission to go help my girl out, and you wanna whine about how she might kill y-”

“shut the hell up man, i didn’t say anything about being a pussy.”

“alright, then there shouldn’t be an issue with you helping her out. don’t sit up on your high horse and act like you haven’t thought about it before, i know just how those perverted thoughts of yours work, don’t you rememb-”

“okay okay shut up satoru, im going.”

pushing open the door, the first thing geto notices is your hand rubbing lightly between your soft thighs and how your wetness soaks the bed, clear evidence of how needy you were. how long have you been at it?

gojo can hear you so clearly over the phone, he might as well be in the room with you, “shit, is that her pussy i’m hearing? whats it look like?” he questions, but unfortunately for him he receives no answer.

suguru is too busy enjoying the view and listening to the pathetic little sounds coming from your cunt. his sweatpants are slowly starting to fit a little tighter than before, but he doesn’t make any movements yet, just in case you don’t wanna play this little game.

almost immediately your soft eyes flutter open and lock into his, and he swears he just came in his pants.

“sugi, please, it hurts so much,” you whine out to him, desperate for his veiny hands on you. your own hand never seems to falter though, only moving in more erratic circles around your sensitive clit; while your other hand is busy touching your nipples, trying to get the most stimulation possible.

knowing that you were just as needy for him as he was for you made the man’s confidence peak. he gives you a light smile as he walks closer to the bed, softly sitting down next to you. he leans over you a bit, close enough to where you can smell the minty, almost overpowering, scent of his shampoo. half his hair loosely tied up in a bun, the other half falling past his shoulders as he looks down at you.

“something wrong, pretty? those fingers not doing enough for you, right? don’t ‘cha wanna wait for your boyfriend to come back so he can help you out, he’s on the phone you know.”

his soft hands begin to work at your thighs, but it seems like it’ll never be any more than that. continuing for a little longer, he presses the speaker button on his phone, handing it over to you as you pull away from your core.

“can you hear me, sweetheart?” gojo asks, now finally getting some time to speak to you after being ignored for so long. “i gave sugi permission to help you out, okay? does that sound alright to you?” he utilizes the small nickname you’d given his friend, innocently coercing you to be good.

you give a small “mmm” in agreement. then, opening your legs, you grab at suguru’s hand and place it between your thighs, just barely touching your cunt.

gojo continues, smiling to himself on the other side of the device. “‘kay. i’m gonna talk you through it, just so i know you’re treating my girl right. take two of your fingers and stuff it inside of her, she’ll clench up at first but just keep working at it and she’ll open up, okay? maybe if you do good, you can have something too.”

geto lets out an annoyed breath, short, but just long enough for gojo to catch it. he knows what that means. what’s even stopping him from fucking you in first place? it’s not like gojo would know. but as he looks into your pleading eyes he realizes he’d do anything to make sure you’re content and happy.. even if that means listening to satoru’s perverted requests.

his fingers slide down to rub at your clit just a bit, before burying his pointer and ring finger deep into your cunt, you clench so tight around him, it makes him feel like he’s dreaming the way your teeth suck at your bottom lip attempting to hide your whines.

“cmon pretty, open up for me. promise i’ll make you feel good, okay?”

a throaty whimper slides from between your lips as geto’s fingers work you open. “‘s good sugi, please like that more.” you scoot down a little more, chasing his fingers to get even just a little more stimulation.

“next you’re gonna press on her clit, just a little though she’s a sensitive little thing.” gojo groans out, it’s obvious he’s taken a break from his work to focus on… other things.

“yeah yeah, i know how to use my fingers, asshole.” suguru voices, clearly annoyed. although, he still abides by the instructions and moves his thumb to press on your clit just a tiny bit. your back arches away from his fingers almost immediately, like a natural instinct, he grabs your plush hips with his other hand, pulling you back down. “nuh uh, c’mere sweet girl, you wanted my help you’re gonna get it.”

his delicate fingers curve upward into you and you feel as if you’re floating on cloud nine, the way he flicks them at just the right speed while managing to hold you down and deepen his movements. it’s all too much for him you.

the sound of gojo’s voice breaks geto out of his daze, “fuck, i gotta go suguru. i know you’ll take care of her. i’m gonna have to cut this shit short, i’ll try to come back later tonight instead of tomorrow morning. love you guys, love you baby, be good for sugi okay?” geto’s eyes immediately flicker to yours, and you see just a little bit of what you think could be fear, or excitement, in his eyes.

“bye daddy, love you too.” you whine out, hearing a quick click before the call ends.

“daddy?” he questions. “knew he was into some shit, didn’t know you were too, sweet girl. you’re too pretty and innocent, or at least you put up a good act.” his fingers slide out of you as he snickers, not ignoring the way you pout at the loss of stimuli.

“nah, not gonna leave you here all needy don’t worry mama, just gonna do it my way, that sound good to you?” geto grabs you by your hips as you choke out a small “yea”, pushing you closer to the headboard of the bed. he fully removes his hair tie and throws all of it up into a bun, swiftly grabbing your underwear and pulling it off.

you look down at him as he crawls closer to you on his stomach, wrapping his arms around your thighs and closing them around his head. you feel his fingers spread your cunt apart, licking a long stripe onto you. your body tenses up, and on instinct your hand finds its way into suguru’s hair, tugging lightly. his head perks up at you, smiling, but eventually just deciding to leave you be.

his tongue swipes over your clit, taking small breaths occasionally as he tastes your cunt. neither one of you know who this is really for at this point. he’s supposed to be ‘helping you’ but with the tent growing in his sweats he might as well be doing this for his own pleasure instead. you continue to take harsh pulls at his dark strands, so unfamiliar to you. mostly with satoru you opted for scratching at his shoulders or gripping at the sheets due to the length he kept his hair, but this, this was something you could get used to.

“sugi please, m so close, want it so bad, need you to make me cum.” you cry out, loving the way his nose rubs against your clit as he licks.

he doesn’t say anything, he can’t really, but you know he understands. he grips your thighs tighter, licking the same way as before, occasionally sucking at your clit, and before you know it you’re squirming all over his face as that familiar feeling rushes over you.

the only thing that suguru could make out of your cries were “thank you”, “so good”, and “daddy”? he wasn’t sure if you were calling him daddy or if you wanted gojo, but at this point it didn’t really matter to him. he pleased you and that’s all he needed to make him feel better.

as he lifted his head up from your pussy he could already tell how tired you were getting, he immediately grabbed you a change of clothes that gojo had packed and cleaned you up with a wet washcloth. “everything okay, mama? need anything?” your eyes strain open and you smile at the man standing above you, “i’m okay, thank you for your help. will you stay?” you could tell that he genuinely cared for you, and was worried he had done something wrong by the tone in his voice. him staying was more for him rather than yourself, not that you were complaining.

he pulled off his shirt as he crawled into bed next to you. grabbing his phone from the bedside table he saw that gojo had sent him a message.

“i’ll take care of you both when i’m back, cause i’m betting you didn’t take anything for yourself. see you both soon ;)”

suguru chuckled to himself at the message from his friend, looking down at you peacefully sleeping on his chest. maybe he could get used to something like this? but for now, he’s content.

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Orchid Child, Dandelion Child

Pairings: Riddle & Sibling MC (NOT a romantic pairing)

Summary: This is going to take after Riddle’s overblot, and short and sweet. The term orchid child/dandelion child refer to children who may have very specific/different needs for their development, and those who need less accommodations or specific requirements for their development, respectively. They may grow up in the same environment but everyone’s needs are different, one child may have different coping mechanisms than the other. MC is heavily implied to have dyslexia, ADHD/Autism, and OCD (the latter two of which are often comorbid)

Notes: My brain is so dead. Enjoy this very short piece, sorry it's been a while.

TW: Graphic descriptions of embalming (weird tag I know but listen listen listen hear me out‒), also mentions of blood and human biology; past domestic/child abuse, and mental illness

GN Terms for MC

AO3 Link Here

Masterlist

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Adjacent to your mother’s footsteps, you had always had a curiosity for the medical. Though it was never living bodies that enamored you. In death, biology levels all. Cremation, natural burial, or alkaline hydrolysis‒ no amount of money, or intelligence, magic, or talent would help anyone escape the inevitable. Whether able bodied, rich, poor, moral or not‒ all people returned to dust, bones, and decay. 

  Rituals like the embalming process always brought you a strange comfort‒ the draining and ejecting, bathing, refrigeration‒ the body incised, emptied of its filth, and sewn back up. Imagining the dissection of a body into each fleshy component relaxed your own‒ as if your cold body lay on a sleek, steel mortuary table, your jaws and eyes sewn shut and the biology of your body ready to be drained. Even if your insides were scraped out for people to see‒ you would not feel shame. No blood to rush to your cheeks, or your aching heart. Your mother had always dismissed this career choice, urging you to find something ‘more within your reach ’.

  Your body would be clean from its excrement, scrubbed of all the insides that capsized you from this world, and its people.

  Compartmentalization‒ your psychiatrist mentioned. It took you a few tries to correctly register the word in your head when you had gotten the report, you’re not sure if it’s correct. If you did not imagine this scene at least three times a day, you felt like your blood was going to burst forth from your membrane, hot and spastic, like a monstrous clot of nerves. Again. Again. Again. You cleansed this shaking contamination within you with whatever you could do. That’s wrong. You dig your nails into your palm, resisting the urge to lay the papers that were shuffled around by the headmaster on the floor, sorting and checking one by one if they were there. Again, again, again. You imagine an arterial tube weaving through the wounds of your hands, draining the warmth that itched against your skin, the function of your wandering eyes, and the defect of your mind.

  “I’ve signed off on everything. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mx.Rosehearts?” 

  “No, nothing else. Thank you, Headmaster Crowley.” 

  You gather the stack of papers in your file, you check through‒ quickly‒ your medical records, doctor’s notes, psych evaluations, annotated versions of section 504, interpreter documents‒ a variety of other loose papers that wedge inside the old file as best you can, just in case . Even for such a minute accommodation, lacking a legally recognized diagnosis prepared you for the worst. Rejection‒ a tumble and drag into a system not designed for you in mind. These accommodations were an afterthought after that system was built, something to make you “whole”. There were many experiences in your interactions with school boards that warranted preparations like this, which you scrubbed into your mind and routine. No one will help you‒ not the board, the teachers, your peers, your family‒ you must be prepared to advocate for yourself. There was never room for failure, and you made sure that these accommodations made up for your innate nature to do so in this system.

  You bow a perfect ninety degrees before you head out of the office, quietly shutting the door behind you with a soundless exhale. Adjusting the stack of papers in your file, you scurry off to the library to find a quiet corner to reorient yourself. You weave through the various open tables, the large seating area, and the comfortable nooks with beanbags‒ and instead, opt for your usual spot in the corner of the library, where you softly place the file on the desk. 

  That’s wrong. Again. Again. Again. Again. 

  You open and close the file four times, feeling a wriggling, hot feeling in your blood that completely halts your mind from moving forward with your process, despite the short amount of time you have until your next class. 

  No. Again. 

  With the sixth time, it feels right. You sigh in relief, thanking whatever higher being out there that the process didn’t take as long as before. Medical records, doctor’s notes, psych evaluations, annotated sections, interpreter documents. All in order, all there, only for you to see. A weight lifts off your chest as you shift your eyes around the library, and close the file. 

  You browse through the section of the library, running your finger along the spines of the books to spot a new read.  A mauve leather-bound book catches your eye, the gold letter glinting in the dusty light of the library. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: Other Lessons From the Crematorium you skim the summary on the back. Satisfied, you work your way to the counter, where the librarian checks out the book with a smile. She pulls out the book slip at the front of the book and a pen. 

  Riddle Rosehearts. 

  You almost make a sound at the name, but instead, you quietly chew in your inner lip to provide some sort of grounding for the whirling feeling in your stomach. You feel sick when you write your name in the same cursive as the name above yours‒ just like your mother taught you. 

  “ Again .” Your mother would say. 

  You write. She slaps your hand with a ruler, reaching over your shoulder to erase the word. 

  “ Again .” 

  You write. She slaps, she erases. 

  “ Again .” 

  You write. She slaps, the paper begins to fray from the friction of your eraser, and the tears that run hot down your cheeks. Inertia. Inertia. Inertia. You repeat the word in your mind, trying to mold it with your hands. But the black text above the frayed paper seems to weave together, jumble, congeal. You push the hot coal in the back of your throat, forcing your bruised hand to write. 

  That’s not right. Again. Again. Again. 

  Why can't you just do it the way you're told?  

  Medical records, medical recommendations, psych evaluations, doctor’s notes, annotated sections, interpreter documents. So much extra weight that folder holds that you have to carry everywhere with you‒ just in case . 

  Again. Again. Again. 

  You open and close the locker shut, twisting the locker combination each time. At this rate, you know you’ll be late to class, way past your accommodations agreements. You hope Professor Trein won’t make such a big scene. 

  When you arrive at class, you are miraculously left alone by the professor and your peers. Breathing a sigh of relief, you take your usual seat, finding a practice exam on your desk. 

  You didn’t properly shut your locker. People are probably stealing your stuff now, breaking your things, tearing your extra records into pieces. You didn’t properly shut your locker. The documents are ruined, and you have to start all over again. You didn’t shut your locker. You grip your pencil, bouncing your leg, digging your nails into your palm. Yes, yes you did lock it. Three times in fact. Still, a voice persists‒ you didn’t do it right. Again. Again. Again. You scratch, and pick at the broken skin of your palm. 

  Eventually, as you continue staring at the packet‒ you feel a stab at the back of your shoulder. A student jabs forth the packet of papers that were collected from the back with an exasperated face. The papers are basically thrown your way as you add your half blank packet to the pile, swallowing down your anxiety. Trein continues class as usual, going over the review sheet. 

  “Mx. (Name). A word?” 

  You freeze in your seat, in the middle of gathering your things for next class. Students’ gaze furl towards you, and you pick at the wound of your palm to calm the rising panic in your abdomen. Begrudgingly, you pack up your things, and head towards Trein’s desk. 

  “I will excuse your tardiness for today since you have accommodations, but that does not explain the almost completely unfinished practice exam that we took in class. Do you care to explain?”

  You refuse eye contact. “I…” There was no way to explain it with any sane sensibility, or without alerting your mother. “I apologize sir. I was distracted. It won’t happen again.”

  He sighs, you know he doesn’t believe you. It’s your condition‒ you look to the stack of accommodation letters and agreements tucked under his elbow, and you feel that weight in your chest. 

  “Please, sir. I’ll do anything to make up for it I‒”

  A hand is raised at your response, with a pinch at the bridge of his nose. “It’s…It’s quite alright. I know you are trying your best, considering your… situation . Please finish the packet before you come to class next time.” Trein hands the packet back to you, which you accept with a silent nod. 

  The situation, the condition, the baggage. There have been many terms used to describe your disablement from the world‒ each more alienating than the other. You draw blood on your palm once more, looking inside the crescent-shaped holes in your flesh. You feel nothing but the trembling deep in your chest. 

  You sit in the shared space of the Heartslabyul dorm, hoping that body doubling will allow you to finish your workload. Though it takes you some time, you manage to finish your work before the sun sets, and you scurry back into your dorm room to begin your book. As you try to relax, the thought of a missing assignment, a failed exam, a systematic blunter pricks at your skin, spreading and choking your flesh. You read the same sentence over and over, but understand nothing. 

  Why can't you just do it the way you're told?  

  You hear a knock at your door, seizing you from your thoughts. You sigh, shove whatever scrap paper that had been lying around into your book, and reluctantly open the door. 

  Riddle Rosehearts. 

  You remember him from his perfect handwriting, his words that mirrored your own mothers. You could never get the “R” quite right, something both your brother and mother scolded you for. 

  “Rule of threes, you understand what will happen when you fail the third time.” Again. Again. Again. 

  Riddle had always resembled his mother much more than you had‒ in voice, in appearance, in tone. “ Rule of threes, (Name). You know what mother will do to you when you fail the third time .” He extended your mother's violence with all his likeness to her, in his face that would look down upon you with aberration, and his tightened fists that dragged your head to look closer at the paper, and realize your error. Every way he came into contact with you had been wrapped, tightly as flesh, your mother's violence. 

  You imagine that cold table again, but Riddle’s silvery eyes tethered you to the moment. It was as if you could feel every shifting tendon of your body, every pull of sinew and blood that pumped blood rapidly to your heart, and the back of your ears. But the guilty look on his face reminded you of one of the rare times he had broken mother’s rules. You realized he was as much of a child too, that day. Stretched thin and tall to fill your mothers expectations. 

  His stare is unbearable, you push through the tension in your throat. 

  “Can I help you, Dorm Leader Rosehearts?” 

  You think you see his worried expression, but your eyes dart from his gaze when he looks towards you again. 

  “You left this on the table in the common room.” He extends you the file that you thought had been safely tucked with your belongings. Your vision begins to distort‒ graying and distancing as you attempt to keep yourself calm from experiencing your literal nightmare . “I thought you wouldn’t want anyone to see it.” 

  “I…do not, no. I would not wish to shame you, or this dorm.” 

  Riddle takes a sharp inhale. You unconsciously tightening your body‒ imagining the postmortem stages. Pallor mortis, your blood pools to the souls of your feet. Algor Mortis, your skin feels on fire, and cools dead, limp. Rigor mortis, you stiffen and contract. The nutrients of your body drained, breaking down to gray sludge. You prepare for the breakdown of your body, your psyche, and your soul‒ the wounds on your body are only evidence to your movement through temporality in this system. Livor Mortis, your blood bruises your skin. 

  “I did not…mean that. I only meant‒ I felt…” He sighs, looking towards the floor. “I’m bad at this. But I didn’t mean that this is something shameful. I only wished to protect your privacy.” 

  You avert your eyes, unsure of what to do with him wanting to protect you in some sort of way. Perhaps his overblot changed him, but all you see if your mother’s shadow, when you look towards him. 

  “It’s not important, I apologize for the trouble, Dorm Leader Rosehearts.” 

  Maintaining his grasp on the file, he attempts to keep this connection going. “There’s so much I need to apologize for.” 

  You only manage a strangled sound, afraid to pull the file towards you. Afraid of movement, of air, of space, of time, of him. Everything seems to strangle you, you know that it was precisely designed that way.

  He cups a hand over your own. You try to repress the tremble in your body from the searing feeling of his palm, too afraid to look, speak, or move. You remain still, like a corpse, hastily trying to turn off your nerves and the bursting blood in your body, slaughtering it, and draining all feeling from your body. It’s been so long‒ your body rushes to catch up. You’re always catching up. Always. 

  “I don’t want to upset you. I just came to apologize, but I understand if you don’t want to see me.”

  Your mouth is sewn with silence, your jaw caught in a tremor in your mouth. Quickly‒ your mind makes the decision to speak‒ mother never liked when you didn’t answer to her questions. 

  The words scrape through your throat. “I…” A gulp to lubricate the convulsing motions of your esophagus. “Nothing is wrong. I apologize, dorm leader Rosehearts. It will never happen again‒ I apologize‒ I will make up for it. Please.” 

  His gaze softens. “I’m not asking because I’m asking you to apologize, or make up for anything. I’ve learned some things…I wanted to make up, but, I want to make sure you’re okay first.” 

  “Are you okay?”

  You spare a glance at his face, almost caught in the worried expression adorned on his features. “I don’t understand what the purpose that question serves. I can’t understand…” Still, you worry what will happen if it seems like you blame him for your lack‒ so you shift the weight on yourself once more. “I am incapable…of understanding. I apologize.” 

  “Hey.” He mellows his voice as much as possible, releasing you from his grasp. “It’s okay.”

  “You asked me a question. I was incapable of giving an answer that satisfies you. That is a violation of the rules, is it not?” You retract your hands to your chest, pressing your nails into the wounds on your palm. 

  Riddle folds his hands, almost nervously fidgeting with them. You almost react visibly with awe at the sight. “Our mother may have been wrong about a lot of things. I only recognized that after I attended here, and made many friends who helped me understand that. I am extremely regretful of the things I’ve done to you, and the things I’ve said. There’s no excuse for the things I’ve done, but I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me someday‒ I want to reconnect, if you’ll allow me.” 

  You push the file against your chest. “...I don’t think it will be easy. For me, or for you. Especially for me.” 

  “Most things that are worth something aren’t. I realized something while I was overblotting.” His cheeks gradually bloom pink, a habit he’s had since he was a child. You remember the color most when he cried, but he looks sheepish. Igniting the same warmth in your cheeks, you look at his feet. Heels, you never noticed. He must be shorter than you. “I missed you. I really did. And I missed what we could have had. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better brother to you.”  

  “I think…I missed you too.” You admit. “I think neither of us can ask for help, we’ve been raised that way. We have drastically different ways of coping with that isolation.” 

  “I think so too. I have a lot of work to do.”  

  “ We do.”

  Rubbing your arm up and down, you soothe yourself‒ thinking of bodies and corpses, your skin buzzing from the thought of decomposition‒ what grows from them. The fruits of death lay thick and sweet on your tongue, as you stumble through a small smile. Riddle reciprocates.

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

End Notes:

Obviously this is only a small glimpse into what healing from abuse and trauma is like. But it’s a start. The first steps count.

I’m also in no way shape or form attempting to justify Riddle’s behavior. He’s a complete and total asshole for sure, but he was a kid‒ I definitely see him as capable of change.

The terms Orchid/Dandelion child are relatively new, and I find the pop-psychology approach to it very distasteful (as pop psych usually is. do your fucking research people. PEER REVIEWED ARTICLES!) But I wanted to use the terms to kind of critique the notion of this divide between "resilient" and "nonresilient". It's just a matter of needs, which are different for everyone. Making this hierarchical distinction is arbitrary and often times ableist, as it normalizes a singular, hegemonic way of reacting/experience/compartmentalization/coping. Anyways read more disability studies if you want to know more.

Because I’m not officially diagnosed (my disabilities are not officially recognized by law because for me the disadvantages gross outweigh the benefits, like literally having your human rights stripped away) I don’t know the specific details of acquiring accommodations in a school setting apart from my position as a teacher, but please let me know if there are any errors in the information so I can fix them expeditiously

I also wanted to write about the systematic issues disabled people (particularly those with “invisible” disabilities or those who are “undiagnosed”), I feel like I’ve been experiencing a lot of issues and push back from a system which is not built for disabled people in mind (and often is used against the community in an attempt to eradicate the category). Furthermore, I wanted to explore the aspects in which traditional psychiatry/curative methods are not built for neurodivergent individuals specifically. We often get diagnosed (especially those who have been socialized or perceived as female) with other disorders because of the perpetual stigma against ADHD, and autism in particular. Mainly why I didn’t go the psychology/psychiatry route, despite (one of) my undergrad major(s). It would have been immoral for me to be one, if held up to the current regulations set by the American Psychology Association, or the regulations in my home country. Anyways, lots of problems I wanted to address‒ not sure if I was able to explore them more at length, but I’d like to do more of this in the future.

The book Smoke in your Eyes is a reference to Caitlin Doughty’s book. I highly highly highly recommend her youtube channel and any of her books tbh. She writes/talks a lot about death culture and our perceptions of death throughout history, and creating a more death-positive culture.

I wanted to avoid some of the common stereotypes and misconceptions of OCD, which is predominantly characterized by excessive handwashing, needing things very neat and in place. I wanted to explore the more internal obsessions, rather than focus solely on the external compulsions‒ as I feel like the external behaviors that are often portrayed in media don’t explore the inner workings that make the disorder so hard to live with (and treat).

[book-nerd-emi]

“I find pieces of you in every song I listen to”

Spotify!!! ♡♡ Very Unorganized Pinterest!!! ♡♡

WHATCHA NEED TO KNOW~

♡♡ I’m Emi but feel free to call me literally anything ♡♡ she/her ♡♡ minor!! adults can interact but don’t be weird or else you’ll be blocked ♡♡ she/her and i’m 99% sure demi/ace ♡♡ i do write and draw but don’t expect to hear a lot about those ♡♡ i can play clarinet, piano and bassoon (maybe not well in some of those cases but it’s possible) ♡♡ true crime >>>> ♡♡ i wanna be a lawyer so watch out yall ♡♡ i live in PST time zone so yeahhh ♡♡ conan gray, olivia rodrigo, sabrina carpenter, eminem, NF, kendrick lamar and tobi lou >>>>>>>>>> ♡♡

FANDOMS~

♡♡ EPIC the musical ♡♡ the inheritance games ♡♡ six of crows ♡♡ Aurora Rising Series ♡♡ AGGGTM ♡♡ hamilton ♡♡ heathers ♡♡ percy jackson universe ♡♡ harry potter (kinda sorta) ♡♡ throne of glass ♡♡ fourth wing ♡♡ the naturals ♡♡ i’m trying to get into the cruel prince fandom whatever that’s called BUT IVE ONLY READ BOOK 1 ♡♡ there’s probably more ♡♡

OTHER STUFF YOU CAN KNOW IG~

♡♡ the list of my book bfs just gets longer everyday ♡♡ im SUPERRR normal about my hyperfixtations ♡♡ my theme changes a lot ♡♡ im taking a lot of harder classes this school year so if i don’t respond assume im doing hw or practicing ♡♡ sleeping is overrated ♡♡ i will probably send stuff in anon cause this isn’t like the “main blog” under my acc but ill always sign it - Emi <3 ♡♡

WHAT AM I~

♡♡ reading: Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

♡♡ listening to: 600 Strike from EPIC the Musical

♡♡ practicing: The Sorcerers Apparentoce (bassoon) ♡ Some America Songs (clarinet) ♡ Heather by Conan Gray (piano)

♡♡ watching (this won’t change a lot): After The First 48 or some random K-Drama

ALL MY MOOTS~

@/wish-i-were-heather ♡♡ @/littlemissmentallyunstable ♡♡ @/balladofareader ♡♡ @/catapparently ♡♡ @/blocked-zombieartist ♡♡ @/sleepy-boything-shit ♡♡ @/a-menace-to-society-01 ♡♡ @/theodditylacey ♡♡ @/shattered-glass-roses

COOL PEOPLE THAT FOLLOW ME BUT IDK IF WE’RE ACTUALLY MOOTS BUT IM TOO SCARED TO ASK~

♡♡ @/berryzxx ♡♡ @/ask-aaron-burr1 ♡♡ @/myhyperfixationisbooks ♡♡ @/apollosmusee ♡♡ @/zuzanna-jadw1ga

IF YOU WANT TO BE MOOTS ASK. 99.9% OF THE TIME I WONT SAY NO

IF WE ARE MOOTS LITERALLY TAG ME IN ANYTHING OR BOMBARD ME WITH ASKS. ONE IM PROBABLY NOT DOING ANYTHING AND TWO I LITERALLY LOVE YOU EVEN IF WEVE NEVER TALKED OR WE ONLY HAVE ONCE

TAG MEANINGS~

random/idek: emi talks <3

mutuals: moots <3 (and then your respective tag)

music: 🎧 … now playing ~ ♡

reblogs: emis reblogs <3

asks: emis asks <3

rambling about politics?: emi rambling about politics

stories/writing: emis writing <3

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

“The Big Kumara”

Word Count: 1,912

Age Restrictions: 16+ (mild gore/vulgar language)

Trigger Warnings/Tags: Horror, descriptions of blood and corpses, anxiety, mental illness.

Synopsis: Your concerned relatives sent a psychologist to your house, so you can finally open up about the incident, that sent you into this spiral in the first place.

Author’s note: This is my Halloween Special for y’all guys. It’s not my usual style, because I’ve never written horror before. But I tried really hard to make it unsettling and scary, because I feel like this is the wwdits fanfic field, that is not explored enough. Anyways, hope you enjoy it. Happy Halloween!

__________________________________________

“February 24th, 2006.” The woman across from you said, after pushing the record button on the dictaphone, only then did she turn to you. “So, tell me the whole story.”

You took a deep shaky breath, feeling cold shivers run down your spine as memories flooded your mind once again and you started speaking.

“It was almost two months ago. January 5th. That day was as normal as you could imagine. I woke up, did my usual routine, marked off the day in the calendar and went to work. I used to work in a call centre at that time. I don’t anymore. Can’t return there… Anyway. I came to work and my friends Sutton and Jean said they wanted to visit some new place that opened during winter holidays and asked if I’d tag along, because they needed a sober driver.

I… agreed. Of course, why not? I don’t drink that much anyways. That’s fine.

The place was called ‘The Big Kumara’. Some student party bar, not the fanciest place. I remember, when we walked in, I was instantly hit with a very strong smell. I thought it might be some cleaning chemical, but it didn’t seem like it. The smell was nauseatingly metallic. I asked if anyone else feels it, but neither of my friends seem to notice, so I thought I might be getting sick and tossed that thought away.

We sat at the table in the corner. We can be a little loud, especially Jean, after he gets drunk, so we didn’t want to disturb anyone. They ordered a few drinks and went to the dance floor, I decided I’ll join them later, because I still didn’t feel very well. The smell. The smell was driving me crazy and I didn’t know why.

The place itself was also not my scene. There were mostly people, who were way too young to be there and some weird goth people, which for some reason seemed to make up the majority of the bar’s visitors. Funnily enough, the place couldn’t be further away from being traditional ‘goth’, so I didn’t know what that was about.

But my friends seemed to like it quite a bit, because about an hour later, Sutton excused themselves to go out for some ‘air’ with a European guy in a big fluffy overcoat and a top hat. Jean and I laughed it off, but some time later he did the exact same thing, giggling and waving at me, as he left with another man, this one was wearing… I think some kind of a cravat tie and a jean jacket, which was a bit weird, considering it was pretty cold outside.

They both promised to be back soon and I didn’t mind. I mean, we’re young, we’re having fun, who cares? And I was sure they would be fine, because it’s not the first time they were up to this kind of things. Heck, I also wanted to have a fun time, but I was way too sober to do it with anyone in that place.

So I waited… And waited… and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. But they didn’t come. It’s been almost three hours. I called them, I texted them and I got absolutely no response. Naturally, I was terrified of what might’ve happened. So I went outside and started looking for them, tried to see if I could spot those guys they left with or anything that could give me a clue of where they were.

Finally, I went into the alleyway behind the bar. Oh fuck… How do I even describe this?…

I heard someone talking in there. They seemed pretty upset about something, maybe even bickering with each other. But when I came over they seemed to notice and the talking stopped. I turned around the corner and saw a cloud of smoke and two bums lying on the ground, fast asleep. At least, that’s what I thought initially. I came a bit closer and recognised the clothes. Those were Jean and Sutton. For a moment I breathed out in relief, because I finally found them. These two dumbasses just fell asleep there!

Then I came even closer to wake them up. I still remember, how I put my hand on Sutton’s shoulder to shake them awake, but felt my fingers sticking to her jacket. There was some weird thick fluid on it, it was half dry and I pulled my hand away reflexively and noticed that this goo was dark. I couldn’t distinguish the colour in almost pitch blackness of the alleyway, but it was blood. I knew it, because now I started to smell that same metallic reek, that I became nose blind to, while sitting in the Big Kumara.

I don’t know what came over me at that moment. I knew, I should’ve called the police right away and leave it to the professionals, but… but something just prompted me to touch it again. I put my hand on Sutton’s jacket, then let my palm glide over to their neck and feel their cold skin with two dents in it. Like a bite. I wiped off the blood from their collarbone with my fingers and smelt it again, just to make sure it was actually real. Then I did the same with Jean. For a few minutes I just sat there in front of their corpses, examining them, as if I was trying to understand what those strangers had done to them, before I made it even worse by picking at their bite marks, making them bleed with stale cold chunks of red liquid.

I soon realised that my hands were now fully covered in their bodily fluid and panic took over me completely. I felt like I was part of it somehow. That I was also an accomplice to their murder. I didn’t know what to do, so I just took off running home. I left my car in front of the Big Kumara and sprinted home like my life depended on it.

I didn’t sleep that night.

I didn’t know what happened to them. I didn’t know how they died. I didn’t know why I let myself destroy what might’ve been the key evidence to how they were killed. I didn’t know why I kept silent about that and didn’t tell the police or even call the ambulance. I was a horrible person. I knew it. So I thought I was next.

The next day, I had to walk three blocks down at sunrise to get my car from the Big Kumara, but the place was surrounded by cops. I was too scared to come close, because the fact that I just randomly left my car in front of the bar last night would be strange, so I left it there for two more days. The weekends passed and at work, I felt even worse.

There were two empty places next to me, where usually Sutton and Jean would be. It seemed like a gaping hole in my life, that would never be filled again. I felt like people were staring at me. Each time I turned to look at someone, I always accidentally met their glance and I was freaking out. It’s like they knew. It’s like they all knew I was there and did nothing. Nobody talked to me, nobody wished me good morning or even waved. They just stared and whispered to each other. Maybe it was all in my head, but sure didn’t appear like it.

Also… each night I felt a weird presence in my room. I live on the fifth floor, but I can swear, there’s somebody at my window, coming in every night and spying on me. I don’t know who it is, but they just come and look at me… and they whisper something, but I can never make it out and I’m too terrified to take a look at whatever is hovering outside my window. I don’t know…

Soon, I became very paranoid. I got additional locks on my door. I flinched at any weird sounds around the house and at work. I couldn’t even focus on my job anymore, because I felt that when I’m not looking, everyone else has their eyes on me. Judging… Knowing…

I left work. I couldn’t be there anymore. Couldn’t sit next to two empty places. Couldn’t take the prying eyes of my coworkers. I couldn’t stay. Not a second longer… Now I’m unemployed. I’m not leaving my house. It’s too dangerous. Whatever that thing is, that goes after me ever since that incident. It will get me, as soon as I’m too comfortable. As soon as I don’t expect it anymore.

I’m not insane, I swear. And it’s not just a nervous breakdown. I know what is happening. I am not stupid. Somebody is after me. They’re after me…” You finally finished.

“But the culprit was found, right? Walenty Nowicki. He’s in trial.” The therapist said, showing that she did quite a bit of background digging on your incident.

“It’s not him. He didn’t do it.” You shook your head immediately.

“How do you know?”

“I just feel it in my bones. It’s not him. It’s something… else. Something abnormal…” You mumbled, realising how crazy you sound from an outsider’s perspective.

“Abnormal? What do you mean by that?”

“I… And this might sound stupid. I think it was a vampire.” There was no way you actually said it out loud.

“Or maybe, it wasn’t a vampire. Maybe it’s just the guilt that you keep suppressing, coupled with high levels of anxiety and lack of a support system?” She leaned on her hand.

“You don’t even believe me. You don’t even want to listen! Just because my relatives think I’m insane, does not mean I actually am! I never asked for a therapist, they just sent you in here! And this is my flat! My place! My temple! And you need to leave! Now!” You didn’t quite understand, why you were freaking out so hard. You shouldn’t be screaming at her, she’s trying to help.

But she can’t, can she?

You ended up forcing her out of your apartment and locking the door on all five locks you had installed. Suddenly, everything felt so quiet. It was already dark outside, but you left little to no light on. Otherwise, someone might see you move inside your house. Someone might notice you. You sat down under the kitchen table as usual, opening up another can of stew. They can’t get you here. You’re safe.

A brief moment of peace made you loose your concentration and that’s when it hit you. A cold hand on your shoulder piercing your skin with sharp claws. You wanted to scream, but couldn’t. Whatever it was, it covered your mouth with its palm. You turned around to see a man. He was there, but wasn’t. It’s like a hallucination or a projection… Scruffy in his appearance, his eyes stared right into your soul, making your heart beat faster than it ever had.

“You will forget about what happened to your friends. You will forget about vampires and you will forget ever going to Big Kumara. You are leaving a completely normal life.” He whispered and you recognised his voice as the one of the silhouette at your window.

What window? What silhouette? What voice?

You couldn’t recall anymore, as your mind drifted into blissful ignorance.

[whysamwhy123]

✨Fic Writing Review 2023✨

Tagged by the wonderful dynamic duo that is @aerodaltonimperial and @perhapswhoknowsvamp and it's very fitting that those two lovely people tagged me because they're a big reason why I wrote much of anything this year! Took me a while to get this done because I wanted to get my last fic of the year out the door first. I'll put the rest below the cut, and fair warning - it's loooooong. This bitch doesn't shut up, so I rambled on. A lot.

Words and Fics

76, 222 words published on AO3 in 2023

15 fics published on AO3 (16 if you count that one kinkmeme prompt I filled and posted anonymously)

2 little tumblr ficlets

Top 3 by Kudos

Voice in the Dark - Hookhausen (not super surprising, considering it was a popular pairing at the time, and it was the fic I wrote for the anniversary event)

Kids These Days And Their Darn Phones - Hookhausen

Half Your Age Plus Seven - OrangeHook (I continue to be incredibly surprised how well this fic did, like...huh?!)

Top 3 by Hits

Voice in the Dark - Hookhausen

Voice in the Dark, Part Two - Hookhausen (how fitting, LOL)

Half Your Age Plus Seven - OrangeHook (Seriously, what was it about this fic that drew people in? More so than any of my other OrangeHook fics? Like, I'm grateful and all but also confused, like this fic is way too long?! And weird about the age difference?!)

Author's Favourite

As much as I'm loving writing OrangeHook now, I think Voice in the Dark, Part Two is probably the best thing I've written? Even though it's also overly long and gets weird at the end (very much did not expect it to go in that direction when I started writing it), I'm actually pretty proud of how that one turned out. I had a clear vision in my head for how each scene would play out and what I wanted to get across, and man, I remember how most of the Hook/Evilhausen dialogue popped into my brain late one night when I couldn't sleep, so I spat it out into a doc and then about a month later when I actually wrote the scene, I don't think I changed a single word? I just added everything else around it, all the not-dialogue parts. And it was just a lot of fun getting to carry on that story, especially as someone who hasn't managed to crank out a proper multi-chapter fic yet. Who knows, maybe I'll return to that world someday...

Fandom Events in 2023

Uh, well, I guess I did the whole Hookhausen Anniversary thing? And...that's about it. I'm pretty disconnected from the fandom at large, whoopsie daisy 😬

Upcoming Projects

Hoo boy.

I have over 5k words of a Ricky/Christian Sugar Baby AU thing written already. I haven't posted it because it kinda needs some smut and that's still not something I can really do. I might post it someday, if I can make something work, or alternatively do what I normally do and put an annoying fade to black in there. Or maybe I'll think better of it and never post it because it's very self-indulgent and I highly doubt anyone else would really be interested or want me to continue it or anything. But I have Ideas for it...so many ideas...

Also, in my ill-fated quest to try and make myself write smut, I kinda started a Ricky/Bill championship celebration fic. Maybe I'll revisit that? Try to get it done?

And then there's that one fic I really want to work on, but have barely started. I've vague-posted about it here before - it's an incredibly fucked-up Dead Dove fic about Daniel Garcia and a Very Bad, Not-Good thing that happens to him, and the subsequent complete mental breakdown that follows. I've had the idea rattling around in my brain for the better part of a year at this point, despite not making much actual progress on it. Every time I think about it though, I have new ideas for scenes or dialogue. I'd like to make it work, but I don't know if I have the writing chops to handle it, plus it would probably end up being super long and nobody would want to read it, so it'd feel like a huge waste of time on my part? And I've had the idea for so long, it's out-dated too. But still, the urge remains...

Oh, and I still have a ton of OrangeHook ideas I'd like to make happen. Some are, of course, about their age difference. Some would (ideally) involve smut. And others... *nervous laughter* Others would likely result in an ''Everyone disliked that'' situation...

Writing Reflection

I was thinking about making a sappy post about this and whoops, here's my excuse! I don't talk a lot on here about my tragic backstory because honestly, who cares? But I will say this - before January of this year, I hadn't written a word of anything in years. Fic or otherwise. I used to love writing, but Stuff Happened and it killed all enjoyment I got out of it, and I thought that's how it would be forever. Then, for reasons I can't even remember, I started reading fic again, specifically in this wild little fandom of ours, and y'all are just so talented that it made my untalented ass want to give it another shot. So...I did.

I remember when I posted my first fic in ages back in January, I thought ''Maybe about three people will read this and no one will leave a comment or anything, but whatever, I wrote a thing and that's something I haven't done in years so that's enough for me!'' And to be honest, I still think that whenever I post stuff now? It's crazy to me that anyone actually reads my stuff and gets some kind of kick out of it. But every kudos and comment floors me and brings me so much joy, I can't even express it properly. I have to say a huge thank you to anyone who's ever read one of my fics, left kudos or dropped a comment. Whoever and wherever you are, you made my day!

And look, I ain't delusional. I know that calling myself a small fish in the fandom would be too generous. But I'm fine with that - because I'm genuinely enjoying writing again and that's what matters most to me. Even though I've also rediscovered how stressful writing can be (🙂🙂🙂) when it comes down to it, there's joy and happiness in my life that wasn't there last year and that's all because I started writing again. And because some lovely folks here decided to let me know they liked what I was throwing out there. The years have not been kind to ol' Sammy Sam-Sam and this year was no exception, but getting to forget about all that shit and write my silly little wrestling fanfiction has been a great distraction and a comfort through this whole year.

So...yeah. Thanks to everyone who's ever commented on my writing, thanks to the folks who follow me on here (I don't know how you manage that though, I'm such an annoying bitch, aren't you sick of me yet?) and thanks to anyone who I've had the chance to chat with about writing and ships and whatever silly little ideas pop into my head (any of y'all feel free to message me at any time, I am always down to blab about whatever blorbos/ideas take your fancy). I'm hoping I can keep this train a-rollin' a little more next year. Still thinking back to when I started writing again, I made my new AO3 account expecting to write Dustjim only, but then I quickly decided I couldn't write those two well enough, and since then I've bounced around a bunch of different pairings, with a few rarepairs shoved in between for good measure. God only knows where my head will be at this time next year, LOL. I'd love to finally be able to attempt some of the bigger ideas I've been cooking up for a while now. Maybe I'll even write a proper multi-chapter fic? We'll see, but this bitch can dream, at least.

Rules:

Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please do eat glass, I’ve heard it’s good for your gums.

I'm not going to tag anyone because I'm pretty sure everyone I know who writes has already been tagged? So if you're reading this and you haven't, go ahead and do it! By which I mean, eat glass. Eat all the glass that you want. Accidents happen in the dark.

[frickfrackiwastakingabath]

@mcyt-gt-events @navigating-through-gray

Happy secret Santa!

Here was the prompt I chose:

Ranboo has two lives, one he lives in summer, and the other in winter. He seeks out the goddess of death to remove his other side, but... her idea of a solution is to give him a tiny hybrid?

(Also sorry it's so close to the deadline, school and finals were kind of kicking my ass.)

...

Cut You a Piece

tw mentioned temporary character death, terminal illness, calling someone it in a dehumanizing way (not maliciously or for long, dw) fear of death, fear play (accidental and intentional), threats of vore (very off hand and only mentioned once) and fear of death.

Tell me if I should tag anything else!

Title from "Cut You a Piece" from 35mm! (Even though it was based on Hadestown lmao)

...

Ranboo knew he was Ranboo. That- that part he knew. He knew it was cold. And he knew it was- that it COULD BE warm, but he never got to experience that part.

Not anymore.

Ranboo knew he was cursed, he knew that as well. He remembered it well, the veil over the witch's face and his green robes. The way his magic particles looked like feathers. His scary body guard forcing him off the premises before Ranboo could realize what happened.

He was cursed seven years ago, when he was ten for trying to sneak a cure for his friend's illness. The witch laughed and laughed when he caught him, and cursed him so he'd never see his friend again.

This all fell out in December. And Tubbo died in January.

It was a long two months for Ranboo. Sitting in his house, studying magic and necromancy and curses and healing spells. Tubbo was cursed to die, for the illness wouldn't have killed him if Ranboo hadn't met that witch.

This death was a curse, and if Ranboo was any magic user at all, he could lift it.

No, Tubbo was in pain, suffering, but he wouldn't have died. He would have turned into a beast, a horned monster that would ravage and burn towns if Ranboo didn't heal it.

And well, being the only person with healing magic in the village, even at ten years old, it was all on him.

But at the end of it, Tubbo was no longer a patient. But Ranboo's only friend.

Ranboo remembers the first time it happened.

He went to sleep in one March day, tomorrow the Spring Solstice. And he woke up in September.

He ran into town, asking frantically what had happened. He ran into Niki's bakery, feeling like just yesterday she was putting away her winter stock. And now she was taking it out again.

"Ranboo!" Niki smiled. "Thank you for helping me with those boxes yesterday, flour can be SO heavy."

Ranbo blinked at her. He... doesn't remember doing that. "I'm sorry Niki I... don't think I did help you. Maybe it was someone else?"

Niki laughed. "Of course it was you! What other ten year old do I know that's nearly six feet tall-"

She cut herself off as she turned around, blanching. "Oh shit! You look half starved to death! Sit down sit down!"

"Niki," Ranboo's gears were turning. "How could I have helped with the boxes?! I can barely lift five potions at once!"

"I don't know," Niki shrugged, putting down in front of him a warm loaf of bread and some juice. "You've been helping me all throughout Summer. I guess it is weird... how could you help me? And you looked fine yesterday! Why are you so... scrawny now?"

"That witch..." Ranboo put together the pieces. "Niki, do you remember what I was wearing yesterday?"

Niki thought for a moment. "That checkered brown jacket you always- wait... you don't have a checkered brown jacket... Tubbo did but he's-"

"Gone." Ranboo gulped. He stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth and hopped up towards the door. "Thank you Niki!"

And it had been going like that ever since. And when Ranboo was awake, everyone thought Tubbo was dead, and that whatever Tubbo had done was Ranboo. The other way around must be true as well.

The witch had done his job. He would never see Tubbo again. Not in this half and half state.

So Ranboo was traveling to the underworld. He started his journey when he woke up for the winter at seventeen. And now in a week's time (he silently thanked Tubbo for understanding his goal, keeping him on track), Ranboo would fall asleep for the spring.

The grass was grey, thats the first thing he noticed as he stepped through the portal filled with stars. That and the sky was black. No... the sky was dark. It was purple then grey then blue and it all just looked like sand being swirled up by the tide.

Ranboo continued his trek, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The air was so cold it hurt to breath, and the dusty and... just overal somber smell of the Underworld didn't help much.

He was in a forest. Maybe? They weren't quite trees, inky black against the dark sky, sprawled out awkwardly, bent into shapes they shouldn't grow in. They were packed tightly together.

"And who are you then?"

Ranboo sucked in a breath, whipping around, narrowly avoiding tripping and falling on the roots. "Who's there?!"

"You don't look like you're from around here... you're..." the voice was small and quiet, so much so Ranboo thought he was imagining it. It wasn't like the voice was whispering either, it sounded like it wanted to be heard. "A human! What the fuck are you doing in the Underworld? And what the fuck are you doing on the way to the castle..."

"Show yourself!" Ranboo yelped as there was a noise behind him, twirling around and reaching for his- did he not bring any weapons?! "I- I have magic! Don't mess with me!"

"Tch. HEALING magic, hardly a threat to ME. Behind you."

Ranboo probably twisted his back 180 degrees as he fell to the floor, looking up at the creature in from of him.

It was... very small, maybe pinky finger sized? Ranboo had read about soul fire before, and the thing was enveloped in it. Or no... it had wings made of soul fire, and the rest was a glowing blue.

"Who- what are you?" Ranboo managed to squeak out.

The thing- the fairy? He sighed, crossing his arms, fluttering in the air. He spoke about as fast as his wings were beating, so very rapid and basically impossible to keep up with. "Apparently I'm not s'posed to give my name out, but Tommy isn't my name so you can call me that. And I'm CLEARLY an Underworld sprite. I'm supposed to guide souls to where their proper place in the afterlife is but you're not a soul! Not yet, anyway. Oh yeah, and quick question-"

The sprite zipped right up into Ranboo's face, making him yelp and back up. "Why are there TWO SOULS on you?! And why are you down here in the first place? Unless you're trying to get rid of one of the souls-"

"Yes!" Ranboo cut in. "I need the goddess of death to break this curse, and if you guide sould could you guide me to her castle?"

"Hmm... maybe for a favor!" Tommy had a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You're a healer, I want you to heal someone for me."

Ranboo wrung out his hands nervously. "I don't know how well healing magic works on the dead-"

"It doesn't! Harms them, in fact-" Tommy stated matter of factly. "No no no, my friend. I need you to heal the human of these woods. He's got a curse and he can't see his wife until it's lifted and he's being all sad and depressed about it-"

"I... don't really have the best track record with curses..." Ranboo admitted. He could somehow feel himself starting to sweat through the cold. "Maybe you could- WOAH!"

Ranboo jumped back in fright as Tommy shifted size right next to him, human sized. He was still a good half a foot shorter than him, but Ranboo was still no match for the sprite's strength.

And even at human sized, Tommy was lightning fast. He zipped through the forest faster than he could blink, taking him to an old cabin. It looked about as dead as anything else in the underworld, the wood grey from time, splintered. Cracked windows, overgrown discolored grass, Ranboo would never want to go there in a million years.

But unfortunately, Tommy was still grasping his forearm, and darted inside.

"PHIIIIIIIL!!!" Tommy called out. A man was sitting on an arm chair, facing away from them both. "I got a human to heal you up!"

The man chuckled, Ranboo sucked in a breath. He knew who this guy was. "Tommy, I told you that only-"

The witch- Phil- turned around, frozen mid sentence when he saw Ranboo. "That only the kid I cursed can heal me."

Ranboo squeaked, stumbling backwards and falling over. He scrambled to his feet, making a run towards the door.

"Shit!" Phil said under his breath as he drew a symbol in the air. The door in front of Ranboo slammed shut, and felt like solid cement as he desperately tried to open it again.

He can't get cursed. Not again. Not when he was so close to curing the first-

Phil stared at him with frustration, closed off and proper posture. He was going to finish the job, he was going to kill him. And he would laugh while doing it. He laughed the first time he hurt Ranboo.

"Kid- kid." Phil put his hands up when he saw Ranboo pressed as hard as he could against the door, as far as he could be from the witch. "I'm- hrmmmm... I'm SORRY for cursing you all those years ago."

Ranboo blinked back, surprised. He stayed in his position though, ready to run. "What?"

Phil sighed. "I thought nothing of it but my wife... not a huge fan of the joke. I can only visit her in my other form, but she cursed me for cursing you and now I'm stuck like this. And the only way to BREAK the curse-"

"Is if I do it..." Ranboo finished his sentence, remembering Tommy's words from earlier. He squinted at the witch and the sprite. "Any why should I help the guy who took my only friend from me?"

"You're here for him, right?" Phil crossed his arms. "And the spring Solstice is in just two days I believe-"

Ranboo's eyes widened. He hadn't been in the underworld for THAT long, had he?! He still had a week left when he was on the surface...

"Which only gives you two days to find the goddess of death and get a deal with her," Phil shrugged. "Once my curse is lifted, I can get you to her much faster. And if you do decide to wait out the two days and your friend makes his appearence... his soul will have a very strange time getting used to being thrown into the underworld with no adjustment period like you got."

Ranboo froze. What the heck was that supposed to mean? Tubbo wouldn't... get hurt, right?

No, Ranboo wouldn't let either of them get hurt, not if he could do something about it.

Phil clicked his tongue. "Tick tock-"

"I'll do it." Ranboo glared.

Phil smiled, tilting his head. "Perfect."

...

You know, Ranboo should have expected this when Phil asked to be cured outside.

"Let go of me!" Ranboo struggled in the witch's now giant grasp, watching the trees grow smaller as they were lifted in the air.

What happened to Tubbo if Ranboo died?

Now they were squirming even harder. They didn't want to be the one to get the two of them killed. Why did they tempt the witch again? The very witch that cursed them in the first place?!

"Relax, mate," Phil gave a giant sigh. Ranboo could feel the vibrations extend all the way to his hands where they were being held. "Ranboo-"

Ranboo screamed as they were pulled closer to Phil's face. They kicked and punched their fists against his hand, eventually resorting to clawing at him with their nails.

"Stop- hey!" Phil snarled, shaking Ranboo violently. Their brain pounded in their skull when he finally stopped. Ranboo felt like they would throw up if they had eaten anything in the past few days. "Stop it, or I'll make you go the journey in my mouth."

Ranboo yelped, slapping a hand over their mouth. He wouldn't he WOULDNT-

... would he?! Phil had already cursed them basically at the drop of a hat, who's to say he won't-

"Phil!" Tommy shouted up, zipping onto the witch's shoulder. "Stop shaking them! Treat them like me! No threatening, no surprise picking up-"

"I would if they weren't trying to ESCAPE-" Phil glared back down at Ranboo. They sucked in a breath as his grasp tightened. "You want to see your friend, don't you?!"

Ranboo nodded frantically.

"Well, Tommy's not strong enough to carry you-"

"HEY!"

"And you won't be able to keep up on foot." Phil tilted his hand and opened it, allowing Ranboo to stand up. "So let me hold you, or let your friend wake up confused and scared for his life on why he's in the underworld in the hands of a giant. You want me to carry you or not?"

Ranboo froze in indecision before slowly nodding their head.

Phil brought his other hand up, using both hands to cup Ranboo and make sure they didn't fall as they crossed the underworld.

And... it was beautiful.

Ranboo didn't really get to appreciate it from down below, but the view stunned them nearly as much as their fear of Phil did. The trees were caked in white... snow? And the sky was shone when Ranboo tilted their head, like an opal. The clouds swirled and shifted, dancing even though there was no wind.

And in the distance... a giant castle. It was dark, darker than the neutral grey of the rest of the underworld. But with that it also had the only colors in the land, purple fires dotted the sides, torches about two or three times Ranboo's size.

Ranboo looked up to see what Phil was thinking and... the giant witch was smiling fondly as they approached the gates. Why would he be... no.

Was Phil's wife... sure. Yep. Phil's wife was the goddess of death. Why not.

"Kristen!" Phil shouted, both Ranboo and Tommy flinching and covering their ears. Tommy shoved at his jaw in annoyance. "I'm home!"

"Phil!"

The shadows casted by the large walls and the purple flames conjured together, before disputing and leaving yet another giant in their wake. She wore a large hat with a veil, covering her face and the upper half of her torso. Other than that, she wore a long black dress with long dark brown hair.

"I've missed you!" She laughed, walking forward to embrace her husband before noticing Ranboo. "And who is this? Wait! No way... you actually found them-"

"Well," Phil shrugged. "More they found me. And while they've cured me of my curse..."

Kristen crossed her arms. "They still need the cure YOU gave them lifted. Huh. Funny how those things come back to bite you, isn't it, Phil?"

Phil rolled his eyes. "Yes yes, I get it. No cursing random kids."

"So... can you do it?" Ranboo spoke up.

"Of course I can," Kristen said with an audible smile. Ranboo couldn't really tell if she was being sweet or bragging. She looked at one of Phil's shoulders. "Tommy, would you mind fetching me water from the moat of the castle? And Phil, I'll need-"

"Ow!" Phil yelped as Kristen plucked a hair from his head.

"Yes ma'am!" Tommy fluttered in the air for a second, saluting, before flying out of the gate. Phil followed Kristen into a side room, where there resided a giant cauldron.

Kristen got to work as Phil stood by her side. Tommy fluttered up to be by Ranboo as well, who had been placed on a shelf and was nervously wringing their hands.

They were going to see Tubbo again.

Kristen walked over with a ladle of inky black liquid, dotted with little white specks like stars.

"Ranboo," Kristen said slowly, not quite hitting the gentle mark. "You're going to drink this, and then you'll pass out. When you wake up, you'll be in the land of the living, with Tubbo. It will most definetly be painful, as we're essentially ripping apart your souls at the seams."

Ranboo looked at themselves in the reflection of the potion. "Will... is it going to be painful for Tubbo?"

Kristen shrugged, shaking her head. "You're the one with the body, I doubt he'll even realize what's happening until he's back."

Ranboo nodded gravely, cupping as much potion as they could in their hands. The world turned sideways. There was shouting? And then it all faded to black.

...

Ranboo wasn't expecting to wake up to be honest. If what Phil said was true, then the Spring Solstice was today, when they would fall asleep and Tubbo would wake up in their place.

But Ranboo woke up.

And Kristen was right. They did hurt like hell, all their nerves were on fire and their heart felt tight, but they were awake for sure.

They sat up in bed, not sure what to do now. In... their own bed, back home too. Ranboo hasn't been home since he was thirteen.

What if it didn't work? What if they were seperated but it didn't bring Tubbo back? Or if Tubbo was in the last place HE woke up? What if-

"Ranboo?"

Ranboo yelped. It was a few years older, but they definetly recognized that voice.

They looked over at their nightstand, where a tiny figure was sitting on the desk, like he had just woken up too. Brown messy hair, jet black horns and wings, it was unmistakably Tubbo.

"Ranboo!" Tubbo yelped, falling backwards before scampering to his feet. "What's happening?! What's-"

"You have wings!" Ranboo gasped. "And- it worked! Wait, Kristen actually- ha HA!"

Ranboo leaned down over their night stand and hugged Tubbo close to their face. Tubbo screamed.

"Sorry!" Ranboo flinched back. Tubbo stood firmly on the nightstand, like he was ready for a fight. "I'm just... so happy to see you. And... wait, do the wings mean you're still cursed."

Tubbo flexed his wings in and out, flapping them a few times. "They don't feel cursed? Like I was bedridden and in pain before... everything happened obviously. And while we were... seperated I had no features at all, like the curse had gone away overnight. But now they're just sort of there? Even though this is the first time I've had them they just feel... natural."

"That's good," Ranboo thought for a moment. "We should probably-"

There were footsteps downstairs.

Tubbo clearly heard, snapping his neck over. "You didn't get a new roommate while we were apart, right?"

Ranboo shook their head, not able to say anything else before the door opened.

They blinked away the blue light invading their eyes, making their headache ever prominent. "Tommy?!"

"You're finally awake!" Tommy laughed. He was at human size, carrying two glasses of water. "Took you long enough! You both slept WELL through the solstice, it was SO boring!"

"Tommy, why are you here?!" Ranboo took the glass, slowly sipping on it. "WHY are you here?!"

"Well, Kristen sent me to look after you while you adjusted," Tommy shruggedlike he wasn't talking about the literal goddess of death. "And since you two have been passed out the entire time, I've sort of just been making sure you guys were alive, messing with the locals a bit- wait a minute!"

Tommy shrunk down to Tubbo's size and flew right up to him, hsnd outstretched. "I'm Tommy! And I already know you're Tubbo, don't worry."

"Ranboo," Tubbo backed up. "Who is this guy."

"Tommy is... an underworld sprite," Ranboo scratched the back of their head, not really knowing how to say that lightly. "He's here to help. I think? Did Kristen of Phil send you?"

"Kristen," Tommy landed on the nightstand. "She couldn't completely undo the curse, clearly, so she sent me to make sure neither of you do anything stupid. Can you fly?"

Tubbo blinked back before flapping his wings rapidly as hard as he could. Nothing. "I don't think so."

"Hm." Tommy lifted in the air again. "We'll have to get that taken care of. Meet me downstairs when you're ready, we've got LOTS to talk about!"

Tommy launched off the desk and returned to human sized, walking back downstairs.

"I'm..." Tubbo turned back to Ranboo. "You know what? Nope! Not even gonna ask."

Ranboo snickered. "I'm glad you're back."

Tubbo snorted. "I'm glad YOURE back! Haven't seen you in forever."

Ranboo extended their hand, Tubbo stepping onto it. "Come on, let's go figure this out."

...

And they did.

It was a lovely spring, the first spring Ranboo had had in years. He took his sweet time walking around outside, helping out around the town between healing and being with Tubbo.

And Tubbo was adjusting as well as someone could in this sort of situation. With Tommy there to help, giving pointers on how to navigate through giant sized terrains, as well as him teaching Ranboo how to properly handle the tiny, it was going well.

"Is it bad I'm still nervous for the solstice?" Ranboo asked. Him and Tubbo had been looking out the window, with Tubbo snuggled in the little pocket in his shirt, watching the first dnow of the year. Which was surprising, as the solstice was tomorrow.

"Meh." Tubbo shrugged. "I'm... definetly nervous. But you know, old habits die hard, right?"

Ranboo hummed, the two looked out the window the rest of the night. Until they went up to bed.

"Goodnight," Ranboo yawned pulling over his covers.

"Night!" Tubbo stretched before curling up. They had discovered that as a dragon, Tubbo liked sleeping on piles. Not just gold pulls, but everything. Like fabric.

He let his eyes fall closed, and drifted to sleep. The rest was short, as it was cut off early in the morning by a loud crashing sound.

"Ranboo?!" Tubbo said from the floor, rubbing his head. Why was Tubbo so big?! "Where are you?! I can't see-"

"I'm under the blankets!" Ranboo shouted. Tubbo lifted up the covers and-

Tubbo was a giant. Ranboo scrambled back, realizing how small he was. He felt like he was with Phil and Kristen again.

"Here, let me put you on the desk," Tubbo grabbed Ranboo a bit tightly and plopped him in the nightstand. Ranboo collapsed.

"Don't do that please..." Ranboo was shaking like a leaf.

"Oh crap sorry-" Tubbo cringed back. "I know that that isn't the greatest feeling."

"And we had just gotten used to living with you as a tiny..." Ranboo whined, sighing.

It was going to be another long six months.

[lacefuneral]

hm. i wasnt going to post about it again but. i will. i don't want to put this in the tag but there are spoilers for the last two episodes of the pirate show. so scroll past if you don't want spoiled

but this is less a post about the show and more about. my mental episode. SA discussion tw.

ok so when i saw the episodes last thursday, i saw the implied sex scene and my sexual assault trauma got triggered. really bad. in fact so bad that it pushed me into full blown psychosis that lasted for like 12 hours. and then the subsequent days i felt residual fear.

i instinctively blocked anyone who giffed the scene in question or posted screencaps of it. or made posts celebrating it/making jokes of it. and in some cases blocked people who simply reblogged them.

i realize that people have written meta explaining "no, no really. this is consensual." but one, i don't think a piece of media should have to /require/ that sort of meta and, two, regardless of what was intended by the narrative, the direction taken in the filming of the scene /did/ trigger my sexual assault trauma. i even saw people make horrible posts like "i've seen people say this scene resembles SA to them and actually, THOSE people are spreading rape culture" ???????

anyway. in some cases, i've begun to gradually refollow people (especially former mutuals) that i blocked during my mental health episode. but i'm not quite there yet. i'm still... fragile.

now. i have encountered instances like this before. where media caused me upset (although not nearly to this degree, as this time it involved a comfort character) and like anything else that has triggered me, i've had to approach it with (controlled!) exposure therapy.

unfortunately, controlled exposure therapy would not be possible at this time, as i continue to encounter the scene against my will regardless of what website i am on (which is causing retraumatization). so, after the finale airs, i will likely need to blacklist the OFMD tag for a little while - stop going on AO3 etc. - giving me an entirely clean slate to work with.

but... yeah. i'm in a weird position where something i deeply love has become unsafe for me. where, i could not have guessed in a million years that my comfort character would violently slam his partner against the wall. no communication. no provocation. after his partner very clearly said he wanted to go slow. and that's fucking terrifying to me. i can't help but put myself in ed's shoes. because i would also want to go slow, for my own reasons. and what if my partner didn't care. just disregarded preestablished boundaries. forced himself onto me because of his own selfish desires. while i am trying to comfort him. while i open up about my childhood traumas.

it literally makes me feel physically ill. they could have framed the scene any other way. even if they were "pressed for time." what, they had time to give izzy a musical number but not enough to flesh out one of the most delicate and anticipated scenes of the entire show?

so to me, right now, that scene is my wooden shark. i do not acknowledge it as having happened. maybe that will change eventually? but i have to do that to protect myself.

and like. the response from (some) corners of the fandom to SA victims who were triggered by the ending of episode 6 is nothing short of cruel. i hope you guys learn to be compassionate to others.

[burning-bubble-tea]

I follow this one person who gives an advice column mostly concerning how to navigate different social situations (oh look that’s probably a sign for something…. Anyway) and often times the discussion of friendship breakups are mentioned.

They’re usually described as dramatic and painful but the friendship breakups I’ve had were quiet and unexpected. And frankly is mainly because it’s a drift away and I there wasn’t a confrontation.

Like it makes sense, I’m not a confrontational person and I do believe that those friendships had a place in my life so happily, I don’t regret the time and money I spent on that relationship because relationships are not purely transactional.

One person i essentially made friends with because she provided me with a service and we became friends through that. I’ll always remember our time together fondly it’s just unfortunate that she’s a deeply hurt person and she was starting to lash out at me in ways that showed how incompatible we were.

The other friendship breakup was weird because it wasn’t really me that went through the breakup. Frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if this person still thought we were friends, just that I was still in a social circle they burned a bridge.

They still like my Instagram posts but they never said anything to me. It kinda goes to show how I don’t really matter to them in their current stage of life which is fine.

Our friendship did reach an awkward business phase where every interaction felt increasingly like distant small talk when we used to be able to talk to each other so easily.

I do miss those times but they also sort of developed into a person that was incompatible with who I became. The proceeding years before they burnt the bridge with the friend group they were really bothering me. It was hard to put a finger on as it was a multitude of actions that made me feel certain ways. It was sort of like a bunch of tiny cuts that slowly became infected.

I smiled and stayed silent as I thought the behaviour that was making me upset and annoying me was just me being unsympathetic and hateful and I do regret all the time I felt feeling guilty for having feelings. I never lashed out which wouldn’t have been a valid response but I didn’t allow myself to fully feel annoyed, upset and frustrated and so most of those emotions festered.

When they burnt the bridge they did the breakup with someone else and I was just not even talked to. After spending half a decade being their close friend, all it took was two years of them becoming close to someone else to completely forget me. Which doesn’t exactly feel great.

I’m overall happy I didn’t receive a burnt bridge treatment. But also it would’ve been nice for the time that we spent together to be acknowledged one way or another.

Like I know it would’ve been more hurtful to be treated that way but I guess the grass is greener on the other side.

It’s just weird how quickly I was discarded. We were still in the same friend group, it wasn’t like we drifted away. We primarily drifted away in the sense that we didn’t call each other all the time. But it felt like all of a sudden I wasn’t invited anymore. And being a least favourite friend of most every friend group I was in in my childhood, it didn’t exactly bubble up pleasant memories.

I had such a hard time having a close friend in my childhood. I was close with my neighbourhood friends but they went to different schools as me and we naturally drifted apart once we stopped playing outside as often.

One girl I got close too got ill and became homeschooled.

My closest friend from preschool moved away at the end of kindergarten. (Also her mother was very mean to mine).

Whenever I didn’t have a close friend I’d play tag with the boys but being a child that was very queer and trans but not knowing, I knew it felt very weird.

I got along with the neurodivergent boys but while we bonded, as they started feeling more comfortable in their masculinity, I become less comfortable around them.

I remember acting in a way that was weird and felt irregular and wrong for me just to fit in with the other boys.

But they stopped playing tag and started playing soccer. Grounders and pretend became childish and I definitely was not maturing as fast as them. (Though in high school I definitely matured way faster then hahahahaha)

I did have one “best friend” in elementary school but even then that only lasted a few years before I was tossed aside because I struggled to get along with others. Also he was and still is a jerk.

I was the weird lonely kid who cried a lot in elementary school. A lot of the girls liked me because I was nice (and basically one of the girls cause y’know trans kid who didn’t know they were queer and could make use of the girlies and the gays alliance) but I wasn’t a girl enough to be in the girl friend group (curse the binary gender roles of 2010’s elementary school).

But my parents always said high school would be a fresh start for me and I’d do much better there and they were fully right.

It also helped that at that point I was identifying as a gay boy (who was very much in denial and ignorance over my transness) so I was able to make connections with other queer weirdos.

That’s when I became close with the person. Five years we spend being super close. But once again they moved on and I felt sorta left behind. They were making new friends (who I was friends with as well) but they all became closer as I was left out. Primarily because I was found annoying which okay fair. I’m still annoying, I just find I don’t care too much about it anymore.

Also this is the part where I’d talk about my current close friendship I met around this time but this isn’t time for me to be sappy about that shit I’m unpacking trauma through a Tumblr post and feeling sorry for myself, no room to discuss the immense positive impact they’ve had on my life ew gross.

Anyways that was a really long tangent.

I just always feel like I’m being left behind sometimes. It’s kinda nice now. Being older, there’s so many different avenues to go to and so many people are healing their inner child and it isn’t seen as bad to be a bit immature as an adult. It’s whimsy or whatever rather than cringe. Obviously depending hahahah, if you’re still being mean and rude in ways children are that’s pretty cringe. But being sad or happy in the way children are, well that’s not too bad is it. It’s very healing.

I dunno, I’ve mostly come to peace to my terrible time in elementary school. And my bad relationships in high school (though overall high school was way better for me and that’s primarily due to how awful elementary school was)

Either way now the little awkward annoying queer kid is out at the club with the other queerdos. Drinking water and standing at the edge of the mosh pit having a great time.

[awriterandabird]

not mentally ill enough to be fun for internet users to poke at, too mentally ill to be brushed off as "quirky", but just mentally ill enough to catch myself in yet another unending spiral of shame and agony!

wooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

(dont press read more unless you read those tags. im warning you.)

for the love of GOD please help? stop?

earlier someone asked how they could help i told them to give me space i don't want to explode i feel like i need the opposite of space but also if anyone comes close to me i want to golf them into the sun don't talk to me. don't perceive me please talk to me. don't leave me

i wish i could channel this into something productive (not that i think anyone would want to see that. there's better artists and better art. whats one more little fag on the internet making stories about depression and derealization and autism and burnout. i don't have anything new to add.)

today i went outside and i had trouble staying in my own head

for a while i was a father struggling to keep doing his job because 'reality' around me kept feeling weird and wrong and i remember punching a hole in the wall and i heard birdsong but the birdsong was real and i was back on earth (in my body) and the vignette around my vision was tangible. a fly landed on my arm and it made me yell. i was real suddenly- the veil was gone. i walked around and i looked at some things. i saw a weed growing in the cracks of the asphalt and i saw grass growing through a circle of rocks. at the fairy tree i found a perfectly round rock and wondered what was inside. i was back in the crystal shop- the one across the water- where the ferry took us i remember the perfect little geodes they sold i was back home i remember readying that hammer only to completely fuck up the swing and ended up pulverizing most of it. but i looked and the pieces were right there at the fairy tree. i thought about art and how i would portray things if i and i was that father again and i was struggling to explain i couldn't speak at all really even in the arms of my wife i fought myself and another voice (myself) and i told myself im not real and i told myself why do i feel like im stealing something from someone else and why do i feel like my life is over but it never started and i was in the backyard looking for my cat when the gate slammed. it slammed in the wind. im real again. the sun is still out. the neighbors just came back home- i saw their car pull in. im ashamed to keep wasting time outside, so i walk back in my house

i might have gotten the order of events wrong

does it matter

does writing it down even matter

im giving the void (at first i typed "voice") a recollection of something that doest matter

recorded here for all of time, wasting space on a server, rotting, festering.

who is this for is this for myself?

wouldnt it be easier if i just told the people in my real life what was going on,

no you know what shut the fuck up.

go get a job dumbass.

..yeah i feel like a right waste of space.

"look. walk-ins accepted. you can apply here too when you apply at [x] tomorrow" "tomorrow?" "what else do you have going on in your life?" we walked down the rest of the aisle in silence. i didn't have a reply.

"whats the difference between a psychologist and a psychiatrist?" "one can prescribe you drugs i think" "oh" we drove for 10 minutes in silence. i thought about my next question so carefully. i must have gone through dozens of iterations in that 5 minutes. i was the only one talking. during those 8 minutes i don't remember what the radio played. "which one of those two... tells you about if you have things in your head?" "what do you mean things in your head?" "like-" "like schizophrenia?" "yeah" "a psychiatrist i think. no? a psychologist. i forget" "yeah that's okay you don't know the answer, i probably should have researched myself, its kind of a lot of me to have expected you to have all the answers." "okay"

tomorrow i wake up. i have two options

>disappoint everyone (default option, no action required) >shut up, man up, get out of my room, become presentable, act Normal, interview at two different places, land a job, support the house, be a perfect functioning person

do i have an option

can i at least be a better person than writing a pathetic little vent longer than the colors of the sky. that no one cares about. that i wont care about in. fucking. whenever i can regulate my emotions again

wait will that even happen (someone made me go to type "(never)")

dear god. dear fucking lord. ive only been typing for. not long. it can't have been that long- less than half an hour- rollover just ended- but why the fuck did that person message me 6 times while im on DnD

aaaaaaaaaUGH i WANT TO GO. TO. BED.

WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP TRYING TO TALK TO ME

BUT THEY NEVER WANT TO TALK TO ME

7 messages

why cant we talk about nice things? i have nice things too- when i see them. in that other place. posting back and forth admiring each others stories and characters. i have that too. please. please can you talk to me

but then i swear like clockwork someone reaches out and i think no. not YOU. i want. THEM. (they don't exist) (they are a nebulous construct) what do i want. what do i fucking want. what do i care about? who do i care about?

im sorry. im so sorry. im sorry and i'll promise to respond to you. im sorry i know how it feels to be ignored i don't want to do that to you. im sorry i don't understand these things you send me. i don't understand

earlier tonight i failed once again to follow a simple request

(i keep looking up at those 7 unread messages)

i failed to follow it and i felt so. broken? useless? stupid? worthless? how can you expect someone _like me_ to get a job. to be _functional_

i dont even know if what i want to do is what i want to do anymore

all that time i spent in school. im sorry i wasted your time. im sorry im not going to amount to anything more than that. than this.

"they said they lost you in the system" "lost?? i. i submitted 3 times. under 'jay', under '[dead]', under '[last1]', under '[last1-last2]', i tried. i tried." -- "maybe they just don't want to hire me" "that's not it" "[z] got back to me that one time. do you remember?" "oh only a little-" "they said they're not hiring for night positions. even if on the website, the spot is still open. maybe if i just. replied back again and told them i'd do day anyways" "well, would you rather work at [x], or [y], or [z]?" "[y] i guess... not because i want to work in fast food but the benefits-"

the one blessing of tonight is that at least i haven't been super dysphoric. im too busy trying to claw back into my own body to be worried about whether or not it fits. i just need to be IN one

its been so hard to think of it as anything other than "the body", rather than "me". its. supposed to be "me" i think

whatever that means

my head is swimming again. i need to end this post

7 unread messages

i know i'll hit post, and i'll never see this passage again good riddance. maybe with all the bile ejected now i can actually be

something. i still dont know.

[lenaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]

Favourite colour(s): pink (all shades) especially something like ultra pink (#FF6FFF) or magenta/fuchsia (#FF00FF). something like navy blue, and all colours between that and pink, so basically ourple-ish, are also pretty imo

Last song: dont know if it counts as a song, but BWV 543, Prelude and Fugue in a, by Bach. (Ive listened to this and (almost) nothing else over and over again for the last 2 weeks im obsessed)

[[[Me trying to justify why i like music i like even though i dont have to but im insecure (ignore): My taste in music is extremely weird, but for a variety of reasons, i think almost anything by bach, at least as long as it isnt "too major" or joyfully christian, is perfext for me. Quality is assured, considering hes one of, if not the, most influential and intricate musicians and composers in western europe. I can listen to smth ive never heard before of him, and like it within seconds, because the pace and how quickly the notes and harmonies change is usually very quickly, so my brain cant go adhd mode and be like "this is boring, lets do smth else". Also a piece lasts usually at least like 5-7 minutes, usually longer, so i dont have to find smth new to listen to after just 2 min (though, i wiuldnt have to because i usually listen to the same piece/song for like 10-20 times in a row. Also i never get bored od anything of him, because its so complex and intricate, that theres new stuff to hear and notice all the time. You can listen to the same thing five times but focus on different melodic aspects which completely changes it and ypu notice new melodic lines or patterns that you didnt before, even though they were always there. Also like harmony and melody wise its always extremely good imo. And i just like it mainly because of how simple but at the same time complex it is and all the little patterns in there that are just so logical and make so much sense that it seems obvious, but its still so thoroughly thought-through that its just linda mesmerising. Sorry for this, i can get defensive when it comes to music.]]]

Currently reading: nothing bc i cant concentrate. Havent read any fictional book in 10 years. The last books i read was the warrior cats series (not sure if i remember it better than it actually is/was, but best story out of any books, movies, tv shows or games ive ever seen)

Currently watching: eratically re-watching star trek while skipping lots of things, and watchinf some other things with my ghoulfriend, but nothing new (funny dungeon cooking show season 2 when???)

Craving: usually my girlfriend and/or vatieties of food bc i either havent eaten virtually anything in 3days-1 week, or bc ive eaten the same exact thing every day, and nothing else, for 2 months, bc wverything else feels weird to eat or is too hard to make/get, and its getting tiresome and doesnt taste good anymore and my body needs more nutrients than just cereal.

But atm all my craving have been filled.

Tea or coffee: im guessing iced tea or coffee wouldnt count, orherwise those two in that order. I drink both tea and coffee very rarely, but i absolutely despise coffee, as in normal coffee. Its literally just bitter. But i sometimes drink like some kinds of milk coffee beverages, like latte macchiato, mainly bc of group pressure. and with enough milk and sugar that the coffee itself is virtually nonexistant, and just there as a sort of background flavour that doesnt taste bitter anymore, it can taste pretty good actually. The lnly tea-adjacebt thing i drink when im sick is hot lemonade but i dont think thst counts, so ill go with coffee ig

Mutuals and everyone else thats epic, get tagged!

(Im too lazy to tag ppl rn but pls feel tagged if you see this. Why isnt there an option to tag like all mutuals or a specific group if people on tumblr bc im sure i would forget someone)

Tagged by the angel herself @ladyvalfie

favorite color - Gray, cause I'm that kinda dull bitch

last song - oh fuck what was the last song I listened to that I intentionally listened too ... Black Betty by Caravan Palace maybe

currently reading - I'm supposed to be reading The Locked Tomb series but im a fucking procrastinator.

currently watching - I WANT SEASON 2 OF DUNGEON MESHI SO BAD... but I guess I've been watching The Mandalorian, The Acolyte, and King of the Hill

currently craving - lay down cuddle time with @its-brit-bruh

coffee or tea- I'm an iced tea girl, and to make everyone hate me more I like my iced tea unsweet..

I'm tagging @its-brit-bruh @t-girl-samus @celestesthoughts @sierraisboring

[oshicakes]

when your classmates tease you with other guy

pairings. kageyama tobio x reader, suna rintaro x reader, kenma kozume x reader

genre. fluff

an. to anon, this is your request. hope you'll like it hehe. its kinda long, im sorry sksksks have a nice day!

other: shirabu and futakuchi, kunimi and hoshiumi, sakusa and oikawa, miya twins, aone and yamaguchi, konoha and semi

Kageyama Tobio

your relationship with him is still new, like a weeks. so not a lot of people knew about it.

it was a fine day when someone from the other section confessed to you infront of your classmates.

it was embarassing, to the point you don't know what to do. the guy made you accept the letter he gave you and ran away.

leaving you alone with your teasing classmated and the knowing look of some students from other section and year.

you didn't miss the look that kageyama have when your eyes met with his. he knew that guy who confessed to you, it's his classmate.

althroughout the class, he stared intently at the guy's back. if looks can kill, that guy's already dead by now.

in your case, everyone around you is teasing you. you already told them about having a boyfriend, it's kageyama.

"stop lying, y/n. we just went to karaoke last week and you said you're single. besides we didn't hear about him courting you or even confessing, he's only interested in volleyball, so it's impossible."

you're really offended with what they said about him but instead of arguing with them, you just keep your mouth shut.

it's been three days, and you are forced to accept the love letter within those days. at the same time, kageyama's really in the foul mood. his teammates talked to you about this. so you came up to the solution of talking to the guy even if he ran away gain.

"can we talk, please?" you talked to him. he vigorously nodded and followed you until you reach a more peaceful surroundings. you also didn't miss the knowing looks and the teases that were thrown at you by your classmates.

"im sorry, but i can't accept your confession. i already have a boyfriend."

he just stand there with now a blank face. "but you took the letter i made."

"you forced it in my hand then ran away before i could reject you."

"just one date, y/n. then i'll leave you alone." he desperately said.

"im really sorry, i can't do that."

before anything could happen, a ball hit his back. it was not hard and not that soft too, just enough to make him flinch away from him.

you we're about to check on him when someone grab your wrist. it was kageyama. wearing a scary aura around him. "what do you think you're doing with my girlfriend?"

"k-kageyama? he's your boyfriend, y/n?"

"yes, got a problem with that?" he said. "if you don't have anything to say, go home. leave y/n alone or else you'll get to taste another spike on you. but this time its more harder and it'll land on your face."

the guy was about to say something when kageyama glared at him then the guy just walked away. it was weird but it somehow relieved you. "are you okay? are you hurt?"

"im okay, tobio."

"ill walk you home."

"okay. but please refrain from hitting someone with that ball. i know how powerful you are."

"i won't promise you anything, y/n."

"tobio." you said in a warning tone.

"okay, okay." he surrendered. you kiss his cheeks as a thank you for somehow saving you. he blushed profusely. see, he's a cute litol bean.

the next day, the news about you and kageyama spread around your class and his class. all day, kageyama just wear his smirking but scary but still smirking beacuse of happiness face.

Suna Rintarou

your relationship was a secret, to spare you to the chaotic twin. he doesn't want you to be bothered by them. although you told your classmates that you're in a relationship with your mom's friend's son, which is true.

knowing that you're taken, they didn't stop shipping you with your classmate who always talks to you.

ofcourse, you denied and said you have a boyfriend but they keep on teasing the both of you. it lasted like two weeks and each day, you just want to shout to them to stop.

welp, you didn't know that this day would come. he eventually spread that your his lover now.

it you confronted him infront of your classmates. although he whispered to you that he was just messing around and he just see you as a friend. which made you sigh in relief.

you tried to make him stop with what he's doing but he cut you off and laughed. he pulled you next to him. "come on, y/n. just play along with this. look how funny their faces are." he whispered to you. "sorry, my girlfriend is a not in the mood."

"she's your what?" a voice coming from your behind. oh no, you know that voice. you glance behind you and saw your boyfriend standing there. the guy face him and made you too.

"she's my girlfriend." he confidently said, he even put his arms around your shoulder.

his eyes are now menacing, jaw clenched and fist are closed tightly. you gulped because of that. "really? if you're y/n's boyfriend, then did you know that i slept at their house yesterday? y/n cooked me a breakfast, also prepared a bento for me, and we kissed before coming here."

the guy and your classmates we're speechless, like their mouths and eyes are literally wide open. you mentally face palmed, and you could also feel your face heat up.

he grabbed you away from the guy and claim you infront of them by encircling his arms around my waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. he even kissed your cheeks.

"don't claim other's girlfriend, got that? you're lucky we're not in the gym or else a ball will hit you directly on your face."

after that, he held your hands and walked away from your classmates. before the both of you could get away completely, the twins and some of his teammates blocked the way. "oh great."

"damn! you have a cute girlfriend and you didn't even bother to tell us?" osamu said.

in the end, both of you got cornered by his teammates and made you answer their questions and listen to their rants for an hour. while you classmates specially the guy keep on apologizing to you and him. you assure them that it's okay, but don't do it again.

"stop using your phone, y/n. give me your attention."

"okay, okay. what do you want to do?"

"sleep." then he pulled you and made you lay beside him and locked you between his arms.

Kenma Kozume

both of you never intended to make it a secret, it's more like you date privately. you know.

you don't know if your classmates know that you and kenma are a couple. but you mostly hang out whenever it's break and lunch along with the other volleyball players.

it was a usual day where your classmates invited you to play with them in a game called valorant. and your in kenma's house.

the game ended after a few rounds. they keep pairing you up with this boy in your class. they keep teasing you with him like, "you two have a good chemistry in this, why don't you just date", "you'd be a great duo!"

it happens that the issue was brought to your class, now all of your classmates tease the both of you to each other.

you explained that you already have a boyfriend, but they acted like didn't hear you, instead they said that "oh really! he's your boyfriend, y/n?!" now, you don't know if they misheard it or they're just being dumb. it goes on for weeks.

you're in kenma's house once again. both of you are playing when that guy invited you to play. so you accepted, you tag kenma along.

as the game was going, your classmate that was playing too keep on teasing the both of you. they didn't know that your boyfriend can here them. you looked at him and you can't read his face.

however, who ever tease you with that guy, they end up being dead. the game ends, your team wins thanks to kenma but what shook you was, "hey, y/n. would you mind going out with me?"

"im sorry but i have a boyfriend already."

"it's just a date and he wouldn't know about it." he already know! he's beside me looking intently on the screen and his grip on the mouse are tight, you wanted to say to him.

kenma muted his and your mic. "tell him you'd agree but in one condition, he needs to win against you. 1v1. and if he lose tell him to get lost. but ill play it instead of you." then he umute your mic.

his brows we're almost meeting, waiting for you to say it. you cleared your throat. "ill agree of you win against me in a 1v1 game."

"sure!" that made them shout and cheer. kenma pushed your chair and move his infront of your pc.

the game ended with kenma winning the game. "one more time, y/n. ill be serious this time." the guy said. you looked at kenma and he just nodded. "okay."

and again, kenma won. "hey, uhm.. are you serious about it, y/n? you know we can still go out if you want."

this time kenma answered him. "you lose, so get lost! don't bother my girlfriend anymore." after that he disconnected.

"kozume." you caressed his arms when you saw how he grip his mouse tightly. "calm down, please. even if you lose or win, i wouldn't dare to date him. i love you, okay?"

he faced you and buried his face on your chest. "im sorry, i lost my cool. he just got into my nerves." you're now caressing his soft hair. "its okay. let's eat dinner at my house, mom made something for us."

the next day he walked you to your class which is new to you but you have a hint on what's going on with his mind. it's a great timing that the guy opened the door so he saw you kissing kenma's cheeks. you instantly pulled away.

"you're the one i defeated yesterday, right?" he looked at the boy. "before you date and steal y/n away from me, make sure you're strong enough to win against me, got that?"

everyone went silent, including your classmates. he looked inside your classroom. "enablers." then looked at you. "wait for me later, okay? mom's home so she wants to see you. see you later."

after that he walked to his class which is just next to yours. he glared one more time at the guy before going in.

[andypantsx3]

shoto and 'when i find out who is responsible for this...' IM A SUCKER FOR OVERPROTECTIVE SHO LMAO

This one was one of my faves to write, I really hope you like it!

Damage | Todoroki/Reader

Prompt: “When I find out who is responsible for this...” Word Count: 1600 words Tags/Warnings: SFW, ye olde quirk accident trope Notes: Special thanks again to my lady love @bobawithpomegranate for beta-ing me!! Also, for anyone who hasn’t suffered a corporate job: KPIs = key performance indicators, which are a set of business metrics used to measure success in certain areas.

The first sign that something was wrong should have been in line for security. 

Ayako—your favorite member of the Todoroki Agency security team—was waving a detector wand over your clothes when she asked casually, “How’s it going?”

Any other morning, your response was something along the lines of, “Oh, it’s going. How are you?” This morning, however, you blurted, “Good! Except that I bumped someone on the train and spent ten minutes trying to get a coffee stain out of this shirt, and I feel a little sick when I think about leading the KPIs review because Shouto’s property damage numbers are up again which doesn’t look great, so I skipped breakfast but honestly I’m super hungry right now, that was a bad choice, and—”

You cut yourself off, utterly bewildered. Ayako looked similarly nonplussed, raising a slim brow. 

“Uh, nevermind. I’ll just be going,” you said, and hared off to the rest of the security checkpoints before she could give commentary.

So you might have known that something was wrong even before you let yourself into Shouto’s manager’s office, armed with your monthly spreadsheets and performance slide decks. But you hadn’t given it more thought since then, a move which proved to be a complete mistake.

Shouto was already there, lounging in the set of chairs in front of his manager’s desk, looking less like a hero waiting for a meeting and more like some airbrushed ad for his dark turtleneck or his close-fit grey slacks. Your heart shot into your throat at the sight of him, like it usually did, and you had to remind yourself to relax.

Though he was unbearably handsome to the point of distraction, Shouto was relatively easy to get along with, something that should have made you calmer in his presence. He was straightforward, possessed of very little ego, thoughtful, and a very linear and strategic thinker—you’d worked extremely well with him the past couple of years, and Shouto, though he had less to do with the daily operations of the agency, had helped push your promotion last year to Director of Public Relations. It should have added up to an easy and uncomplicated work partnership, but his personality only made your unfortunate crush on him even worse.

He was so horribly, horribly perfect. And you were an awful little metrics gremlin, called in to roast him over the open flame of public opinion once a month. Really not something Shouto might be interested in.

“Y/N,” he said, looking up from his phone and fixing you with an intent look. Your heart stuttered under those heterochromatic eyes.

“Hi, Shouto,” you said, setting down your bag and digging out your laptop for something to take your attention off of him. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” he answered in his deep tone. “How are you?”

And that was it. The damning question that sent it all to hell.

“My heart feels like it could explode any second, and I feel kind of faint, weirdly weak, and incredibly distracted,” you answered, naming the symptoms of his very presence.

There was a beat of silence. You froze, crouched over your bag, laptop halfway out of it. Then it hit you what had just been said, and you slapped a hand over your mouth in horror. 

Shouto was up out of his chair in the blink of an eye, kneeling in front of you with cool fingers on your face, angling it towards him.

“You’re not well?” he asked, those eyes locking on you with an alarming intensity.

His attention only made things worse. “I feel like I might pass out,” you said, cringing even as the words left your mouth.

Fuck, what the hell were you saying? You were making it sound like you were some Victorian maiden, ready to swoon in the mere company of a gentleman. And why were you saying this shit? You’d worked with him for years and you’d never let slip the effect he had on you—what was wrong with you this morning?

You thought back to the coffee incident on the train this morning, the way the girl whose drink you had spilled had startled, the way she had weirdly apologized to you even as you were in the midst of your own apology.

A sense of foreboding settled over you. 

Oh.

Oh fuck.

“I think I’ve been hit with a quirk,” you blabbed.

Shouto’s features shuttered, a hard look you’d never really seen before entering his eye. He went over to his manager’s desk, dialing a number on her office phone, and then he was talking in low tones, asking someone from medical to come up to her office immediately.

Then he was back at your side, easing you carefully to the floor like you actually were in danger of passing out, and not just a huge idiot with an incredibly fat crush that made you say the world’s most ridiculous things.

“When I find out who’s responsible for this,” he uttered, low and dangerous, “they might never be able to use a quirk again.”

For some reason, the threat warmed you, even as it sent a little shiver down your spine. Was it weird to find him hot when he was angry?

You clamped your mouth firmly shut, lest you tell him exactly what illness prevailed you, but your silence was all for naught.

Because when one of the medical staff made it up to the office, pressing a quirk testing strip to your skin, she pronounced, “A truth quirk.”

Shouto caught your hand before it could smack into your forehead, looking surprised that he had done so. And then even more surprised at the pronouncement.

“A truth quirk,” he echoed, looking down at you curiously. His fingers were gentle where they held your wrist.

You squirmed uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“But then, you’re still not well,” he said. He looked up at the medical staffer. “She’s feeling faint, and having problems with her heart.”

“She’s fine,” the staffer confirmed, holding up a scanner with your vital readings. They were embarrassingly perfect—incredibly, perfectly, damnably normal.

You could have died. You literally could have died.

Shouto looked down at you with a little wrinkle on his perfect brow, obviously wondering how you could admit symptoms like that given a truth quirk, only for there to be no physical sign of them. You tried to hold down the truth, but another question from him doomed you.

“But how?” he asked, clearly concerned, cool fingers smoothing over your cheekbone.

“I have an insanely huge crush on you,” you blurted. Then you unleashed a string of colorful swears, flushing so hot you thought you might catch fire.

Those heterochromatic eyes went a little round at the edges.

The medical staffer looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh as she bade a quick farewell. She was out the door before you could catch her sleeve and hold her like a shield against Shouto’s incredibly penetrating stare.

“I’m. Um. You know, sorry and everything,” you added. “I won’t let it interfere with work. I mean, I haven’t, any of the past couple years—fuck, oh my god, I just said that—”

Shouto was watching your mouth like he couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of it.

“Say it again,” he said.

You paused, staring at him. “What?”

“Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“My heart feels like it could explode any second, and I feel kind of faint, weirdly weak, and incredibly distracted,” you answered obediently.

“Because of me,” he said, like it was a wonder.

You gave him an annoyed look. Obviously because of him, who the fuck else did he think wielded that combination of attractiveness and straightforward appeal like an S-class quirk of its own?

Shouto choked on a laugh, and you realized with some horror that you’d said all of that out loud. 

Damn the fucking truth quirk.

“I don’t know,” Shouto said, sounding amused. “I think I rather like it. When I find out who is responsible for this, I might have to thank them instead.”

This stopped you short.

He what now?

“I’m sorry, what?”

Something a little like a smirk curled the corner of Shouto’s mouth. “It is generally gratifying to know one’s feelings are returned, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t know—” you started, feeling annoyed with him again. Then you choked when the implication of his words sank in.

Shouto’s fingers slid down to cup your chin, and suddenly it felt like every nerve ending in your body was concentrated there, the touch magnified a thousand-fold into an all-consuming sensation. 

“Would you like me to kiss you?” he asked lightly, looking smug.

“Oh my god yes—” The answer was out of your mouth before he’d even finished the question.

Shouto laughed, and then he was leaning in. You could feel the smile still on his mouth when it met yours. Shouto’s kiss was careful and attentive, but you could sense something deeper beneath, the same kind of restrained sort of passion that underlaid his quirk. Having that kind of controlled intensity turned on you was something you could have never prepared for.

The kiss became deeper and more heated, and Shouto was just easing you backwards again, still pressed firmly to you, when the door opened and his manager blew in.

“This is a fucking office,” she said, stepping over the two of you like you were a grimy puddle in the street. “Now hurry the fuck up, we have KPIs to review. Shouto—don’t think this will derail me from your property damage numbers increasing.”

Shouto huffed into your mouth, slumping against you.

You couldn’t do anything but laugh.

Current event masterlist in pinned!

[fandom-monium]

i finished for the holidays and i just *chefs kiss* beautiful talented amazing sajkgdkj no words i love that romance wasnt even the main point 🥺💘 anyway i love how you write reader and i wondered between her and spencer who gets jealous???

Unrivaled

Summary: In which you seem pretty close with the new intern, and Spencer is not happy about it. (ft. one of my fave white bois) “Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

WC: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, Jealous!Spencer bc id like to see that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, the lightest implication of smut ever, points to yall who can guess who the intern is before reading the end or the tags 😉

—

Spencer is not jealous. He’s not.

Why would he be? 

He has no reason to be jealous, Spencer chants to himself as he sits at his desk. Even from across the bullpen he still manages to hear your voice, and while normally it’s music to his ears, even better than Mozart, now it just feels like nails against a chalkboard. Grating his eardrums, making him wince.

Because you’re laughing. Not with Spencer though. Not at his obscure references or lame jokes.

With the new intern.

Why did Emily have to put you in charge of him? She could’ve chosen anyone on the team to have him shadow, but it had to be you! Not that you’re incapable or unqualified; you’re experienced, talented, and the best person he knows. 

… Okay, he can see why she picked you.

Why do they even have interns? Unnecessary, really, when the BAU has you and him and he guesses the other teams too (it’s weird, he’s never actually interacted with them but whatever). Maybe it’s time to start making budget cuts. He’ll discuss this with Emily when he gets the chance. He’s got some influence, working at the BAU as long as he has.

But he’s not jealous. 

Logically, jealousy (like an intern) is unnecessary. The green-eyed monster (like an intern) is ugly and contributes nothing productive, and if Spencer’s being honest, the world (like an intern) would be much better off without it.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he downs his coffee like a shot of whiskey, trying to quell the squirming beast in him. Despite 90% of it being sugar, it still tastes bitter. He sets his mug down with a thud, and it’s loud enough to make Luke, Garcia, and JJ turn their heads, exchanging concerned glances when he slumps back in his chair.

Spencer doesn’t care. The world’s ending; you’re apparently into younger guys, with neat dark hair and forearms that can probably snap someone’s neck, and he can’t do anything about it. What does it matter if his best friends catch him in a sour mood, right?

“Hey, Spence,” JJ's tone is soft as they slink over, Garcia and Luke leaning against the edge of his desk and JJ flanking the other side. “You alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer gazes past them, his eyes never leaving you. He deflates; your stance is relaxed, completely open as you nod at whatever Intern is saying, his hands gesturing spastically. It must be interesting, the way you listen with rapt attention and respond just as enthusiastic.

Spencer scoffs. Not like that’s anything special. You do the same for him. And the rest of the team.

...What the hell are you guys talking about? 

“Well, you look like you’re about to throw your mug across the room. Or at an intern.”

Spencer blinks, finally breaking away from you long enough to eye the ceramic octopus. “That’s a good idea actually.”

“Don’t,” Garcia and JJ both shoot him a warning and he huffs, resting his chin in his hand. Garcia looks horrified, betrayed even while JJ has that expression on, the one she gives when she scolds Henry and Michael.

Whatever. It’s not like he’d ever sacrifice Mildred. Garcia entrusted her to him, after all. 

Unless...?

No, he couldn’t… Maybe.

“You know, Reid, if you’re jealous—”

Spencer snaps his head to Garcia, eyes wide and darting to you like you have super-hearing, “Jealous? Who’s jealous? Not me.” He cringes, his voice octaves higher and cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Garcia snorts, “Okay, sure. But if you are jealous, I was going to say you have no reason to be. You wanna know why?” Spencer raises an eyebrow at her and she continues, “Sure the guy’s smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship at GWU, and he’s top of his class at the academy—”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

"And he’s one of the most good looking guys I've ever met—”

"How is that relevant—"

Luke frowns at her. "And have you met me?"

“My point is,” Garcia’s red lipstick curls into the most reassuring smile, “that you have nothing to worry about because (Your Name) loves you. A lot.” 

Spencer perks up. “You really think so?”

“I know so. I see the way they look at you, and if that’s not love I don’t know what is," She shrugs, "And just because they’re talking doesn’t mean they’re into him.”

There's a collective nod of agreement and Spencer sags in relief. Of course they're right. He knows they are. 

If you think about it, technically, he's got the advantage. You've known each other longer, bonded and shared experiences together good and bad, and you’re emotionally and even physically intimate with each other (something he's especially proud of, considering how long it takes you both to warm up to others).

And who knows? This is probably temporary! Whatever this is, the connection you seem to instantly make with Intern (faster than when you two had met, he realizes with a needle to his heart) is short-term at best. It'll peter out eventually, like most friendships do.

It’s sad, but a cruel fact of life.

(Is this selfish, wishful thinking? Nah.)

They’re right, there is no need to worry, Spencer thinks as a weight lifts off his chest, finally able to breathe. You love him and he loves you and eventually, everything will go back to normal. 

There’s nothing to worry about.

—

The world’s ending.

“It’s really not.”

Yes, it is.

“Doc, come on.”

“Do not ‘Doc’ me,” Spencer grumbles, lifting his head from the comfort of his arms. He grimaces at Luke. “You didn’t see the way they looked at him. The way they talk about him.”

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since you’ve taken Intern under your wing, and he’s had enough. If Hell is real, this is it. For days, he’s tried to resume some form of normalcy, and he was never one to be bold but desperate times call for desperate measures as he asks you out for lunch or invites you out on dates, even stuff he wouldn’t normally do because they’re more your thing. Something, anything to get you away from Intern. But...

At work: “Hey Spence, I'm teaching Intern (menial task that a 4 year old could do). Would you like to help—”

During break: “I’m taking Intern out for lunch. He’s still new to town, and I thought he could use a tour—”

In bed: “Did you know Intern’s a huge fan of Star Wars—”

Snap, and there went his patience.

Intern this, Intern that. 

Spencer could tolerate this at work. At least he’s saving lives, being productive, getting paid. But under his roof? In his bed? 

That was the last straw.

Spencer's not one to wish ill on another, he's not like that. But if something happened to the guy, say, get injured in the field, perhaps from a "stray" bullet, he'd be intern-ally grateful. Heh. 

"Hey, you good?"

Spencer sighs, swiping a hand over his face and turning back to Luke. "Yeah, why?"

Luke waves a hand at his face, eyebrow raised, "For a second there, you kind of had a scary look on your face."

"Did I? Weird."

"Right," Clearly unconvinced, Luke brushes it off, deciding to get to the root of the matter. "As I was saying, I still think you have nothing to worry about. Although, I do think it's a little weird that (Your Name) is talking about Intern as much as you say they are." He offers Spencer a little smile, his hand falling heavy on his shoulder. It's the most comforting touch he's had in two weeks. "I'm not one to talk, but I suggest you speak to them. I'd also be uncomfortable if my partner were talking up someone else."

Spencer blinks, squints at Luke, before gripping his hand and standing up. "Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

"You can stand to mention it more often," Luke shrugs, eyes crinkling with amusement as Spencer lets go and heads for the door. 

"Noted."

—

Spencer nearly goes feral when he finds you.

Of course you're with him.

He searched the floor like a bloodhound, discovering you've been on your feet almost the entire day, running around the office, up and down the elevators, finishing your work and helping around. You must be exhausted. It's because of this he tracks you to your favorite break room, mostly quiet save for the buzzing drip of the old coffeemaker. He knows you need to be alone sometimes, recharge those social batteries.

So when he bursts into the room like he would hunting an unsub, eyes quickly scanning the immediate space, he expects nothing less but you. What he did not anticipate was to find you, just as soft and pretty as ever under the fluorescent lighting, leaning against the counter and sipping daintily at your favorite mug. 

With Intern standing a little too close to his liking.

“Hey, Spencer,” You chirp as you lower your coffee mug, lips glossy from your drink. Spencer's quick to shake his stupor―he can’t afford to be distracted, but it’s difficult when you’re beaming at him, clearly excited. You nod at the home-wrecker, “Me and Intern here were just talking about demonology and he’s got this interesting theory on werewolves―" Lycanthropy? Are you fucking kidding him right now? 

Just when he thought he couldn't hate the guy any more.

"CanItalktoyou?" It comes out rushed as Spencer gasps between breaths, leaving no room to second guess himself.

"Sure," You blink at his urgent tone.

For a second, you watch him expectantly, and Spencer's gaze darts between you and Intern. "Alone?"

"Oh! Okay. Be gone," You wave Intern off, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, Spencer sees red. Or green in this case.

Intern doesn't resist, but the noise Spencer releases is animalistic because the guy can’t seem to read the room, questioning you as you gently shove him towards the door. "What about the thing―"

"We'll talk about that later."

"But you still need to show me how to―"

"Don't worry, Intern. Just wait for me, I'll show you once the adults are done talking."

"You know at some point you're gonna have to call me by my name." 

"Nah. If we get to call Luke a newbie, we get to call you Intern. Also I do not know how to say your first name."

 "You could just call me St―"

Enough of this. Spencer closes the last stretch of distance, batting your hand away from Intern’s shoulders as he kicks him out himself, slamming the door in his face. Spencer turns on his heel to face you, caging you both. “You―” He pants, chest heaving for air.

“Me?”

“You-him-we―”

You’re unfazed, simply nodding at him and his odd behavior. If anything, you’re enjoying this as your lips twitch in a poor attempt to withhold your amusement, trying to cover it with a slurp of your cup. Then again, it’s not everyday you get to see Spencer, face flushed from exertion, speechless as he gasps for breath.

(At least not at work… In the break room specifically.)

It takes a minute as Spencer swallows a few times, but his heart’s erratic and it’s not just from running through the entire building. When he’s got enough air, he blurts out, “Did I do something?”

Your brow shoots up. “What?”

“Did I forget something important? Upset you in some way?”

“No? I don’t think so?” You frown at him, your answers more like questions. 

It only spurs him on, and though his tone is frantic and his eyes just as wild as his hair, you’re more intrigued than frightened. Definitely confused.

“Okay, but you know I love you, right?”

“Yes and I love you too but Spence, what’s this about?" Setting down your mug, you look at him like he's grown another head.

Spencer sighs, "I just… you…" He frowns, glancing between you, the floor, and the empty space between you. 

Spencer Reid is a man of words. Many, many words, according to all his friends and his coworkers. Mainly knowledge―he's never been great with feelings―but as you gaze at him, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts, he wants to melt into the floor. There's not a hint of annoyance on your features, your eyes warm and inviting. 

He's so in love with you.

Then like scripture the words come, natural without much stuttering or hesitancy. He recounts the last two weeks. The internship so far, the times you've left Spencer behind for him, the times you just talked about him, like the guy (practically a stranger) is your new best friend. Usually, pretty people make him tongue-tied and you do―god, you do―but at the same time only you make it so easy. Talking, expressing without fear of―

"Pfft―"

―Judgement. Pausing mid-sentence, Spencer gawks as your nose twitches and your blink rate increases. You purse your lips, a hand slapped over your mouth as it threatens to break out into a grin.

"Are you-are you laughing right now?" When he just poured his feelings out to you? 

That does it. You keel over, peels of laughter coming like a tsunami, crashing into him and Spencer loves your laugh but not when it's at him. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing," you wheeze, gripping your stomach. Spencer pouts. There's even tears in your eyes. "But you're telling me this is all because you're jealous?"

He stutters, "Well-I-no-It’s just…" He wants to say ‘you're mine’, but as your eyes crinkle he knows there’s no need.

"That's kinda hot."

"Wha-really?" Wide-eyed, Spencer squeaks as you step closer to him, backing him into the door. His hands come up to his chest in a kitten-like manner yet at the same time protective―you'd never hurt him and you both know that―but you admit your initial reaction was poor when he laid his feelings bare. 

“Ahhhh Babe, you know there’s no one else for me but you.” Spencer blushes and you chuckle, taking his hands in yours. He let's you. “Also, as adorable as Intern is, one, I think I’d be able to tell if he was hitting on me, and two, he’s not really my type.”

Spencer swallows, “And what exactly is your type?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Looking him up and down, you step closer, enough that your breath puffs against his chin. You smell like cheap coffee. “Tall, handsome doctors with messy, brown hair―” You lightly tug at one of his stray curls and he bites back a smile. 

“―and a cute nose―” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, bringing him down to peck the tip of his nose. It scrunches as Spencer breaks out into giggles. 

“―Who can recite classic literature. Who can bake like he belongs on The Great British Baking Show but can’t cook for shi―”

“Okay! Thank you, I get it,” Spencer says, almost completely relaxed now.

“Good,” You nod with finality. “And for your information, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous."

He raises an eyebrow. "So you just abandoned me and talked about another guy for the hell of it?"

Spencer's tone is casual, joking even but you know better. There's underlying bitterness and hurt and your heart squeezes because you did that. "No, of course not. There is a reason behind all that.“

“What could possibly excuse you going above and beyond your job as a mentor―”

“I was trying to set you guys up.”

Spencer deadpans. “Set me up? With him?” Oh god, he knows you’re weird, but he’s never considered you to be outright insane (is it weird he still loves you?).

As if reading his thoughts, you roll your eyes, “Spencer, how many friends do you have outside the team?”

“Not a lot.” No hesitation, but he accepted the fact a long time ago. 

“Yeah and that’s okay. But if you’d talk to Intern, you’ll find you two have a lot in common. I know he’s younger than us, but he’s a good kid, real smart,” You give him a meaningful look and shrug, “Not like IQ 187 smart but he could definitely hold a conversation with you.”

Spencer murmurs, pulling you in so you're chest to chest, “This entire time, you were really trying to make us friends?”

You nod, your expression a mix of giddiness and hope that makes whatever feelings he felt before, the confusion and―yes, fine―the jealousy, dissolve like sugar in water. Spencer sinks into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your soap. Of course you had good intentions. Of course you wanted to do something nice for him.

Fuck, he loves you.

“So… we good?”

Spencer huffs, “I hope you realize how much I suffered the past few weeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Then yes, we’re good,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “I appreciate what you were trying to do.”

“And?”

His brow furrows and he pulls back, meeting your eyes. “And what?”

“Will you try to be friends?” You look at him expectantly.

Spencer opens his mouth to answer, a definitive no on his tongue, but then you’re giving him puppy-dog eyes and before he realizes it, “Okay.”

Wait, no. That is not what he meant to say.

“Yeah!” You throw your arms around him, and Spencer can’t stop you, grunting as you basically swing him around like a rag doll. But he finds he doesn’t care when you set him back down because you’re happy, happy for him, grinning ear to ear as you babble, “I can already tell you two are gonna be the best of friends! You guys have so much to talk about, all that nerdy stuff. Maybe even debate! And we could play chess and―”

There’s a knock and you both turn, a voice muffled by the door, “Hey, guys? I don’t want to interrupt in case you’re boning, but you didn’t exactly tell me where to wait for you? God, I hope you guys aren’t boning. Please tell me you’re not boning right now.”

You groan, “No Intern, we’re not boning! Right-uh-go ahead and meet me back at the office, I’ll be right with you.” You turn back to Spencer, sending him an apologetic look. “I will see you later, okay? And since you’ve been such a patient and understanding partner,” You plant him one last kiss before patting his cheek, and his eyes widen as your voice lowers in the way you know drives him crazy, your eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ll make it up to once we get home. Bye, love you!”

Before Spencer can fully register your words, you're out the door, cackling as you leave him to compose himself, his face beet red from running the possibilities. By the time he emerges from the break room, you’re long gone.

“Hi, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer almost snarls, cursing under his breath. Just when he thought the day was getting better. He turns back. 

Intern stands tall, relaxed and shoulders back, black tie loose and cheap white-collar button up slightly wrinkled. No doubt from working hard and following your instructions throughout the day. Spencer respects the work ethic at least. Meanwhile, the younger man eyes him, and he’s certain it’s not from intimidation but with curiosity.

Spencer doesn’t linger on that. He’s used to it, not being intimidating to others.

He continues, “It’s nice to finally talk to you, one on one I mean. I’m a fan of your work. Seven degrees, huh?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says curtly. Recalling the earlier conversation with you, he stamps down his irritation and tries to extend an olive branch. “How did you know?”

“It’s the internet, sir,” Intern raises an eyebrow, offering an innocent smile. 

“Right,” Spencer returns it with an awkward one of his own, “Hey, sorry for... literally kicking you out before. That was completely unprofessional.”

Intern waves him off, “No, it’s cool. I totally get it. I’m flattered, by the way.”

Spencer frowns. “Flattered?”

“Well, it’s not everyday you find out your superior’s jealous of you.”

Spencer blinks, and it takes all his experience as a profiler to mask his embarrassment. “You heard that.”

“The FBI’s got thin walls,” Intern shrugs and steps towards him. “Although I have to say, Agent (Your Last Name) is wrong about one thing.” Stopping short in front of him, for the first time Spencer is close enough to note the moles dotting his face. “They can’t tell that I’m flirting with them.” 

He starts down the hall after you, and Spencer’s eyes trail after him as his brow furrows, until realization slams into him and his jaw drops. “Wait, you...”

“Oh and since (Your Last Name) wants us to be friends, I think we could be on a first-name basis,” He pauses to look back at Spencer, watching with a crooked smile as the older man sputters. 

“So, you can call me Stiles, sir.”

Then once again, Spencer is left behind, frozen in the hallway as he processes what just happened.

And the next time he finds you and Special Agent Stilinski in the same room, whether it’s crowded or not, Spencer does not hesitate to cling to your side, putting as much distance between the intern and you as he can. Spencer’s grateful you don’t question it.

There may not be anyone else for you, but that doesn’t mean no one will try.

―

AN: ahhhhh thanks anon!! There was a similar request then i saw this tiktok (and listened to this tiktok the entire time) and i combined them. Id also like to emphasize that my version of reader is neutral across the board, race, gender, etc.

Yes, i have a type. No, i will not be taking criticism. 

Been hella overwhelmed with classes and work so here’s my way of destressing. Also suggest checking those tiktoks if you wanna understand me :))) also you mean to tell me i have to write the threesome myself?? Bs tbh 😔

watched 15x4 and i was so sad when Spencer addressed Luke as his coworker like no bitch hes your new bro stfu

and i have no doubt that stiles and spencer would be one of the best crossover duos given the chance 

[kass-storycorner]

I literally can’t sleep right now because I ate something ✨spicy✨ earlier and I shouldn’t have finished eating it after I noticed it that it was too spicy for my liking 🥲 (and knowing full well that my stomach can’t handle spice at all). But I was hungry and stupid and now I’m laying in bed with stomach ache and feeling sick… so I was inspired to write this (on my phone so the formatting is a bit weird). In those sense I am a Chongyun kinnie I guess. Now excuse me while I try to get a bit of sleep, I have therapy and work tomorrow and I really need a good nights rest for both.

Idea: Thoma invited you over to cook you dinner, but he underestimated how sensitive your stomach is (compared to his own… Thoma would probably eat the dubious meal from Botw without batting an eye)

Characters: Thoma x gn!reader

Genre: fluff

Content warning: mention of feeling sick, mentioning the preparations for vomiting, like getting a bucket etc. (but no actually vomiting takes place, this is the CN for all the other ppl out there like me who can’t deal with the topic very well), very very very slight suggestiv content warning (it’s just one stupid joke of Thoma lol)

Format: i feel like it’s too long to be a drabble but it’s also not proof read so eh also I don’t know how to put something under a cut via the tumblr app so until I’m on a desktop you have to deal with this in the tags I AM SO SORRY

You knew it was a mistake to finish your plate as soon as you ate the first spoon of what Thoma had prepared for you two. But he looked at you with such a bright smile in anticipation of what you would say, how you’d like what he had made specifically for the two of you. It was such a nice gesture for Thoma to cook for you, when he asked you yesterday you accepted his invitation for tonight. The both of you had been dating for a while now, however Thoma didn’t have many nights just for himself as the Housekeeper of the Kamisato Clan. So it was very nice for him to spend his first night off in a while cooking for you. With all of that in mind and his puppy eyes looking at you - ah, you just didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was too spicy for you. It wasn’t even that you didn’t like the taste, you probably would like the dish, but it was just… so spicy, there was no option for a taste. It was just burning in your mouth. With a smile you just kept eating until your plate was empty, hoping the consequences of your actions would be too severe.

And for a while you felt fine, spending the rest of the evening cuddling with Thoma on the couch, listening to how he told you stories about his home with a bittersweet tone. In the middle of one of his stories, he was just telling you about a story from his childhood when he searched with two friends for one of their pet turtles, your stomach interrupted him with a loud growl. “Oh, are you still hungry?”, he asked with a slightly teasing tone. “No, it’s nothing, just digestion”, you tried to laugh it off and for a while he kept continuing his stories, not paying too much attention to the different noises of your stomach. That was until he noticed how your body started to tense up, your face turning pale. “Hey, are you alright?”, Thoma shifted, having you sit beside him now. “Yeah, it’s nothing, I’m fin-“, but before you could even finish the sentence the pain in your stomach became worse, as if someone just punched you in it you jolted towards, hugging your arms around your stomach. Hunched over in pain you could feel Thoma’s hand on your back. “Do you need to vomit? Wait a moment”, before you could even answer his question he was already on his feet, running towards the small kitchen and getting you a bucket. Just as quick as he was on his feet he sat back beside you, his hand back on your back, the bucket placed in front of you. “Thoma, really I’m fine it’s ju-“, again you were interrupted by the pain, having to take a deep breath to manage the cramp. “You don’t seem fine to me,” his voice was filled with worry while he caressed your back. “It fine, really. I’m used to it, I just need to lay down a bit,” You we’re finally able to say, giving him a pained smile. This really wasn’t ideal and to be honest it was so embarrassing for you. Maybe, you thought to yourself, that’s the punishment for not being honest from the beginning. But you couldn’t turn back time, so this was now your evening. “Okay, hold on,” before you could even understand what he mean with that he stood up and picked you up, carrying you bridal style to his bedroom. “Thoma, what are you doing?”, surprised by the sudden action you cling to his jacket. “You said you needed to lay down,” he put you down on his bed, “it’s best for you to lay down here, the couch really isn’t the most comfortable when you need rest.” Any other night you would feel something different in your stomach, nervousness, excitement- whatever, the way he carried you into his bedroom, put you down on his bet… you really wished that the circumstances were different for his actions. Was he even aware of what he was doing? “Thoma, I’m sorry”, you sigh, hiding your face in your hands. God, all of this was so embarrassing. He sat down at the end of the bed, his hand on your leg. “Hey, don’t be, it’s not your fault that you don’t feel well.” Thoma stood up from the bed, throwing a blanked over you to then make his way out of the room. “Don’t go”, you mumbled before he was at the bedroom door. “Mmh? What did you say?”, he asked and came closer to you again. You grabbed the fabric of his clothes, repeating yourself. “Don’t go, please.”

The pain in your stomach was still bad, but worse was the thought of having to spend the night alone in Thoma’s bed and him willingly sleeping on his couch, because you couldn’t tell him the truth. Without any further words Thoma filled the empty space next to you in his bed, laying on his side, his one hand supporting his head and the other hand softly going through your hair. You had your eyes closed, concentrating on your breathing, to regulate the pain but also to calm yourself down from the whole situation. Laying next to him in his bed, so close and it all felt so intimate… ah, maybe the nervousness of the whole situation didn’t really help with the pain. After a while you felt Thoma’s hand press against your forehead. “Mmmh, they don’t seem to have a fever, that’s good”, he mumbled to himself. Ah, did he think you fell asleep? Awkwardly you cleared your throat, opening your eyes looking directly into his. “Oh-ah, you’re still awake?”, he looked a bit embarrassed at you noticing how he talked to himself out loud. “Umm- yeah. Thoma,” you shifted, now laying on your side and not on the back anymore, facing him. “Don’t worry, I’m really not ill, it’s just…”, you paused, hesitant to tell him this, “it’s just, the dish you made earlier was a bit … too spicy for me, I quite the sensitive stomach and… I just didn’t want to tell you earlier, you made such an effort to cook for me and-“, you didn’t knew what else was there to stay, burying your face again in your hands you mumbled out another apology to him. “I’m sorry that I didn’t notice it, I made you eat two plates of it, without seeing that you didn’t even enjoy it”, Thoma pulled you in a hug, his chin now resting on your head. “No, Thoma don’t apologise. You couldn’t have known it, I promise you I’ll tell you in future…”. Suddenly you felt another wave of stomach pain, making you curl up again in pain. “Ah, it’s so stupid that my body reacts to a bit of spice like that,” you try to joke, but Thoma only caresses your cheek, looking at you with worry. “How bad is it?”, he asks, wishing he could be of any kind of help to you. “I’m just in pain, so it’s not that bad”, you say hoping he won’t press further on the matter. You really weren’t in the mood to explain to him what exactly it could entail when you ate things that upset your stomach - especially spicy food. “Can I help?”, his hand again at your back, slowly going up and down. “Do… do you have a heating pad or something similar? Sometimes it helps when I put some heat on my stomach.” “No, I don’t have one put… wait, I have a better idea.” With that he made you turn your back to him, pressed to his stomach with it. “T-Thoma?”, you asked nervously when you felt his hand under your shirt on top of your stomach. “Don’t worry, just trust me I won’t do anything funny,” he replied. “Unless you want me to”, he added, which earned him a small nudge with your elbow in his side. “Ouch, okay got it, not the time and place”, Thoma chuckled and then you suddenly felt the heat on your stomach. You sigh at the feeling, visibly relaxing now. You two just stayed there for a while until you were the first one to fall asleep in his arms, Thoma following shortly after you. Neither of you did expect to spend your first night together like this, but you weren’t complaining.

[spacexcowgirl]

Lightning In A Bottle - G.W.

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: There’s no one who makes George feel quite as alive as Y/N. But will making a move ruin everything?

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Slight drug/high mention (blink and you'll miss it), alcohol insinuation, kissing, George being head over heels in love with Y/N, I don’t think there’s anything else but let me know?

A/N: for the anon who requested a George x Reader based on the song “Electric Love” ! I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go with this originally, but I decided to be lightly inspired by the tiktok trend with this song (where best friends kiss at the peak of the song). Pictures are from Pinterest.

message to be added to tags :)

If you were to ask George Weasley what he was thinking about at any given time, his answer may vary, but always stay within a similar realm. Maybe he’d say pranks, or quidditch, or missing his mum. No response would be particularly groundbreaking, and you’d probably move on to his twin brother to receive a more outlandish and off-the-wall answer. What you wouldn’t know, though, is that whatever George chose to reply with, was most likely a lie.

You see, George did think about all of things listed, but there was something else that plagued his thoughts far more often than he’d ever like to admit. Y/N Y/L/N.

The two of them had been best friends for years now, having met during their first year at Hogwarts. Y/N had this presence that even at the age of 11 had pulled him in. His worst days could be brightened by her smile alone, his best days made impossibly better when she appeared at his side. She was like the strike of lightning shocking a darkened night sky to life, the sugar rush that surged energy throughout your body. She was a drug that brought George to his highest highs, and he would be remiss to let her slip through his fingers.

If it wasn’t clear, George was smitten with the girl. It had now been nearly half a decade that he had harbored feelings for her, and he had never acted on them. He was terrified of being rejected or messing up their friendship entirely. Some part of him was addicted to the rush her presence brought, the way she lit up every room and nearly set him, body and soul, ablaze. He couldn’t risk losing that over his silly feelings.

So, now he sat at a Gryffindor party, where he should be celebrating after a victory over Slytherin. But, he just didn’t have the heart for it. Not while he watched her speak animatedly to Roger Davies, a beautiful smile lighting up her entire face. Even from his place across the room, George could see that Davies was contributing very little to the conversation, but rather seemed just as enamored by her as everyone else.

“Keep staring, why don’t you?” A voice startled George slightly, causing him to gulp before realizing that it was only Fred. “Not like that’s creepy at all.”

“Oh shut it,” George grumbled in response, although he couldn’t help a slight blush from rising to his cheeks. He hated being caught looking like a lovesick puppy.

“Seriously, mate, when are you just going to man up and ask her out?” Fred took a sip from his cup, and George didn’t miss his slight grimace as the liquid burned his throat.

“We’re not talking about this.” George groaned. 

Obviously, he was closer with Fred than anyone else in his life, but Fred just didn’t get it. He hadn’t met a girl that got his heart racing the way Y/N made George’s heart race. So, any girl that Fred was casually interested in, he went for. And it always worked out. George could take a shot at flirting with random girls that he thought were fit, because they didn’t really matter. But the idea of making a fool of himself in front of Y/N, the possibility of ruining things, it made him feel ill.

Fred looked as though he was going to press his brother further, but was cut off by the music stopping abruptly and a sharp whistle garnering his attention. In the center of the common room, Angelina Johnson stood atop a table, her hands cupping around her mouth as she made an announcement.

“Oi, we’re going to be starting a round of truth or dare, if you wanna join come over.” 

Fred glanced over at his brother, a devilish glint sparkling in his eyes before they both wordlessly communicated that they would be playing. They wandered to the center of the room with a few others, Fred immediately jumping over the back of the couch with ease. George took a place on the floor instead, figuring someone else would want to sit on the couch more. He couldn’t help but grin widely when Y/N took a few steps, then plopped down on the plush carpet beside him.

“I‘ve hardly seen you all night, hot shot,” Y/N bumped her shoulder into his, a teasing smile on her lips. “What, you hit the most bludgers in a game and suddenly you’re too cool for your best friend?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” George teased back, chuckling heartily when she gasped and lightly swatted at his arm. “I’m only kidding! Godric, woman, excuse me for wanting to give you your alone time with Davies.” He had intended for his words to come of jokingly, but he heard the way he sneered out the other boy’s name, and he couldn’t help but cringe.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up, as if she truly had no idea what he was on about, but before the conversation could progress any further, Angelina was clearing her throat and garnering all those who gathered’s attention. She explained that if anyone refused to answer the truth or do the dare they were given, they’d have to take a shot to make up for it. Hums in agreement sounded around the circle, then it finally got started.

George could feel nerves bubbling in his stomach, because it seemed no one was holding back that night. Of course, he was always up for a challenge and very little scared him, but Fred was playing too. And every time he’d catch his brother’s eye, and Fred would shoot him that smirk, George knew he was planning something. 

It was Neville who was the one to ask Fred ‘truth or dare?’ And George’s stomach immediately dropped. That meant Fred would be going next, and he was certain he’d be choosing him. After Fred finished his one-minute long hand stand, per Neville’s very PG dare, the older twin immediately set his gaze on his brother like a predator locking in on its prey. George gulped, causing Y/N to side-eye him warily.

“Georgie,” Fred cooed innocently. “Truth or dare?”

George pondered his options for a moment. If he picked truth, there was a chance Fred would ask something that would force him to admit his feelings for Y/N. Of course, he could always refuse and take a shot, but that would look awfully suspicious, wouldn’t it? Then again, he didn’t even want to imagine what Fred would come up with for a dare. Biting down anxiously on his bottom lip, George pleaded with his brother wordlessly.

“Come on Georgie, we don’t have all night.” Fred exhaled.

“Dare.” George settled on, not granting himself another moment to ponder which was the right choice. As the corners of Fred’s lips curled upward, making him looking strikingly like the Chesire Cat, George was certain he made the wrong decision.

“Alrighty then,” Fred leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I dare you to kiss Y/N.”

“You creep!” Y/N laughed out, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Why would you want to watch your brother kiss me?”

George was certain his face couldn’t get any redder, but his expression was contorted into one of anger. Fred had never understood limits, he always took everything a step too far, and usually George was the one to reel things back in. Fred’s expression seemed to soften at the sight of George’s genuine frustration, but it offered little reprieve to the situation.

“Or, he can take a shot. No big deal.” Fred scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck, doing his best to fix the situation he created. Everyone else seemed eerily silent as their gazes shifted between George and Y/N.

“Yeah, I’ll just take a shot.” George sighed.

“Why?” Y/N spoke, a little too quickly. If George didn’t know any better, he’d think she almost looked embarrassed.

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable…” George trailed off sheepishly.

“Right, right,” Y/N nodded in understanding, but George could sense the change in her usual demeanor instantly. “That would be so weird, especially in front of everyone.”

“You guys could go into one of the dorms for privacy?” Angelina suggested, causing both George and Y/N to shoot her a glare. 

George was prepared to come up with another excuse, to just take the shot and move on, but then Y/N sighed and glanced over at him, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. It was like the small action put him under a spell, and suddenly his mind was entirely blank. With a shaky exhale, he nodded, then stood and offered Y/N his hand to help her up.

There was a few shouts and hollers as the two exited the group, and George was certain he distinctly heard Lee shout ‘I expect Georgie to be wearing your lipstick when you two get back!’ But he could hardly focus on anything but the feeling of Y/N’s hand in his own. The people who weren’t playing the game sloppily danced and moved around, and George was careful to weave the two of them through the crowd as he guided her towards his dorm.

It was like a sort of electricity was surging between them, flowing back and forth between the spot of their interconnected hands. He found himself wondering if she could feel it too, hoping desperately that it wasn’t all in his head. 

As they ascended the stairs, the music from the party became more and more distant. Still, even when they made it to his dorm and shut the door, they could lightly hear the muffled melody from below. George dropped her hand and looked around desperately, a quiet swear leaving his lips as he took in the disastrous state of his room. Of course, he hadn’t anticipated that the girl he was practically in love with would be in his dorm, so he hadn’t had the good sense to pick up.

“So…” Y/N trailed off, seemingly unfazed by the state of his dorm. 

“So.” George repeated, scratching at the back of his neck.

Y/N breathed out a sigh before stepping further into his room and making her way towards his bed. She patted the spot next to her, signaling for him to join her. George was quick to oblige, of course.

Y/N’s eyes seemed to trace every inch of George’s face, her gaze soft. She was usually so energetic and lively, and George adored that side of her, but this newfound quiet demeanor had him weak in the knees. Godric, he longed to know every one of her sides, to memorize every quirk and edge of hers. After her eyes had exhausted the expanse of his freckled skin, they finally landed on his lips, before returning to his deep brown eyes. Then, slowly, she began to inch just a bit closer, her eyes fluttering shut.

George wanted this, so desperately. He wanted nothing more than to cup her face and kiss her senseless and fill her with that same electricity she constantly filled him with. But there was a small voice in his head that was telling him she would never feel the same way as him, and this was a recipe for heartbreak, and the moment their lips met, everything would be ruined. So, he pulled back abruptly and cleared his throat.

“We don’t have to do this.” George spoke hoarsely. “They’ll never know if we don’t.”

Y/N’s eyes remained shut, squeezing just a bit tighter as she let out what sounded like a disappointed huff. George could read the embarrassment on her face when she finally opened her eyes but couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes remained trained on her lap.

“Is the idea of kissing me really that awful?” Y/N’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” George sputtered, certain he must have misheard her. “No! No, that’s not what I mean—”

“What else could you mean?” Y/N’s voice raised, her usual fire seeming to awaken. “Godric, every chance you’ve tried to get out of it. Do you know how embarrassing that is, Weasley? Do you know how that makes me feel?”

George sat stunned, his mouth hanging slightly agape as she continued on her rant. She was now on her feet, angrily wringing her wrists. Her nose scrunched up in that little way it always did when she was frustrated, and even though it was clear she was not happy with George, he couldn’t help but be endeared by her even then.

“Obviously, you can do whatever you want. I’m not saying you have to kiss me.” She continued, pausing her pacing for a second. “But… We’re best friends, yeah? Am I really so bad you can’t stomach even a peck? What does that say about me, George?”

She allowed herself to glance at him for one moment, waiting to see if he’d grant her any answers, before scoffing and turning away. She was about halfway to the door when George’s senses seemed to come back to life and he forced himself to his feet to stop her. His hand gently encircled her wrist and she was quick to whirl around and look at him in confusion.

Perhaps it was the fact that George had dreamed about this moment for so long, but there were a number of things that stood out to him about it. For one, the sound of his pounding heart beat mixed with the music below, both gradually building up to a crescendo. And he knew, that was the moment. 

Their lips collided right when the mixed sounds of the music and his beating heart seemed to hit their peak. It was as if everything in the universe had been building up to this moment, or at the very least everything in George’s universe had. His lips seemed to tingle where they connected, this mutual energy rushing between both of their bodies. Y/N arched against him, thankful when his arms found her waist and kept her from tumbling over. The passion he portrayed in the kiss made her knees feel weak, and all at once she felt both entirely useless and completely alive.

If George thought that just being in her presence had an effect on him, that was nothing compared to having her lips on his. The feeling of her body curved against his was certainly something he could get used to, and he was certain it would kill him to never experience it again.

Y/N was the first to pull back, slowly, and draw in a deep breath. George found that he couldn’t help himself, though, and chased her lips for another, shorter kiss.

When they finally pulled apart for real, they both gazed at one another with the same question in mind; what did this mean? Before George could speak up and ask, he got distracted by her once again biting down on her lip. He did his best to hold in his groan, knowing damn well she would be the death of him.

“Do you feel that, too?” Y/N spoke, her eyes searching between his. 

Y/N didn’t have to explain what she meant, because George knew, and he did feel it. Instead of answering her, he removed one of his hands from her waist and took her hand gently in his own. He placed her palm over his heart, covering it with his own, and let her feel the rhythmic and steady pounding against his chest. Once he was sure she understood, he brought her hand to his lips and placed a light kiss against her knuckles.

“I only didn’t want to kiss you because… I knew I could handle never kissing you, never knowing. But to kiss you once then never again?” His voice was quiet, although he hoped it was reassuring. “I didn’t think I’d be able to do it.”

“George Weasley,” A smile grew on Y/N’s lips, the one he knew so well, the one that sent a shiver down his spine. “As long as you promise to always kiss me like that, I’ll never ask you to stop.”

With that, Y/N used the hand that remained around his neck to pull him down once more, grinning as their lips moved together. He flipped their position around and slowly began to walk her backwards to his bed, only pausing when she pulled back.

“You know, I think we’re gonna have to thank Fred after this.” Y/N teased, eliciting a groan to tear from George’s lips as he tilted his head back.

“Please, love, can we not talk about my git brother right now?”

Y/N’s giggles filled his ears like the sweetest melody, and he was certain that even a siren luring him to his death could succeed if they sounded as beautiful as her. 

Y/N made him feel alive in the way she shot him little smiles at breakfast, or how she’d slide her notes to him when she knew he wasn’t paying attention, or how her voice would carry the loudest as she cheered him on during Quidditch. Now, he knew she also made him feel alive from the feeling of her soft lips against his, from the way her body arched into his touch, and how even in a moment like this, she’d find a way to joke. As he gently pushed her back onto his bed, he realized he couldn’t let her go now that he had her.

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