#maybe its to do with the fact that this time of year is sad for me

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Stan gets cursed, howls moving castle style!!

Youve heard of old stan turning young, get ready for young stan turning old!

Freshly homeless teen stan gives some old lady (witch) on the road lip for... idk saying he should be in school or something. Says hes plenty old to be out and own his own and also shes a nosy bitch.

She gets pissed, bam! Old man stan whose only 18 actually. Now hes old enough, all right!

Omg this sucks, thinks stan, but then. Opportunity.

His resolve had not yet hardened since hes still a kid and super sad and not used to it, so he thinks that being an old man who literally cant say who he is and what he knows makes this curse the perfect disguise to go see his brother!!

He, in a totally non-stalker way, finds ford and tries to be like an older mentor or just like friendly grandpa type guy to see ford again.

Maybe he gets a job as a janitor (backupsmore is so last choice they dont even care about stuff like ids when it comes to staff) for the science department and hangs out with ford when he stays super late doing experiments or studies or whatever.

Ford starts to think this old guy is super weird, but in an endearing way. He provides a role as a goofy, randomized, rule hating friend who is comfortingly familiar and also really bad at advice even though he keeps calling himself a wise old man.

He also gets really caught up on his age and mortality sometimes, which is like. Kind of a bummer. But the guys like almost 70 so fair enough.

He also is really supportive, even if ford knows hes being outrageous. In fact, he was really, really for ford going for it when he mentioned his interest in the supernatural. Maybe hes serious, maybe hes just kind of old person crazy. Its pretty nice either way.

(Stanley starts to get hope that he wont die a sad old man before hes 25 after all...)

Oh man this is kind of sad? And a recipie for disaster lol.

Stan's old, he's 18, he's pushing 70? (unclear). No idea how long he has, and so desperate he uses his new look to just. See his brother again. He just wants to use the last remaining years to make Ford happy or at least support him, get some kind of bond. Something to make his last remaining years on this planet miserable (funnier if Stan's like, 60 but because he was 18 he feels ancient. He's still got a good two decades left)

Oh. Incoming idea.

The witch isn't actually the one who cursed him, Stan cursed himself (just like in howls moving castle). The witch didn't do anything but put a small curse that made Stan realize magic was real, and he accidentally muttered something along the lines of 'man i'm never going to get home until i'm old and grey. Wish i could just get there already' or something.

Then just like Sofie, Stan's curse fades when he's not thinking about enforcing the idea that he's as good as an old man already, and Ford realizes its him through them having a bonding moment, and Ford turns to see Stan's young face. Gets the shock of his life when Stan's awkward smile fades and he rapidly becomes an old man.

Cue huge fight.

Fords furious Stan would go around and trick him like that, make him feel like he has someone who actually cares and supports his ideas, didn't aplogize, and just! AGGH! He's hurt and furious and sad and feeling so many things.

Stan feels even worse than before. He was finally feeling some kind of happy, finally got to see his best friend, and he blew it. Doesn't know how Ford figured it out, but now he's got nothing.

He's gonna die as a sad old man at 25, doesn't bother keeping his job at the college, why bother. All that would do is make Ford even more angry.

And Ford is angry. Even angrier when he can't find Stan anywhere. Stan already ran off once, Fords not gonna let him do it a second time! Especially when he's so old?

Finds Stan and oh god. He looks even older than before. He's an ancient old man, sadness seeping into him and thoughst spiralling out of control.

Cue delayed yelling match, as Ford needs to figure out how to fix his brother before he kicks the bucket on the worlds angriest quest. Not sure how it'd get resolved, but Stan still keeps his silver hair at the end of it.

[kolomo]

@animangacreators challenge 3: alphabet challenge ↳ a ⋆ anohana: the flower we saw that day (2011)

"Along with the passing seasons, the flowers that bloom near the street change. I wonder what the name of the flower was that bloomed that one season? It was small, and fluttered slowly. It hurt when I touched it. When I put my nose up to it, it had the slight scent of somewhere sunny. But that scent is slowly fading away. We're all growing up. But that flower is probably still blooming somewhere. Yup. And as for us... that flower has so many wishes."

[brains-out-rn]

I don't like debating much(unless necessary for the sake of my own humanity) but sometimes it can be really Really fun specifically if it's about something that has absolutely no real weight to it(and yet if you were a spectator it might cause some concern for whatever reason)

for example: would you rather be threatened(physically mentally or emotionally take your pick) by a can of corn or a cob of corn?

Me personally I'd pick cob for a few reasons

1. I can outlast it(probably)

Fresh corn will eventually rot and decay but have you seen how long canned stuff can last unopened before it looks slightly different from new stuff??

2. Cans are made of metal not vegetable flesh

While a corn cob has its core that's not metal. Ever dropped a can? Might get a dent. If you have a good kick then you might survive but you will probably hurt your foot. Ever dropped corn? If it had it outer leaves and hair it might have stood a chance but if it didn't then bits of corn go everywhere

3. Actually fighting if needed

I feel like I could survive a fight with a sentient can but a sentient cob just seems less likely to hurt

However there are some things might change my decision

Like issue one which is how the corn moves because if the cob is fresh with hair and leaves and can move all the little hairs individually and can move the leaves then I'd probably choose the can because at that point I feel like it's less of "how would i survive with the least amount of bruising" and more of "how would I rather die but with a chance of surviving" and in my opinion i think blunt force trauma would be better then a slow death of strangulation via a sentient corns hair plus I do think I'd have a chance against a can of corn

Another issue is if it was mentally or emotionally I'd probably go with the can bc I feel like it would be easier for to rationalize it as ridiculous to be threatened by a can of corn then a cob for some reason

Like a cob is ridiculous to the point that I'd just accept it as making sense for that to happen?

a can is like "why am I listening to the can of corn. I literally own a can opener." But a cob is more like "if I were to try and deal with you in the traditional way of dealing with corn that would mean a pot and water and time and-"

Plus idk why but I feel like a cob would be less mean with its words. I can't explain it I just think cob would just go straight to physical threats instead of emotional ones but a can would stare at you menacingly making you question yourself and just judging you

[the-casbah-way]

sometimes being so overly sensitive makes it hard to function like how do people do it. today we drove past three dead pheasants and i'm expected to be fine about the fact that they died alone and in pain and everyone keeps driving as if they never mattered. as if they didn't live and breathe and think. ok

[luvsavos]

random vent(?) in the tags, feel free to ignore i just have a lot of pent up emotions to get out today apparently

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

when you feel like you're fine in isolation but as soon as you interact with nice people who seem to like you you're like oh maybe I'm not perfectly well adjusted actually

[suguae]

Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like. 

And perhaps that's what it was. 

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong. 

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–” 

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted. 

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later. 

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer. 

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi. 

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.” 

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch. 

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking. 

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

next part ->

[xenosagaepisodeone]

youtube recommended me an hour long video where someone rants about the decline of build a bear as a brand and I decided to watch maybe 15 minutes or so not for any insight, but instead as a form of people watching. what kind of life would an adult my age lead to feel that kind of consumer betrayal? not because build a bear is cringe but because build a bear is expensive. ridiculously expensive. the only time in my life where i walked into a build a bear and did not immediately walk out was when my old-old ex took me there for my 18th birthday and got me a twilight sparkle plush because we were looking at the cost of these custom bears and their clothes and going "holy fuck whaaaaat". a build a bear ride or die is built very different from me.

you probably deduced from the thumbnail (as well as from the nature of these consumer grievance type videos) that the thing this person has an issue with is the overall modern day "aesthetic". the store has downsized considerably in the last decade and resembles a regular toy store moreso than its older workshop-like setup. at one point she near-tearily mulls over how many malls only have a "dinky little kiosk" instead of an actual location. she hates the fluorescent lights and minimalist style shelves. she doesn't get why things that were once painted surfaces are now interactable screens. she gushes over the things she loved about the old store as if she's seeing it all for the first time in between talking extensively about her personal relationship to certain accessories and plush types. she hates that so many of the plushies are just licensed characters now. she misses the experience of being in the store as a child. she misses the bears from her childhood that she regretfully gave away. she doesn't like that these things that meant so much to her are going away and that she doesn't know how to get them back. at one point, she mentions that she tried to go back to the store a few years ago and (pausing repeatedly as if hovering above some kind of inscrutable alien truth) that buying a bear and paying $30+ for clothes "just wasn't...fun?" but immediately combats the instinct to investigate these feelings by arguing that this is the store's fault for not being fun. that build a bear is failing because it is not more accommodating to adults.

with any other youtuber who was confounded by the fact that novelty things from their childhood did not survive the forces of the market 15+ years later (and had to shuffle around its brand aesthetics to see what would maybe make investors happy while also minimizing cost) I would probably have just stopped watching at the 15 minute mark, but I found myself fascinated by this humorism powered hydraulic performance. she simmers in nostalgia happily, reliving her memories with every image of old build a bear she superimposes over the screen, before snapping into a state of sadness and confusion once the image has been taken away. it takes about 25 minutes in for her to start verbalizing her frustration towards all modern day toy aesthetics. "why did they do this? what makes them do this? why does everything look like this now? I don't understand" she's less asking a question and more unable to reconcile that a part of her life which once possessed tangibility no longer exists, and the transactional nature of her relationship with build a bear is what specifically makes her unable to make peace with this. she cannot accept that she cannot buy back this time that was lost because her time as a child in build a bear was something that she purchased in the first place. the experience is tied so much to build a bear as an enterprise and transaction that to simply separate what she liked about it and pursue something that resembles that is inconceivable, and instead that the only choice is to. retvrn to build a bear.

[erwinsvow]

the anniversary of jack’s wife passing away and the anniversary of him losing his leg are coincidentally just a few days apart. they fall in the same week of the month usually, and that week is a time he says it’s been the worst week of my life and gets to mean it. he doesn’t intend to get into such a bad mood. they call it abbot’s hell week at the hospital though everyone mostly feels so bad because they can’t do anything to help jack. no one can—it’s just another week of the year that has to pass by on its own like all the others. it’s just a lot harder than the other fifty-one weeks. and it’s not like jack to take the days off, though robby has offered several times, because then he’d just sit at home and stew in his feelings. and apparently, it’s so much better to go to work and be a menace there to distract himself from how he feels—like every time he stares at the date, a hand is thrust into his chest, twisting and squeezing his heart repeatedly.

the unfortunate part is that it just so happens to be your first week on nights—something you were already very nervous about. dr. abbot had seemed nice enough the first day you met him, though your interactions had been limited since, until robby told you that next week would be your official start. then he said ah, fuck, is that the date next week? good luck, kid. no, you’ll be fine. she’ll be fine, right dana? which had inspired absolutely no confidence in you. though in hindsight, you think someone should have warned you better. everyone else on nights was very accommodating—helping you when you were struggling with the transition, reminding you to eat when you could because your body’s schedule is all off right now. everyone except jack.

he had been jumping on every single incoming trauma to keep his hands busy and his mind from wandering, leaving parker to guide you. you’re not exactly inspiring confidence on a daily basis, but as an intern, you think you’re at least allowed that much. being completely sure of yourself and not asking for help is something that comes from years of experience and you’ve only been here less than twelve months. that also means you have no idea anything about abbot’s hell week until you’re getting snapped at by him three times in one shift—nothing unusually cruel or pointedly directed, but rather just his frustration taking itself out on the nearest thing around. he does it to the others maybe once you think, but they’re all used to this, already on their toes and going the extra mile so their attending doesn’t have to worry. you don’t have justifications and you don’t answer his questions quickly enough and he seems to get frustrated at the very sight of you standing in front of him and blinking away tears.

john explains to you what’s really going on this week at midnight of the third day—you still have three more shifts left and you’re not sure how much more you can take. you don’t have the thick skin of your colleagues, apparently, and you’ve never been one to take criticism without crying, as pathetic as it sounds. but then he tells you what’s really going on and it makes you so sad that you can’t hold it against dr. abbot even if you tried. the next time you look, you see him staring at someone’s admittance paperwork intensely and then rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his head. the idea that he’s here when he should be with other family and friends or binge watching trashy reality television or some other thing that lets him briefly escape instead of being stuck headfirst in grief makes you feel like you should do something.

you do get yelled at—more than just a comment. you can’t even remember what you missed after the fact, though parker pulls you aside and tells you she’s done the same thing before. when you ask her if jack yelled at her too, her response makes you even more sad. besides this week, he’s never yelling at anyone. you’re not exactly sure what to do with that information, so come friday afternoon, you do what you think you’d like done for yourself in this situation. fudgy brownies with chocolate chips and huge chocolate chip cookies in yellow containers that are supposed to have sea salt sprinkled on them but you didn’t have any and you didn’t think he’d mind that much. that’s what you explain to jack abbot at six fifty-five pm before you’re supposed to start another shift. then you explain how it’s not so he stops yelling at you, because you probably needed to hear it, but just so he can have something to look forward to. and then you ramble about how everything is nut allergy safe incase he has one of those (he doesn’t) and that farmer wants a wife show is actually really, really good (he’s not watching that) and that the week’s almost done and you’ve learned a lot so thank you dr. abbot and i hope you like the desserts but it’s okay if you don’t and you can bring the tupperware back whenever, actually you can keep it if you really want and-

when you walk away to go start your shift he stares after you, wondering why and how you’d become like this, making these things for a man who has been doing nothing but yelling at you for the last week. taking frustration and sadness and anger out on you because you were an easy target. and then with the realization you still have three weeks on nights, jack abbot, distracted from his pain for the first time all week, wonders what the hell he’s going to do with you.

[monserelates]

Collateral Damage; James Potter

f!reader x james potter

summary: When someone makes a sexist comment during Quidditch practice and James doesn't react, how will it go down?

warnings/notes: james is kind of an idiot in this (he makes up for it I swear), angst, reader is a quidditch player (its relevant to the plot), use of y/n, platonic!sirius x reader banter, not proofread, light sexist comment, big argument, curse words, happy ending (?)

word count:1.6k

It started like any other Gryffindor Quidditch practice.

Late autumn sun low in the sky, golden light spilling like spilled ink over the pitch. You were already irritated — Kendrick had been pushing your buttons all week, and James had rescheduled this practice twice. Now you were all out here, winds whipping across the field, and Kendrick was smirking like he’d already won something you didn’t know was up for grabs.

You were Keeper. You knew your job. You didn’t need James yelling plays every five seconds like you were a first-year.

“Move left faster next time!” James barked, flying alongside you, too close, too sharp.

“I did move,” you snapped. “If you wanted a puppet, maybe train one.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m just trying to win us the Cup.”

“And I’m trying not to murder you midair, so we all have our battles.”

That got a low chuckle from Henry Wood, who hovered nearby, eyebrows lifted in mild amusement. “Might let her win that one, James.”

James didn’t answer. Just blew the whistle and shouted another drill.

You tightened your gloves, seething.

Then Kendrick happened.

He caught a Quaffle with a dramatic flourish, zoomed past you, and crowed, loud enough for half the school to hear: “Don’t worry, Potter — she’s not here for skill. Just here to look pretty while she misses every shot.”

The world snapped sideways.

You felt your stomach bottom out. Your face went hot with rage and shame.

You looked at James. Straight at him. Waiting.

Do something.

Say something.

Anything.

But he just hovered there, like an idiot, mouth slightly open, like he was stunned. Like maybe he agreed.

Sirius was the one who snapped.

“Oi, what the fuck did you just say?” Sirius growled, flying toward Kendrick like a storm cloud. “Wanna say it again with a mouthful of teeth missing?”

Y/N’s blood boiled. She waited — waited — for James to speak up. To say something. To tell the boy off. To take her side. But instead, James just stared at her, expression unreadable, jaw locked.

The silence screamed.

Y/N turned sharply on her broom, face burning hotter than any firewhisky. “Nice, James. Real leadership. Keeping the team united and all that.”

You flew hard toward the ground, ripped your gloves off, and stormed off the pitch.

“Oi! Y/N!” James shouted after you.

You turned sharply, fists clenched. “Don’t you dare.”

He landed, brows drawn. “It was just a stupid joke. I didn’t say it—”

“No. You just let it hang in the air like it was okay.” Your voice was shaking now, hands trembling. “You let him undermine me, and you—God, James—you didn’t even flinch.”

He flinched now.

“Y/N—”

“We’re supposed to be a team. You’re supposed to be my friend—and you let that little coward humiliate me in front of everyone.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t do anything. And that’s worse.”

The rest of the team hovered awkwardly above, pretending not to watch. They were watching.

You turned, boots crunching against the grass, heart pounding against the ribcage of something that had already shattered.

..

You didn’t show up to dinner.

Didn’t go to class the next morning.

You lay facedown on your bed, ignoring Marlene’s muttered curses about Kendrick, Dorcas’s offers to hex him into oblivion, and Lily’s gentle hand rubbing your back.

You didn’t cry. Not then.

Maybe you were being dramatic. You can't help the fact you like to be alone. It may sound kind of sad, but that's just what you seem to know.

Not until everyone was asleep. When the candles were low. When the ache behind your ribs bloomed into something hollow and hot and silent.

You curled into yourself and whispered, “I thought he was different.”

No one heard it. But you felt it. And it felt like mourning something no one else could see.

..

Somewhere down the hallway, in the staff room,

McGonagall sipped her tea, eyes sharp over her glasses.

Flitwick looked up from his notes. “You heard?”

“Everyone heard, Filius. Half the pitch did.” She sighed. “I had twenty Galleons on them confessing by winter break.”

“Potter just set the bet back three years,” Hooch muttered, slamming her broom catalog shut.

“I’m raising it to five,” Sprout said darkly.

Slughorn just sniffed. “They’ll come around. Youth and heartbreak are so poetically intertwined.”

“She nearly punched him.”

“Poetry!” Slughorn said, grinning.

..

James tried everything.

Flowers charmed to float outside your dorm window.

Notes spelled into the condensation on your bathroom mirror.

He asked Sirius to talk to you — Sirius told him to shove it. “You blew it, mate.”

He asked Lily to help — she didn’t even blink. “You don’t deserve her silence. You deserve her rage.”

He cornered Dorcas outside Potions.

“She doesn’t want your excuses,” she said flatly. “She wants her best friend back. Too bad he forgot how to be one.”

He stopped going to Quidditch practice.

He barely slept.

He’d lie awake whispering, “I’m sorry,” to the cracks in the ceiling.

But nothing worked.

You didn’t speak to him.

Not once.

..

It happened at breakfast.

The Great Hall buzzing, laughter rising like steam.

You were sitting with Lily and Dorcas, quietly spooning porridge, when a loud bang echoed through the room.

A chair scraped back.

A foot on a bench.

Then a foot on the table.

Your head snapped up.

James Potter was standing on the Gryffindor table, toast in one hand, wand in the other, looking deranged.

Oh hell-to-the-no.

“Excuse me!” he shouted.

The Hall went silent.

James turned, slowly, facing the end of the table. “Oi, Kendrick.”

Kendrick looked up, confused. “What?”

“You insulted one of the best Keepers this school has ever seen. You made a disgusting, sexist remark in front of her entire team, and I, being a bloody coward, said nothing.”

Students gasped. Someone dropped their fork.

James turned, facing you now.

“I didn’t defend you. And I should have. Not because I’m your captain. Not even because I’m your best friend.”

His voice cracked.

“But because I love you.”

The air went still.

“I love you,” he said again, softer. “And not in the way that fades when we graduate or when Quidditch ends or when you find someone smarter or funnier or less of a prat. I love you like I can’t breathe right without you.”

You stared at him, pulse pounding in your ears.

What in Merlin's ear wax is happening right now.

“I know I messed up. I’ll spend the rest of the year earning your trust back. Or the rest of my life. Just… say something. Please.”

Kendrick stood, starting to protest.

James rounded on him.

“And you—I don’t want you on the team. You don’t get to wear our colors if you can’t respect the people on it.”

Hooch stood from the staff table, clearly impressed. “He’s finally learning.”

McGonagall muttered, “Took long enough.”

Sirius leaned into Remus. “Do I owe you five Galleons or do I still win if they snog in the next ten minutes?”

Remus just shook his head, smiling.

You stood slowly.

Walked down the aisle of the hall, every eye on you.

James looked terrified.

You walked right up to him.

Stared.

Then said, “You better mean every word of that.”

“I do.”

You smirked.

And punched him in the arm. Hard.

“Good.”

James was willing to wait this and 3 more lifetimes waiting for a taste of your lips.

..

The next morning was crisp and bright, with clouds like ripped cotton and the scent of cut grass thick in the air.

James was already waiting on the pitch when you arrived, broom slung over his shoulder, a sheepish sort of energy radiating off him in waves. The rest of the team trickled in slowly—clearly curious, clearly eavesdropping, pretending to stretch while absolutely not stretching.

You walked past them without a word.

James straightened up.

You raised your chin. “You’re on goalkeeping today. I want a challenge.”

He blinked. “You… want me to—”

“Let’s go, Potter,” you called, already kicking off.

It was easy, natural, the way flying always was. But the air between you buzzed. You hurled a Quaffle at him with more force than necessary. He barely caught it, laughing under his breath.

“Still angry?”

You smirked. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Another Quaffle. Another dive. He missed this one—on purpose, you were sure.

“Oi, don’t go easy on me,” you snapped.

He swooped beside you, hovering a little too close. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’re dreaming something,” you muttered.

“Mostly about you.” he grinned.

You snorted, the sound catching you off guard. The wind rushed past your ears. His eyes were warm—so warm you had to look away.

For a few minutes, you played without words.

Until James broke the silence.

“I meant it, you know. Every word I said yesterday. I—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was a coward. And I know one speech doesn’t fix it.”

You hovered in the air, just a little above him. “It doesn’t. But showing up helps.”

He smiled—wide and crooked and boyish.

The team was still watching. Pretending not to, but watching all the same.

James shifted closer. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up to your eyes.

“I, uh…” He licked his lips, then leaned in—hesitantly, unsure.

You didn’t move. Just watched him.

But instead of kissing you, his lips brushed your cheek—light as a sigh.

He pulled back instantly, eyes wide like he hadn’t meant to.

You blinked.

James looked like he might combust.

“Sorry, I—I didn’t want to assume, I mean—not yet, but—unless you want to, which, I—”

You raised an eyebrow. “You always ramble this much?”

He flushed. “Only when I like someone enough to completely embarrass myself.”

You turned back toward the goalposts, heart thudding.

“Try not to let that Quaffle in this time, Potter.”

He grinned, dazed. “Yes, ma’am.”

[dannyriccsystem]

congrats on 1k!!!! could you do 1 & 14 with Oscar Piastri ?

WHAT A MIRACLE, I FOUND A DARLING!

1K SPECIAL - OP81

Smothered in kisses + “The important thing is that you’re okay.”

SUMMARY: Oscar needs comfort after the Aus GP

WORD COUNT: 543

WARNINGS: Oscar crying, fluff, 2025 Australian Grand Prix (yes it deserves its own warning)

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Reader

P9 AT HIS HOME RACE. This wasn’t the year anybody thought Oscar would start with— Especially with the great ending he had in 2024. It was clear progress had been made, and now you could tell that your boyfriend felt like he completely lost that. He, of course, was elated for his teammate. Lando had always been brought down for the ratio of years to wins, and seeing him succeed wasn’t something to complain about. But that wasn’t to say Oscar wasn’t upset himself.

You could tell his demeanor was off immediately. Of course you could assume that he’d be angry, but not to this extent. He pulled his helmet off, and the balaclava too, and you could finally see his tear stained cheeks and red eyes. You pulled him in for a hug, letting him hide his shame in your neck.

You prayed the spying cameras wouldn’t catch his crying, because you could only imagine how disappointed Oscar would be to have the whole world see his moment of weakness. You stroked his hair, even though it somewhat grossed you out it was coated in sweat. Nothing new.

“Hey, shh…” You kissed his cheekbone. Oscar squeezed you tighter, your chest flesh to his. “You still did great, Osc.” He pulled back to look into your eyes. He was pouting, but he wasn’t crying— Not yet anyway. “I was so inspired by the way you got back into the race— Maybe you didn’t win, but you displayed the most determination of everyone.”

He could tell you were being sincere as you cupped his cheeks, but he didn’t respond. It was like he was still trying to believe it himself. Nonetheless, you leaned in and kissed him right on the lips, which seemed to turn that frown upside down. You kissed his nose, his cheeks, his forehead— Anywhere you could kiss on his face, you did. He was laughing, squirming around like you were tickling him.

“Hold still,” You laughed out, squishing his face in your hands. He paused for you, staring down at you with that twinkle in his eyes. But something was off still, so you lowered your hands and gave him a more pointed expression. “What’s up?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise.” You extended your pinky finger, which he intertwined with his own.

“I feel like I disappointed you.” There it was, everything laid out before you.

You furrowed your brows in a look of sadness, shaking your head with a sigh. “Oscar…” He huffed because he could hear the upset in your tone. “I’m not disappointed. I mean, the fact that you’re in F1 to begin with is insane. That means you’re still the best of the best. And you got in points— You don’t have to score first place to be great. I have faith that you can come back from this. This is your year, I know it.” You ran your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. “Besides,” one more kiss on the lips for good measure. He returned it this time. “What matters is that you’re okay. Every race where you come back to me is a win in my eyes.”

He was smiling— for real this time. “Thank you.” Now he gets to kiss you!

[pomegranatelifethis]

The Princess Forgotten in the Dark

As time went on, a change began to take place within Bruce Wayne. While he was managing the kingdom, taking care of his sons and fighting enemies, he did not notice the emptiness within himself. But one day, a moment came when everything lost its meaning.

Bruce finally realized a fact that he had ignored and tried to forget for years: his daughter. The princess's name had not been mentioned by anyone in the palace for years. But one morning, during one of his sleepless nights, something seemed to wake him up. A momentary inner restlessness, a momentary sound woke him up. He took action to search for his daughter.

For the first time in years, all the guards, advisors and servants in the palace noticed that Bruce was looking for his daughter. At that moment, there was regret in his eyes that he had accumulated over the years. While he was taking care of his sons, he left his daughter alone day by day and allowed her to live like a ghost. With every step Bruce took, there were the pains of the past, the fragments of a lost time. It was too late now, but there was still hope. Maybe it could still be saved.

Bruce went deeper into the palace. He headed towards that dark tower where the princess had been kept out of sight for years, a place no one dared to go. He knew this tower as one of the worst places in the palace. But that day, he didn't even think he would have to go all the way there.

When he arrived at the tower, nothing was ready when he entered. There was only darkness and dead silence there… And then, Bruce noticed that bed in the corner, abandoned for many years.

There was something on that bed that appeared after years. But Bruce tried to understand this reality with a frozen fear in his eyes. How long had it been? At that moment, he encountered the princess's body. His eyes were closed. His lifeless body was so thin that you could almost count his bones. There was a cover as light as feathers on him, but that cover was also insufficient.

Bruce knelt down and tried to lift the princess's lifeless body with his hands. There was deep sadness, regret and a lifetime of guilt in his eyes. The girl who left him, ignored him for years, and whom he thought he didn't love, was now growing cold.

"I couldn't do anything for you…" he said, his voice shaking. "Will you be able to forgive me?"

But the princess said nothing. After all, he was no longer alive. Bruce's daughter was dead after years of neglect and pain. No one remembered that she was once the princess of the Kingdom of Gotham. No one had even remembered his existence for a moment. The tears falling from Bruce's eyes bore the traces of an irreversible loss.

Seven months ago, no one noticed. No one noticed that the princess was fading, no one understood the terrible conditions she was in. Now, Bruce saw everything, but it was too late.

While Bruce was hugging his daughter's cold body with his hands, the four walls of the palace surrounded him like nothing. During the years he lived in this palace, he forgot the princess with every step. But at that moment, the weight of everything seemed to intoxicate him. At the end of everything, there was not a single drop of hope left in his eyes. When he embraced his daughter's dead body, his eyes, full of deep regret, began to grasp every aspect of the damage he had caused her and the truth he had ignored for years. However, the guilt within him prevented him from understanding another truth. Her daughter had not only been neglected; He was systematically ignored.

In those terrible minutes he spent in the room where his daughter was, the silence echoing on the walls of the palace told him of a betrayal that had lasted for years. Although the servants were obliged to take care of him, they ignored him, did not give him the necessary education, and instead threw him aside. But worse still, a large part of the palace budget was stolen by these servants. King Bruce was unaware of any of this.

Bruce had spent years dealing only with outside enemies, rival kingdoms, before learning of the mismanagement of much of the palace economy. The betrayal inside went unnoticed. The princess's income was usurped by high-ranking servants, and everything necessary for her to survive—food, education, care—was systematically restricted. He should have been the most valuable asset in the palace, but he was so abandoned that no one even mentioned his existence.

While Bruce accepted seeing his daughter like a ghost for years, he was able to better understand the extent of everything when he learned that the servants were living their lives with the money they stole. While the princess lived in the depths of the palace, without food or education, the servants became rich and used the palace's budget for their own benefit.

Bruce, with tears in his eyes, knelt next to the princess's dead body and said: "I couldn't do anything for you... But I should have given you the best of everything."

But the pain the princess experienced was not just neglect, but a complete exploitation. As Bruce's eyes saw the weakness in his daughter's body and her hunger-cracked skin, the anger inside him grew like a mountain. This anger wasn't just towards himself. He saw his servants, those who managed the palace economy, all those people who stole from him everything that was his daughter's right. Years of indifference had not only led to his death, but also made him part of a system no one cared about.

The loss of the princess showed Bruce not only the pain of losing his daughter, but also the corruption within his own kingdom. In his palace, a princess, the most valuable asset, was considered worthless for years and was left to die as servants ignored her for their own benefit.

As if he wasn't the one who caused this

Years Ago…

The sun was setting as two children sat by the river.

The little girl had dipped her feet into the water, silent as if the world did not belong to her. The boy beside her watched her intently. He knew who she was. But she did not know who he was.

The princess of Gotham Kingdom. The daughter of his father's greatest enemy.

But not everything was black and white. Because when he was with her, he forgot about wars, thrones, and titles. There was only her.

One day, the little girl turned to him and asked:

"Do you think people can truly be happy?"

The crown prince hesitated. His father had taught him that happiness did not exist—only power did. But when he looked at this girl, something inside him felt different.

"If you are happy, then I am too," he said with a smile.

Years passed. Every forbidden meeting, every whispered conversation, every shared secret changed something within him. He wanted to protect her. To love her and protect her.

But he could not escape reality. He knew who she was. And he knew that one day, this truth would tear them apart.

But he never thought it would be death that did it.

---

Years Later – On the Battlefield

He was in the middle of war. The clash of swords, the screams, the stench of blood… But the crown prince’s mind was elsewhere.

It had been so long since he had seen her. He remembered her face, heard her voice, even felt her whispers in his dreams.

Was she safe?

He would go to her. Once the battle was over, he would tell her everything—who he truly was, why he had stayed by her side, why he had lived with this secret for so long.

But then, a soldier rushed toward him, breathless. "Your Majesty… News from Gotham Kingdom."

The prince frowned. "What news?"

The soldier swallowed hard and lowered his head. "The princess… Gotham’s princess… is dead."

Time stopped.

What?

The prince barely felt the distance between him and the soldier. He waited for him to speak again. He must have heard wrong.

But the soldier continued. "Seven months ago… She was neglected in her palace. Her servants left her to starve. She fell ill… and no one noticed. Her body was only just discovered."

The sword in the prince’s hand fell to the ground.

No.

No, no, no.

This had to be a mistake.

How had he not known? How had he not realized? He had loved her for years. He had always believed he would return to her.

But now, there was no place to return to.

His legs trembled. A crushing weight settled in his chest. He had imagined the day he would find her again, the day he would finally tell her everything. But now? Now, there was nothing left to say.

The wind howled.

The battle raged on—the clash of steel, the cries of the fallen—but for the crown prince, the war had lost its meaning. Because he had already lost everything.

And without even knowing it, he had let her go.

---

The Prince’s Revenge

The battlefield was drenched in blood. The air smelled of iron and death. Shadows loomed over the fallen.

But for the crown prince, none of it mattered anymore.

The first thing he had felt when he learned of her death was loss. But now? Now, it was pure, consuming rage.

Gotham Kingdom.

Her father, who had failed to protect her. The servants, who had neglected her. The palace, which had let her wither away, forgotten and alone.

They would all die.

Slowly, the prince rose to his feet. His sword lay on the ground, but he no longer felt its weight. His eyes burned with fire.

The commander beside him looked at him warily. "Your Majesty? What are your orders?"

The prince’s gaze locked onto Gotham’s distant castle.

"Stop the battle," he said, his voice low and deadly.

The commander blinked in confusion. "But, sire, victory is within our grasp! If we strike now—"

The prince lifted his head. His eyes were ice-cold.

"No."

"This is no longer just a war. This is vengeance."

"We will burn Gotham."

"I will kill everyone who allowed her to be forgotten."

"Her father, her servants, every soul in that palace who let her starve—every last one of them will die."

"They cannot bring her back to me… but they will suffer."

The prince clenched his armor. Rage coursed through his veins. He was no longer a prince. No longer a man.

He was vengeance itself.

"Gotham took you from me… I will never forgive this. Those who turned their backs on you, who forgot you, who left you to die… They will all pay the price. Those who once knew me will think I fight for a throne. But they are wrong. This is no longer a war for a kingdom. This is no longer just a cause. This is my revenge."

@stove-top96 @sh4rk-k1d @jscrawls @enchantingarcadecreation @welpthisisboring @lilyalone @itsberrydreemurstuff

[alchemistc]

in three, two, one (anxiety)

The door swings on its hinges to reveal the crossed arms and unimpressed expression on Henrietta Wilson's face.

"Okay," Tommy says, with no idea what he's about to experience.

Hen doesn't move, but she does lift an incredibly judgmental brow. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Well. No sugarcoating it, then. "Several things," is not an answer that's gonna make her happy, however it is the one he has available to him at the moment.

Hen rolls her jaw the same time she purses her lips, and Tommy remembers that for a while there he'd stopped having an expressive face around her because he was afraid she'd somehow know.

She had known, but not because his eyebrows did half his talking for him.

"I'm gonna be honest, I don't know what answer you wanted from me."

"Not that one."

And then suddenly Hen is in his house.

He doesn't really have people over. He's certainly never had Hen over.

He took a sledgehammer to a side wall three days ago and he hasn't had more time to work on it than sweeping away the debris.

It's very noticeable.

Hen stops in her tracks halfway down the main hall to stare at it. "Several things," she repeats mockingly, under her breath, and makes a beeline for the kitchen that's now clearly visible behind the skeleton of a non-load-bearing wall.

He hasn't seen the 118 since the funeral. Not unexpected. Definitely not on purpose. He's always been just a hair outside of that group.

"So, my best firefighter is moping because the man he's been obsessed with for more than a year now hasn't called, and you're... knocking out walls."

"I've been meaning to knock out that wall for three years."

Her eyes roll around in her skull for a while before they catch his gaze. It's not an easy gaze to ignore. "Sure, nothing to do with the fact that the one conversation I know you two had in recent memory has to do with how annoyingly small and closed in the kitchen in his rental is."

A single moment of levity in a horribly sad day. But Evan hadn't asked to talk. Evan just lost the man he considered a father. So Tommy made small talk, and bit back the envious beast inside him when Eddie and Evan devolved into a squabble about the general layout of the house.

It had just reminded him of his plan, is all. The plan he's had for years, now. Nothing to do with Evan at all.

"You want some coffee? Orange juice? Maybe my drill so you can just lobotomize me instead of giving me cryptic, judgy eyes?"

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Tommy shoots her an exasperated look. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here against my own nature, to tell you to grow a pair and reach out to the man you stole government property and committed multiple felonies for."

"I've texted Howie," Tommy shoots back, just to avoid the inevitable for a few more moments. Out of all of them, he definitely never would have expected Hen to be the one staging an intervention. Or whatever this is meant to be.

The glib response was a mistake. The cheese Danish she tosses at his head looks delicious even as it bounces off his cheek and sails to the floor.

Tommy sighs. "Evan is fully capable of picking up the phone."

His daring rescue had ended in a loss. A major one. Tommy still doesn't fully understand what Athena had been thinking, asking him to help the 118 carry Bobby to his final destination. Something about firsts and lasts, although he'd been a little too wired to catch more than the gist, when she'd called.

"And what, exactly, is your issue with picking it up?"

The million dollar question. He'd dropped everything the moment he heard I need your help and it's weird and probably super illegal. A little breathless, like he was running. Like Tommy has heard him countless times in much more pleasant scenarios. But then there'd been Bobby. The funeral. Evan's stoicism leaking from his pores, three weeks on.

They'd both done a great job of making it not Tommy's place to do anything about that. And grief - grief changes the whole world. Entire personalities. The loss hasn't even had time to fully bruise over, even for Tommy. He doesn't know how he could have a place in that. Doesn't know if he'd even be wanted if he tried.

"So you're both idiots, is what you're telling me."

"Where'd you get those danishes?" Tommy asks, because avoidance is his bread and butter.

Hen's got a big ass Tupperware full of them he hadn't noticed until she cracked it open to commit assault with a pastry.

Hen groans. "These are Buck's Missing Tommy But Still Not Calling Him For Some Reason Danishes. Pretty sure he hasn't slept in three days. Half the station woke up to some sort of baked good on their doorstep this morning."

The fact that Tommy wasn't in the rotation probably means something. His house is a lot closer to Evan's than Hen's, Maddie's, likely Ravi's too.

"Eat a danish and call him, idiot," Hen says, and shoves the Tupperware at his chest.

---

The danish is to die for. Perfect flaky crust. Cream cheese mixture to die for. Three blueberries on top, a perfect little dusting of powdered sugar.

Tommy eats three in the husk of his kitchen and decides he hates the subway tiles he installed after he hooked up with Evan and immediately blew up any chance at reconciliation.

He's got the oven pulled out and a crowbar in hand to yank them out before he manages to take another full breath.

Hen seems to think he's got another shot at this. At the life he'd dipped his toes into, constantly darting away from that first chill of the water, never allowing his body to get comfortable. Never allowing his mind enough time to adjust to the temperature of it.

And yet somewhere along the way Evan had baked himself into Tommy's life - his routines, his itineraries, the day to day mundanity of Tommy's life. He'd made the world momentarily brighter, exponentially more terrifying.

Tommy'd been looking for ways to bail out even as he was giving Evan glimpses of his life.

He'd waited too long. Given himself too many allowances. Let Evan settle under his skin, in his bones.

Tommy lays the crowbar out on the counter. Wipes his suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans.

Reaches over the back of the oven to grab his phone.

Bangs his head on the overhang of the microwave as he tries to slip out from behind his panic project.

Well.

This is gonna go well.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ How they dream of you at night

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia

(tw: just slightly sad)

✧ “In the hidden corners where the gods' gaze does not fall, there are those who dream of dreaming” - and one said person, Pierro, can be found within the grand Palace of Snezhnaya. He solemnly sits by the window, his icy blue eyes gazing off into the dark winter night of this snowy land.

He often does that, when the night becomes silent and the world is still. Pierro wishes he could dream, yet 500 years of cursed immortality can corrode one’s mind into feeble numbness. Thus, the Fatui Director substitutes his dreamless nights with daydreams of you. Silent fantasies of your voice, images of cupping your jawline, a tender caress to your form. The jester’s daydreams are the only thing keeping him sane, preserving the memory of your skin and love alive in his mind. 

And even if his nights are bleak and dreamless, he would rather settle for maladaptive daydreams. When the Jester gazes at the fake stars of Teyvat, hanging by the firmament as a lifeline, so does he yearn to daydream of you - living in the day just for the memory of your embrace. Alas, only the harsh nights of Snezhnaya are witness to his wistful gazes. 

✧ For Il Capitano, the world is full of battles and wars; conflicts initiated by the ignorant ones, those who care naught for the innocent. Therefore, the only moment of solace that the Captain can afford is in his dreams. Dreams in which his vision is not haunted by the bloodshed of battlefields, but instead by simple dreams of you. 

In those dreams, the world is plain and quiet. He often sees you in it, occupying his thoughts. Sometimes you’d talk and ramble nonchalantly, occasionally he’d see you collecting small chamomile flowers by the grass. Those dreams are uneventful, yet for the Captain, such peacefulness is a luxury he cannot afford. An image of you and him by a quiet valley, a gentle breeze idling by, and having all the time to relish each other’s endless conversations. No thoughts of warfare, only the unwinding sound of your voice.

The Captain is not ashamed to admit he dreamt of you. In fact, he’d candidly say it during the most random of times - “I saw you in my dreams again.”

You’d glance at him and muse - “Oooh, really? Maybe you just miss my company!”

The Harbinger's mask remains pitch black, devout of any expression that might tell whether he reciprocates your little teasing. But besides the occasional clank of chains from his helmet, a low chuckle will escape him. Therefore, The Captain would lean to sit closer to you, his body less tense whenever he is in your presence. Even your silence is a remedy to his soul.

“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I really do.” 

✧ Il Dottore hates dreaming. Sleep, in its entirety, is a redundant form of rest that the human body requires. An utter waste of time. Thus, as a scientist who modified his own body to perfection, it’s unsurprising that he can go on for days without sleep. The Doctor can be efficient with his time, although that’s not why he semi-biologically modified his body. It’s because he hates dreaming of you. 

You are always there in his dreams, along with his younger self. The nostalgic warm sunlight of Sumeru basks onto you, and in those dreams, he sees you in the familiar hallways of the Akademiya. Dottore does not consider those dreams pleasant, since they make him uneasy of the grave past. He doesn’t like seeing himself so simple and young, in his Akademiya uniform. He doesn’t enjoy seeing your tender smile as you clutch your books closer to your chest and lock your gaze with him. He doesn’t like how his dream self always yearns to come closer and embrace you tight. As if young Zandik could’ve held you one more time, and all his troubles would dissipate by the warm sun.

Yet no matter the place or outcome of the peaceful dream, every time that young Zandik tries to reach for your face or seek your lips, you’re always an arm-length away. The hallways of the Akademiya loom threateningly, pulling you further away from him, your warmth becoming unreachable. How naive. He should be better than this. Now he sits up in bed, awake and hands clenched around his hair with trepidation. He hates how his body wants to cry for the memory of you in his dreams. He really hates dreaming.

✧ The fact that Scaramouche even possesses the faculties to dream is what made him the individual he is today. Whether he curses his ability to do so or not, it doesn’t matter. He is no longer the naive Kabukimono he once was, in fact, he doesn’t even require to mimic sleep as humans do. But only you know the truth. During still nights, when the two of you doze off under the warm futons, the Balladeer’s hand would unconsciously grip yours, then followed by silent sobs.   

In his dreams, he sees many events unfold. Sometimes, he sees himself left to live in the squalor like a common critter, discarded and abandoned. Sometimes, he sees the familiar Tataratsuna huts. But more often, he sees you there in his dreams. Back in the warm plains of Yashiori Island, you let him rest his head on your lap. You are dressed in a snug kimono that the fabric's comfort etches onto Scaramouche’s memories eternally. In his dreams, he rests idly in your embrace, by your lap, while you caress his hair. 

Those dreams are delightful at first as if his memories as Kabukimono reinvoke themselves and immortalize the softness of your body and the soothing motion of your hands in his subconscious. But quickly, those dreams shift into agonies. Sometimes, in those dreams, you turn and desert him, while he is left on his dirtied knees to plead for your return. Sometimes, those nightmares show him that it is your heart that can ebb the Tatarigami within Mikage Furnace. And just before he's forced to rip your beating core and relive another memory, he awakes.

“Scara?! Scara…?” - you whispered in the dimness of the night, shaking him awake. “You were crying in your sleep. Another nightmare?”

The Puppeteer said nothing. He lay awake, startled as tears involuntarily streamed down his cheeks. With twitching eyes, he quickly clings around your waist, burying his face against you to conceal his tears. No words needed to be exchanged as his body shook, while you hushed and hugged him. This was the reason why Scaramouche avoided dozing off into sleep ever again.

Regardless of the content of his nightmares, he’d never admit you caressed his hair and soothed him the same way you did in his dreams. 

✧ Pantalone is in bed, restless. Turning from side to side, or readjusting his pillows becomes a futile endeavor to find solace when his bed is lacking you. You are out there, on an expedition, busy exploring Teyvat. Your trip might take another few days, yet Pantalone is alone in a bed that often nestled you close together. Where do your feet take you, the Harbinger ponders to himself. Hence, while you are away, the Regrator is forced to make amends with the bedroom that feels considerably empty, considerably cold, considerably foreign - all because it's missing you. 

In the late, voiceless hours of the night, his dreams blend with his yearning for you. He misses pressing your entire form against his lean body, as it often allows him to fall asleep easily. With you in his arms, chest pressed to another, he knows - you are safe. You are with him. Unfortunately, you are away, and the night feels unwelcoming. For now, Pantalone has to clutch a pillow in his sleep to substitute his feeling of holding you. Even as he sleeps with worry, he hopes somewhere out there, in a foreign land, you are dreaming of him the same way he’s dreaming of you. 

✧ When Tartaglia drifts off into dreamland, his mind is still half-busy with thoughts of you. So much so that his plans blend into his dreams. Thoughts about what he should buy you while he’s away on a mission. Ideas on where to purchase your favorite local specialties. Or perhaps how he should surprise you when he comes back home.

His brain is so enthusiastically occupied with plans to bring you souvenirs, that his dreams come up with countless scenarios of how you’d greet him upon arrival. He’d envision your joyous surprise, endearing pouts, or teasing smiles. And sometimes, if his dreams are more daring, Childe might accidentally dream of some sweet rewards that will leave him waking up in a cold sweat, panting, and body craving. 

Either way, he is rushing back to you the moment his mission is over. His dreams of you might leave him hot and bothered, but your love in real life is much more tantalizing than anything his desperate dreams could conjure up. 

[urstruly-ghst]

the 1 - the second years !

in which you return home with one last message: it would've been you.

author's note: love when we get to go home! but the cost?

cw: swearing

riddle rosehearts

how dare you?— that was riddle's first thought when you came to his dorm, ecstatic with the prospect of coming home. however, he knew that was selfish— his rose was finally getting their wish come true! what more can he ask?

yet, as he reaches out to your arm before you are whisked away, he only had one question: was he the one? the one you wish to have lived a humble life with? the one who would've been by your side for how long time will permit?

you smiled sadly, because, as much as you are ecstatic, you are gutted at the prospect of leaving him. he was one of your favorite— scratch that, he was your favorite part of twisted wonderland. he was your destined soulmate. how cruel was it for you to figure that out when you don't belong in his world.

"riddle, if i could just easily go back on forth... i would, because you are it, riddle. you're my..." you choked up and looked down at your interlocked hands,

"you're the one." riddle choked

ruggie bucchi

why was he here? ruggie asked as you snuck him out for something. he noticed you seem happier yet withdrawn. he reached out and when you spat you're going home? he froze and nearly wanted to leave you.

ruggie didn't need someone else to abandon him, not after all the shit he put through to make things work out. he's pissed, understandably so, but he also can't help but feel defeated. this "talk" could've been his time at work, he reasoned, but here he was— shattered at the prospect.

his first question was, why? he never had someone genuinely care for him that doesn't benefit them besides his family. so when you and him make it past that enormous mountain of doubt, it was a big deal. now here you are, leaving him for what? as he looked at you, he can't help but feel angry and worst of all, sad. because he usually finds ways, but here, he's defenseless once more.

"leave then." ruggie said as he tried to hide his flattened ears and teary eyes. you reach out to him and whispered your dreams of spending your last days with him.

"i would've loved nothing more than to grow old with you, stressing over bills and making ends meet... and maybe you'll find someone else, someone sweeter and..." you caress his face and smile. "and someone who'll be with you till they get to see you succeed."

azul ashengrotto

its unfair. azul would say, you were supposed to be with him until... then again, was there ever a contract? he prides himself that no one gets away from his grasp, yet here he is, losing the most important person he dreamed to have stayed.

azul dreamed of any outcome, just not this. he laughed, foolish enough to think you would've stayed forever. as you both huddle in your private space in the vip room, he can't help but want to make a deal with you, some deal to make you stay. why not delay for a year? a decade? but as he stared at your longing eyes, he knew he had to let you go.

but he can't help but wonder. you saw how azul accepted that the leech twins will leave him the moment the time comes, it took some time... but he surrendered to that fact long ago. azul blames himself for not doing the same with your departure. he should've kept some piece of himself behind, but how foolish is he to give you his whole heart.

"perhaps we can... my dear.. please" azul hiccuped as he hugged you and unable to find it in his mind to make you stay.

"azul..." you coo, "if i had a say in this, i would've... i would've loved to live this life with you. i would've loved to see you grow your empire and well... i would've been there in every waking moment to see you become the man you dream to be." you smile and kiss his head

"and if anything, i can see you becoming that amazing man." as you shakily kissed him, "you're the one i wish i can spend my whole life with"

jade leech

if you thought he'd not fight with you, you're dead wrong. you're welcome to sit there and think he'd grovel, but he's executing every means to delay you. but once he realizes he cannot keep you any longer, he just sits there in shock.

why? why aren't you going to fight against this? wasn't he a dream of yours? was he not worth the fight? he conjured up so many questions and unabashedly used some of his unique spell so you can speak your truth, and it hurt when you answer in full honesty.

can't he just whisk you away? why aren't you... you both sit together in pain and longing. so many times has jade gotten his way this was one of the first... it hurts. he stayed there holding you close, foolishy listening to your heartbeat.

"jade...?" you whispered, "i love you" he nodded with tears in his eyes. he whispered his reply and he glared at the fact you were honest. he wishes you lied, to make him feel angry... but..

"if i could lie to you, i would've. but jade, i meant it. you're the one. i wish i could say you weren't. it would've been easier but... hey, when did i ever choose easy?"

floyd leech

he squeezed you. he didn't want you to leave. it was not fair. floyd wasn't the type to let go and accept things so easily. you were his, the moment he saw you, but why don't you fucking act like it?

you hiccuped as you were taken into his arms, he was convinced you wouldn't be taken away. floyd opened up to you, he told you things not even his twin would know. who else would be his shrimpy? who else would make things count now.

as he hiccuped and held you tightly, you gave him the dreams you wish to have shared with him. and while floyd doubts he'll get your dreams with how he might avoid it, any connection of you, you smile and just believed him.

"i was wrong about you. you proved to me how fun it was to be loved and love crazy. so floyd, prove me wrong again, and prove to me i wasn't the one for you. but, if i can be selfish, i want you to know you can never..." you gasp for air as you regret saying it, "you can never disprove how you're the one for me."

kalim al asim

he was used to losses, kalim can just find new things. but not with you. never with you. irreplaceable was the only word for you, there could only be one you. kalim wasn't prepared to lose you too.

kalim promises he'll be good, he'll go the extra mile, he begs at your feet. you couldn't leave, no. only you could've broken him down to pieces. your sunshine was what he was missing and what he yearns for every waking moment. humor him, stay.

"i could be more... or i could also!" kalim has begged and traded anything he can for the nth time. you shake your head, giving him the biggest smile you can.

"i don't need anything from you." you say as you told him everything he needed to hear, from you, "because you've given me the world, im sorry if i couldn't have given you half of what you gave me. kalim, find someone that your heart desires, screw what your baba thinks. you deserve the world. you're my greatest treasure, so you deserve at the very least the world with love"

jamil viper

jamil reasoned he should've known better. good things end up gone when it came to him. he wondered if this was some cruel prank you did, to make him face reality. but you weren't.

you sat there with a big sad smile and told him why you're leaving. it wasn't because of x or y, it was just you wanted home. jamil should've known that, but he didn't believe it. why didn't he?

jamil curses himself, he prides on knowing what to do next but he's here dumbfounded and once again one upped by you. yet, as you both accept you'll leave, jamil whispers lowly how he wishes he can be free to choose to run with you

"as stupid as it sounds, i want to run off with you" you laugh and smile. jamil looked away and just shrugged, but you looked down and talked lowly

"i wish i can say "be stupid". but hey, don't. you're too good to run away now. jamil, you're amazing. if only i could see what you'll be in the future, i would be cheering on how you were not stupid." you both laugh as you shared one last night together

"and when time passes, just know, jamil, you were the one i know will rise above everyone else."

"and you would be the one responsible as to why i didn't fail" jamil responded

silver

in dreams, silver had visions of you and him sharing a life. you both were delusional to believe the dreams, when the vision was hazy at best. but, two hearts can dream, right?

silver was shattered when you told him that you'll leave. he wondered if he still had the right to dream about you and him. you reached out to him and told him the honest truth, no. he can't dream about you anymore, not when you were never to be seen again

but, unknown to you, the last night you had with him, he dreamt of you two once more. intertwining your last dream together. let silver be selfish, for these dreams are what his heart kept desiring for.

"what did i tell you." you smile as you are welcomed into the dream both of you built together. a small cottage in a far off land, no pain or suffering touches these walls.

"dear, let me be selfish." silver pouts. and you relent, feeling the bitter pain seep in as you realized this dream shall remain only that: a dream.

"how cruel it is, my happy ending won't be with you" silver muses as you held each other, "seven knows i want it to be with you"

"oh trust me, you'll still have your happy ending. much like how i will still get mine. but if wishes and dreams came true? it would've been you, silver"

[ghostgirl101]

Poppy Playtime Bigger Bodies (Antagonists) x You || General HCS

...if you were an orphan left mysteriously alive in the factory.

A/N: Aka you being protected by every bigger body brother sister significant mother huggable plush dog cat dough boy in the factory. 😀 also random note but I'd love to hear theories about chapter 5 coming out next year, I'm already ready for it lol, I think I heard its gonna be the last and there's gonna be multiple endings and I'm 100% down for all of it

Sidenote: These headcanons aren't gonna be massively romantic or anything just because they're trapped childrennnnn in animal plush forrrrms and idk writing that ifykwimeaaannn 😺someone freakier than me might attempt to tho lmao also I didn't manage to include Ms Delight in this one, I'm sorry, but girl gave me nightmares for a straight week 😭

CATNAP?

🐾 • Basically never says a word. Kitty's always staring in the back with those big, blank white eyes and gaping grin, looming over everything, lurking in red shadows. Don't think he's not always watching you, because he is. Everywhere. Anywhere. He knows.

🐾 • If you happened to know Catnap before "Catnap" and as Theodore Grambell, there are just two things to know. Don't ever call him by his real name. And don't ever leave him.

🐾 • Cat might actually, very, very slightly be tempted to question the almighty Prototype's intentions if and when he ever demands Catnap fetch you for them for a "discussion of sorts."

🐾 • Get used to being flung up onto his back at random points of the day or night to stalk around the factory levels with him. And also get used to the red mist, because if he thinks you need sleep, then you're gonna get sleep.

🐾 • He'll only stop when he realises that you get the nightmares too. That's how you'll know he cares. In his own ways.

🐾 • And if The Player tries to interact or find you in the factory, Catnap will actually scrap his love for a cat and mouse game with them, and go straight for the kill. And there's no death screen for this one.

🐾 • He's pobably one of the most protective out of all the Bigger Bodies surrounding you in Playtime factory. He won't let you go anywhere near the train, or the main ground floor where the entrance and exit are. It's been bolted and secured by The Prototype itself, and Huggy's another willing blockade to any attempted escapes.

🐾 • I'm rambling about the others now, so let's move on to them-

DOEY?

🍭 • Let me first state (for the very obvious fact, but in case you didn't know lol) that Doey the Doughman is infact multiple mans. Three. And more boys than men- we have Kevin, the "problem child" that has an uncontrolled temper, glaring scowl on his features, and the loudest voice. We've got poor Jack, the victim of falling into literal molten dough as a child, who just wants his mum and brings out the pure blue sadness in the mix. And Matt just tries to keep everyone together as a "dream child," being the most thoughtful and caring of the bunch. So that's that.

🍭 • I feel like out of all of them, Jack would barely say a word, probably still completely traumatised by everything and numbed in pain mentally and physically to end up like a bit of a blank, unresponsive slate. But if you give him time, and maybe a few hugs, he'll soften out of his shell in his own way, and will naturally just follow after you wherever and whenever he can in the factory, even giving the other boys a bit of a tug in your direction when they're fighting for control.

🍭 • Kevin wouldn't give the boys a tug, he would physically lunge and shove against Matt's gentleness to do as he wanted, or to speak to you himself. It would be a miracle for anyone to calm him down, and if it's not Matt getting in at just the right time, it'd be you.

🍭 • Matt's a complete gentle giant in every way, and so you and he would be a dream team in helping keep up the safe haven and a sense of order amongst the others. You'd probably see him asking you for guidance and leadership after a little while too, after he's done it almost completely alone up to this point.

🍭 • All three of them would gang up in an instant to defend or protect you, no questions asked, working in perfect harmony. Just like how brutal the fight with The Player ended up being, but heightened to an extreme, because here, there's no mental or physical conflict in their motives, there's just the raw instinct of protecting their own.

HUGGY?

🧸 • Big surprise - or maybe not - that he's probably one of the softest of the bunch when it comes to you and your protection. He would absolutely steal Catnap's move of just randomly scooping you up to wander around or play in the Game Station, except you'd be carried around on his shoulder for most of the time.

🧸 • He'll play whatever game you want with you, when he's not on surveillance for intruders. Tag or It can be mildly stressful with him though, just because, he will absolutely chase the hell after you until he's knocked you off your balance and into the air- "Huggy it's just a game 😭"

🧸 • The Prototype put Huggy Wuggy in charge of securing the main entrance and level of the factory, and so he takes it completely seriously. If The Player's on the hunt to find you, they'll have to get through Huggy first. He'll be raging, screeching the whole end scene of Chapter 4, because he saw you talk to The Player.

🧸 • Very much like a golden retriever one moment and then a guard dog with snapping teeth and dead eyes the next.

MOMMY LONG LEGS?

💗ྀི • This woman is INSANE 😭 😭 like whattt girl calm down just cus Catnap was giving us a ride around the Navigation Room we aren't gonna fall off and "smash into tiny bloodied pieces," if you keep poking at the Cat he's actually going to twist one of your pink arms off-

💗ྀི • Very protective. Insanely, 24/7, obsessively so. Every other child left her to die but one, so if you go anywhere near the main ground floor or the train, get ready for a momentary mental collapse until The Prototype itself has to threaten her nerves to get her to back off a bit

💗ྀི • She can actually be a nice presence to be around if you're missing your parents or family or anything you had to give up to live in hell underground, because she's motherly to the max and will treat you like you're four and can't do anything for yourself even though you most certainly are not four, and haven't been for some time

💗ྀི • Anyone she doesn't think is protecting and watchiing over you enough on the rare occasions that you're out of her reach is gonna risk being webbed up as a corpse somewhere around the factory, just as a warning sign. She has to teach her lessons, after all.

HARLEY SAWYER?

👁️ • This guy's an absolute bitch. In every way possible.

👁️ • He'll keep you around, not because The Prototype commands it, but either because you're either (1) his child somehow - my condolences to you to have a dad who's basically the monsters inc eye in a box - or (2) you were an interesting and possible subject choice for a future test that never saw the light of day before the Hour Of Joy.

👁️ • He just has a weird obsession with you in some way, though not as strongly as The Prototype's mentality. Harley's still a psychopathic ass, so don't expect much soft treatment. Just a lot of eyes on the old, broken-down security cameras in the factory and a snarky remark whenever you come to check on him in the Doctor's Lair.

👁️ • It'd give him all the more reason to dissect The Player if he found they were trying to reach you somehow. "After my orphan, I see. How inspired. You'll save no one."

THE PROTOTYPE?

⚠︎ • The most protective 101/100 out of every single being left alive in the factory. It just goes about things in a different, "creative" way.

⚠︎ • Low-key borderline obsessed with everything about you and everything you represent in their mind. Whatever they're planning, it's for you. Poppy who?

⚠︎ • All the Bigger Bodies under his control have the sole job to follow him blindly, and to make sure you stay alive, unharmed, fed and watered, and nowhere near the exit. You're not going anywhere. Playtime birthed you, Playtime is you.

⚠︎ • It'll go after The Player in its own ways. Using Catnap and Mommy and Huggy and everyone else to beat them down, and then get The Player to watch the inevitable. That's what makes it sweet. "It's not about you."

⚠︎ • Not very soft or sweet at all, because... It's The Prototype. But it can take on many acts, like it did with Ollie, and you might've gone through the whole thing of thinking you were friends with someone else hidden in the factory that tells you they're always here for you, they love you, you look so pretty today! when it's actually The Prototype all along. Just don't expect it to admit to those same words in its usual tones.

And there we have it. Two hours ten mins of writing Poppy Playtime headcanons 😀 I'm now going to lie unconscious in bed for an appropriate amount of time, so thanks for reading.