#normally I’d have to write it in my note book

[mossyscavern]

Random headcanon’s, because I can

Wick/most au’s… are you kidding the same thing-?!

____________________

Caleb is actually smarter then you think.

I mean… yeah the weavers are pretty smart but unlike his family, he’s an audio and kinaesthetic learner, he learns by listening and doing things.

But he can’t visually learn because he gets distracted very easily. He has to learn by someone talking to him or to do it himself.

It’s the error of his own ways is how he learns.

Although unlike his other siblings who learn from visual and can get it right from the first time after reading from a manual, he can’t get it right first time.

But that never really bothers him, he may not learn as quickly as visual but he does when someone is talking and a lot of trial and error.

____________________

I really am not kidding when I say he can be smart.

Like c’mon! There was clearly a lot of practice involved with digging underground as a ghost and I know it’s instinct like how it is before you die. To me? It comes with practice before you become a ghost story threat to give nightmares. Besides…

The slit mouthed woman learned patience with her victims. Even when she’s very angry.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

want to get nerdy really fast about all the cool little concepts and ideas that went into hallowed bodies because I fell into the trap of Hating It Until It Was Over & nowwww I remember that I specifically chose to write 90% of it in vignettes to capture a feeling of stunted listlessness in the narrative, that I literallyyyyy kept a character unnamed as a way to thematically emphasize the omnipresent anonymity of men in Lonan’s life (his father, god, Harrison), that I leapt off the ending of BODY BACK that ends in a church (HB starts in a church), that both first chapters in BB and HB have the protagonist yearning for someone to lead VS someone to follow, that similarly, both books delve into the same premise but with vastly different circumstances, that the ending was designed to also be a foil of the end of BB (Harrison walks INTO a church, Lonan walks OUT) & yeahhhh it’s pretty cool lol

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads / storygraph

The Poisons We Drink

YA urban fantasy

a girl who brews powerful potions is coerced into making potions to interfere with D.C.’s most influential politicians in an attempt to stop a dangerous Witcher Registration Act from passing, and will do anything to protect her sister after their mother is killed

bi MC, nonbinary love interest

arc from netgalley

[celestie0]

I actually kinda like the accidental pregnancy trope idk just two characters learning to coparent and then eventually falling in love is kinda cute 🥹 I’d love to see what you write for gojo I feel like he’d be scared but end being such an amazing dad

gojo x reader | accidental pregnancy trope [drabble]

little miracle. a gojo x reader story

a/n. ok anon i basically started answering this ask very minimally but i couldn't stop myself from writing and it basically became an entire story so enjoy i guess?? LOL my bad <3 warnings/tags. domestic fluff, angst, mentions of sick parent, mentions of death, pregnancy symptoms. there is happy ending!! word count. 2.2k

gojo and you are in your mid twenties but you're both just barely getting by, you're a new writer living in a tiny apartment in a big city and gojo is the cute waiter at your favorite diner who's just saving up some money because he wants to go back to school and you're both kindaaa crushing on each other, flirting w one another. the restaurant gojo works at ends up starting meal delivery option, and you order some pizza to your apartment just so that you can see him on a weekday and he's soooo super cheeky with it leaning in the doorframe entryway of your apartment with the pizza in his hand like "it says here someone ordered a hot guy in some super sexy black jeans, well he's here now" and you're like "you're such a fuckin idiot" and you abandon said pizza to fuck him on your facebook marketplace couch.

fast forward the next day n you wake up, but he's not there anymore. he left you a little note that says he's going away for a month since his mom is sick and he needs to be w her. you're confused by the note, and you wish he left his phone number because you realize you have no way of contacting him. but that's ok, he'll be back soon, right?

in the couple weeks following the night you both hooked up, you're feeling like shit in the mornings, nauseous, you realize you've missed your period but you shrug it off because it was never really normal anyways. but one morning you throw up, confused as hell, wondering if you got food poisoning. but as you swing your legs back and forth in your paper gown, sitting high up on your primary care doctor's examination room bed, they tell you that you're pregnant and you act like you've never even heard the word before.

there's no doubt gojo is the father, you haven't slept w anyone except him in months. and a baby was just...you can barely afford to pay your bills, you're already living paycheck to paycheck since your book isn't even out yet and you're just surviving w the advance from your old job. what the hell were you going to do? and you can't even tell him that you're pregnant, because he's god knows where, stranding you with no phone number to contact him and you feel so left behind and alone.

the first person he comes to see when he gets back into the city is you. he looks tired, probably from his travels, or possibly from what he saw back home w his mom laying sick in bed. but he's still so happy to see you, and he kisses you and tells you he missed you and you stop him to tell him that you need to talk. for him, there was life before you told him you were pregnant, and then there was life after. and now he was living in the after. standing still in the tiny living room of your apartment when you tell him he's the father, and the words that leave your mouth afterwards are drowned out in his head because he can only focus on that one thought at once.

father. he's going to be a father? whatever heaviness he finds in his chest from the word is replaced with adoration when he looks at you.

keeping it, was what you had told him next.

it was tough at first, because of the morning sickness and the hormones and the yelling at him for not bringing you the kfc you craved so badly a minute before he did, and then the crying that follows suit when you realize you're being mean to him. but he does everything you want, everything he knows how, because he doesn't know how to be a dad, and he figures the least he can do right now is know what to do for you. and the thought scares him, to death every day. as he's driving you to your doctor's appointments, he's praying under his breath that you and baby are ok and healthy. while he's waiting tables at work, he puts on his best smile for an extra tip because it's extra money for the baby, because she isn't even here yet and he already wants to give her everything she's ever wanted.

yes, she. a baby girl. you were having a baby girl. you cried when your ob/gyn slipped and told you the gender, because you asked for it to be kept secret, but what hurt even more was that you told gojo he didn't need to come to this appointment. just a routine little check up, not a big deal. i'll just have my friend drop me off, you said. little did you know it was the one where you would find out you two were having a little girl.

oh, gojo knows nothing about girls. would it be different from raising a boy? can he play wrestle w her when she's a little older, or would he have to be gentle with her? would he learn how to make flower crowns for her with daisies from the field just to see a smile on her tiny face? how will he ever be able to deny her anything, especially if she looks just like you?

the second trimester, you two felt like a young married couple, and for once it felt like things were bright. like you two knew what you were doing. like it wasn't a mistake, but a blessing. you wanted him, desired him, and he'd never desired anything more than he desired you. it took you a while to come around to having sex again, it felt wrong, because that was what got you two into this mess in the first place. but those feelings melted away when you two moved into his little ranch together on the outskirts of town and you knew what it felt like to be hugged by him in the mornings, his sleepy voice drawling in your ear about how much more beautiful you look with every passing day. in those moments, all the regret melts away.

it all comes crashing down in third trimester. you're angry, he's tired, you're sad, he swears he's trying his best but he just can't seem to understand what you need from him. you say you wished this never happened, he says he didn't ask for any of this, and you're sobbing on the kitchen floor with your head in your hands because it all just feels like some cruel twisted joke. like a dream you should be waking up from any second from now. he sits down on the cold tile beside you, solemn in the face. he already looks so much older than the bright eyed boy he used to be, twirling a pizza box around on his finger in the doorframe of your apartment. his cheeks have sunk in, and you realize we all die someday. his hand reaches out to hold yours, and he kisses the back of it, and he says he'll never leave. not like how he left all those months ago, with nothing but a note. no matter what it comes to, one thing he can always promise you, is that he'll never leave like that ever again.

when your baby girl was born, nothing else mattered. it's like all the turmoil you faced in the past eight months was not even worth paying a moment's care towards when you cradle her in your arms. gojo had been fighting back tears the entire time, mostly provoked by how difficult childbirth had been for you as he watched feeling helpless, but the moment he held his little girl in his arms, he couldn't fight back the tears anymore. and he cried, and he cried, and he cried. few fathers could treasure their daughters as much as gojo did, and he knows it's a promise every parent makes to their child, but he vowed he'll never let anything hurt her. never let anyone upset her. for as long as he lives, he'll keep all the cruelty away from her, and keep her safe forever. you both named her yuki, for snow drifting outside of the hospital window when she opens her eyes for the first time.

you two make the tough decision that it's best for gojo to go back to school like he originally planned while you take care of the baby at home. it's hard having him away, and it's torture for him too, since he seems to breathe and live just to make yuki giggle and smile. but it's what made fiscal sense, since you knew what it was like to grow up in a household with little money to feed or fend, and the two of you wanted more than that for your daughter.

gojo's mother succumbed to the very illness that had been haunting her since he visited her for a month over a year ago, and he cried to sleep when he realized she only got to hold her granddaughter once before she passed away. and for the first time in his life, gojo learned what it really meant to be a parent, and it was only found in losing his own. there was no time to grieve in the capacity that he wanted to, because he needed to be there for you and his little girl. a year ago, he would've been broken, beaten, and bruised, but now he bleeds only in his dreams, then buries and braves the seasons for the sake of you two. as he slips his shoes off at the front door after a long day, then walks into the dark of the house, turning the corner into your shared room, he sees you humming peacefully while rocking his daughter to sleep. and he realizes his entire world is sitting in that chair.

gojo graduates from his two year engineering program, and lands a job in the city. the same city you left to go live with him when you were pregnant. it was tough to come back to the same city you fled, because all you remember of it now is morning sickness and fear of your career and falling in love with a boy that had a boyish charming smile you knew would ruin you one day. and now he's taken you back, moving the little family you've made together into a house. a house! he bought you a house. it was a little one, with no more than two bedrooms, but there was enough room in your hearts to raise your daughter with love, and that was all she'd ever need. she can walk now, mumble words. she said dada first, and gojo never stops teasing you about it. and when she finally says mama, you felt like your whole heart would burst.

he proposes to you on the waterline of the city's park, at the top of golden hour while the wind is subtle and tame but still ruffles the fabric of your dress. waiter boy, on one knee in front of you, years of waiting tables but he cannot even bare to wait one more second to hear your answer to the most important question he'll ever ask anyone in his entire life.

and you say yes. and he promises he'll love you for the rest of his life.

the wedding is small, because you two decided not to invite all of the family that had become estranged ever since you told them that you were pregnant with a man's child who you weren't even so much as dating. his family became yours after that, with his aunts and uncles congratulating you and yuki's cousins playing with her before she was to skip down the aisle as flower girl. it was sad to see your side of the church so empty, but you could never truly feel empty in this world anymore. not with what all that you've gained in the process.

there is fear in love, and in life. there was fear in gojo's heart when he learned he was going to be a father when he barely even knew right from wrong. there was fear in learning you were going to be a mother when you knew you cannot protect your child from the same hurt that has haunted you for a lifetime. but there was joy too. joy in seeing your baby bump for the first time, joy in holding your daughter in your arms for the first time, joy in seeing a sparkling stone in a tiny box presented to you on a sunday by the boy who still made your heart skip a beat just by looking at him, and there was so much joy in marrying him too.

but you find the real joy comes in the moments that you expect nothing from at all, but they happily surprise you with the feeling nonetheless. like now, as you sit on a picnic blanket at the park and you watch your husband running across fluttering grass in the wind, chasing after your daughter whose giggles and shrieks fill the summer air. he catches her, throwing her up into the air before spinning her around in his arms, and you tuck your hair behind your ear as you watch it happen. you expected nothing from anything life had given you in the past four years, and yet it gave you all the joy in the world. where you could've expected sorrow and sadness, it gave you something beautiful instead. you never would've thought that the boy you locked eyes with through a shy flutter of your lashes underneath warm restaurant lighting, the one that winked at you with no shame despite you being surrounded by all of your friends, you never could've imagined he'd be who he is to you today. but for certain, now, you believe in it. you believe in little miracles.

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. what the flying fuck. i'm gonna go cry now lmfao.

[buckyandgeraltsupremacy]

remus x shy!reader

author: sj

warnings: fluff; reader is in hufflepuff; not edited lol

let me know if you want a part 2 cause i love writing for remus rn

masterlist

part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

---

you shared a lot of classes with the marauders. you weren’t even sure they knew your name. but even though you thought they didn’t know you, there was one marauder who always noticed you. remus could spot you in a crowd of one hundred. his eyes always searching for a yellow tie and your h/c hair. he thought you were so smart and always watched you take notes in every class admiring how focused you were on your studies. to be honest, that’s one of the reasons he always went to the library to study, he knew you’d be in there as well.

james had noticed this little thing remus had for you as early at 3rd year. he watched remus silently watch the hufflepuff girl with h/c hair. he didn’t try to intervene until they were older, still watching him pine over the same girl that had remus’ attention. he didn’t really know what to do so he told sirius and of course he knew exactly what to do.

you were sitting in potions after class had ended, classmates filtering out and gathering your things when someone came up to you and started talking to you. low and behold it was sirius.

“hey! i’m sirius” he said, shoving his hand towards you. you nodded, waking yourself out of shock that a marauder was introducing himself to you like they weren’t the talk of the school.

“y/n.” you replied, shaking his hand.

“great. my friend remus, you know remus right? tall, lanky, always holding a book, he’s sick and is always draining on and on about how smart you are so i thought i’d ask you for notes for him. id give him mine but i didn’t take any.” you cheeks turned red at the idea of them talking about you, much less remus thinking that you were smart.

“um. yeah. i can do that, let me copy them onto another piece of parchment and then you can take them to him.”

“perfect! come by the gryffindor common room anytime tonight and we’ll be there!”

when you finished up copying the notes that night, you stopped by the gryffindor common room to drop off the notes. you didn't have the password so knocking on the portrait would have to do. you stepped back and the door swung open to reveal sirius giving you and oddly big grin.

"come on in, love! so lovely of you to drop these notes off for poor remus." he ushered you inside and you stepped through looking around the room. you quickly found the rest of the marauders sitting by the fireplace, james, peter, and a tired looking remus. his eyes widened when you walked through the door, instantly shooting to james and peter and back to you.

"had a surprise for you remus. i know how much you love your notes, so i thought i'd ask for some from the master herself." sirius said, pushing you towards the group. your cheeks burned as you dug through your bag on you shoulder to find your copy of notes for him. you finally found them and took a few steps forward to remus who was sitting up straighter as you got closer.

"here you go. i just copied them from the notes that i took today. i hope they're good enough. i'm not sure what your normal style is that you're used to so i this helps." you said in a rush, looking down at your notes. you extended them towards the boy sitting by the fire. he reached for them.

"thank you so much y/n! you really didn't have to do this. did sirius make you any threats or force you do this?" he asked, lowering his voice slightly. you lightly laughed as a shocked sirius gasped and muttered some words you couldn't understand.

"no, no. i promise i did this of my own free will." you said, glancing up at his eyes. his smile reached his eyes once your eyes met and you instantly felt warm inside.

and so thats how your relationship started to form with the marauders. they soon started coming up to talk with you during classes and inviting you to sit with them at meals when they noticed you sitting by yourself.

your favorite though, was when you'd be in the library and remus would ask to sit at your table. he would work with you silently and you'd trade questions about homework back and forth, eventually even recommending books to each other.

you even got so close to them that the boys started including you in the teasing. one specific day, the boys found you and remus reading in the common room together. you were sitting on the ground in front of the coffee table and he was sitting behind you on the couch. the boys came in loud and instantly disrupted the calmness. sirius came bouding over to you and sat across the coffee table on the floor.

"i thought of one for you." he said, slapping his hands on the table. you jumped at the abrupt sound and leaned back on to remus' legs. the boys had been trying to figure out a good nickname for you so you could join their fun nicknames, but you weren't an anigmus like they were so there were lots of options but not of them really were fitting you quite right.

"what is it?" you asked, relaxing against remus' legs.

"flea. its perfect. you're small, quiet and annoying." you gasped and immediately sat up in protest.

"no! thats horrible i don't want to be called a flea, you git!" you exclaimed.

"but it just fits so well, flea. i can't deny how perfect it is for you." you started to protest, but a big hand stopped you. the hand, from remus, wrapped around your shoulder and guided you back to his legs, scooching you to between his legs and under him. his hands grabbed your shoulders and started to work there, massaging your tight shoulders.

"we're not calling her flea." remus insisted. you shivered and you hoped he thought it was from his hands and not his commanding voice. james then spoke up.

"what about hoppers?" you tilted your head and looked up at remus to hear his response, not protesting that one.

"she sure is as cute as a bunny and the size of one too. i vote yes." he said, looking down into your face. james nodded his head and sirius huffed.

"i still like flea better but hoppers will do when you don't annoy me, flea." sirius grumbled. you rolled your eyes and relaxed into remus' touch more, your eyes closing. unbeknownst to you, his small smile grew as he continued to massage your shoulders.

[leqonsluv3r]

bf!leon kennedy

—ID!leon kennedy x soft!croquette reader, a headcanon list

masterlist taglist

an: i cannot be controlled anymore. i promised i’d make it a series and im delivering slowly but surely. have faith in me lol, im doing my best to get requests out. i have them closed currently just so i can catch up and write them all in a timely manner. enjoy ID!bf leon kennedy in the mean time.

bf!leon kennedy who is getting too old for the soft cream sheets on your bed, he wants to just rip them off and demand something more mature. but he knows you wouldn’t like that. you practically yell at him anytime he tosses one of your stuffed animals too hard off the bed.

bf!leon kennedy who takes you out to dinner, makes sure your happy. he knows he’s not around as much as he should be so he takes the time when he can to treat you special. your his girl, he needs to.

bf!leon kennedy who makes sure your sleeping constantly when your next to him, even when he wakes up from nightmares. your scent of jasmine and laundry detergent makes him at ease, proves that everything is real and he’s really here with you.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you pack him notes in his lunch when he heads to the agency everyday. your cursive hand writing is sloppy but adorable, always writing for him to have a good day and that you love him. he’s just happy he has you to remind him when things get hard.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you press kisses all over him and hug him to death whenever he comes home unscathed from a mission or just a regular day at the agency. he loves when you show your love for him, always making him feel special and good. like all the things he had endured at this point have been worth it.

bf!leon kennedy who takes you shopping on his days off, not happy he has to stand around and hold your bags. but when you try your cute little skirts and dresses on, it makes it a tiny bit worth it. you would look pretty in a paper bag and he would still look at you all the same.

bf!leon kennedy who has your morning and nighttime skincare routine down, he watches you do it every morning and every night, never knowing that so many pieces came with you looking so pretty and gorgeous for him. but anything to make you happy, even if you don’t need all that to be beautiful in his eyes.

bf!leon kennedy who watches you organize your books on your bookshelf, clean up your shared space of your guys shared bedroom. all your little knickknacks and jewelry and frilly clothes. he doesn’t know how you do it, or why you like such a mundane looking room, but if it pleases you, it’s fine with him.

bf!leon kennedy who lets you crawl on-top of him in the early hours of the morning before he goes to work and press kisses everywhere. your lips pressing across his jaw, his cheeks, his neck and his lips. any place your pretty little self can reach, he’s letting you do it. you waking him up like this is another reason why his heart is so enamored with you in the first place.

bf!leon kennedy who helps you when you need to wash all your stuffed animals and sheets, helping you with chores. he likes being domestic with you, it makes him feel like he’s normal, like this is a normal life. like this matters, like his life has purpose with you.

bf!leon kennedy who drives you to the park or to the plant nursery so you can be around nature. he loves how you admire each plant anytime your out like this, the way you care for such things. it makes him happy to see you enjoying such a small part of life, gives him hope.

bf!leon kennedy who celebrates your guys three year anniversary, buying you anything and everything you want. taking you out all day. he cooks for you and makes your favorite dish, he buys you pink roses. he lets you dress in your dress and be all pretty for him.

bf!leon kennedy who eats with you, talking with you like he normally did everyday. but this time it’s different and leon is going to prove just how much he loves you. he slides a box out and watches your face change. you open the box and feel your eyes water when you see a diamond engagement ring.

bf!leon kennedy who watches as you nod rapidly, pretty tears and say yes over and over again. he slips it on your finger and smiles softly at you, watching as you practically hop over the table and hug and kiss him like your life depends on it. you smother him and kisses, tangling your sweet mouth with his.

bf!leon kennedy, who is very proud to not call himself your boyfriend anymore. but your fiancé and he’s proud of that title. of making you so happy and obligating to do that every single day for the rest of his life. he wants you everyday, every night and everywhere in between. he’s found his safe haven in this world, and it’s you. it always will be.

an: thank you for reading, reposting and likes are greatly appreciated. i’m trying to keep my posting schedule up and should have requests open when i’m finished with all the ones in my drafts. thank you guys for being patient with me. i love you all, kisses. xx

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 29/July/2024

Do you ever have one of those weeks where everything is unexpected?

Well, it was definitely one of those last week, lol!

I haven’t had access to my laptop since mid-week last week, which means all my reference, variable reference, plans and things are all inaccessible, as well as normal things like emails, etc.

But I always back-up Book Four on an SD card, which means luckily I still had that! So I’ve been able to work on the different unit scenes in what is becoming a seriously stonkingly beefy Chapter Three, just with some interesting notes to myself I need to go back and fill in.

Eg. "Oh, so close," Maaka jeers at his brother with a smile.

Tane glares at him [through what coloured eyes does he have?],

So that’s been an interesting way to write, hehe! :D But it at least means I can write even with my laptop out of commission for the moment!

I will have it again on Wednesday, but I won’t be diving in to fill in those moments quite then. Instead, I will be concentrating on polishing up and adding in anything from the readers for Chapter Two so that I can get the demo up on early access on Patreon hopefully for the weekend!

I know I’ve had 2 back I’d been waiting on, even without being able to access my emails, so hopefully the others will be back by Wednesday too! *fingers crossed*

Hope you all have an awesome week! Not long until the next update, so I'll talk to you all then <3

[cassandraclare]

A bit of publishing stuff (if you get my newsletter you've already seen this)

So by now you lovely people have all seen the announcement about what books I have coming up next. Ragpicker King is coming March 4, 2025, and The Last King of Faerie is coming early 2026.

I know a lot of you were hoping for LKOF to come earlier. It’s going to be a big gap between the last Shadowhunter book and the next — three years. Previously the longest gap between Shadowhunter books was two years, between Mortal Instruments and the Dark Artifices.

I announced last year that I was taking time off — six months. It was the first time I’d taken any real time off since 2005. The pandemic had just happened and I was wiped out physically and mentally. I also needed to take stock of where I was in my publishing journey and really think about what I wanted — it had been years since I’d had time to consider whether I was happy, because I always had another deadline and that was always more important.

  When I came to the end of The Last Hours, I was “out of contract” — meaning I didn’t have any further Shadowhunter books that were owned by or owed to a publisher.  it was the first time that had happened since, again, 2005. Being out of contract is your one chance to change anything you want to change about your career, and I knew I was going to leave my longtime US publisher of the Shadowhunter books and move to Random House, who published Sword Catcher.

This isn’t a small decision for any writer to make. It sometimes happens when a writer has been at a publisher for a very long time that the nature of the publisher changes. Maybe all the people you worked with when you first came to that publisher have gone elsewhere, so your team has inherited you rather than having chosen you. Maybe your publisher has been sold to another company whose vision for that publisher doesn’t fit with yours. Maybe your publisher isn’t interested in your genre anymore. 

I spent a lot of time agonizing over the decision—I certainly could have stayed where I was, but I knew that was no longer the best decision for the books. So those of you who pay attention to these kinds of details will note that where the other Shadowhunter books have all been published by McElderry Books, these next ones will be published by Knopf. (Who are an amazing imprint. They make great books.)

Normally a writer wouldn’t really address switching publishers — it happens a lot, and most readers don’t care who publishes a book. I’m talking about it now because I know there will be a lot of people who are angry and don’t understand why Ragpicker King is coming out before Last King of Faerie. The short answer is: Ragpicker King has been under contract since it was sold along with Sword Catcher, years ago now, and I’m obligated to get it done when I said I was going to. The books of The Wicked Powers are only just now securely under contract enough to be announced, as you just saw! So Ragpicker King is planned to be turned in in a couple of months, and after that I will be able to focus entirely on The Last King of Faerie (which I already began, but since it was only sold to Knopf last October, I was only able to get started after that).

And it takes a a year at least to write a book and another good year or so to publish it, and that gets us to the pub dates we’ve got. I would love if I could get it to you earlier, but multiple factors have brought us to this point, and in the end, not rushing through them is the best thing for the books, and will produce the best version of those books. I always want to get you my best work — that’s what is important to me above all things.

In terms of other publishers in other countries — I’m staying with all my longterm Shadowhunter publishers. Nothing’s going to change for y’all — Walker Books is still publishing Shadowhunters in the UK, even though a different publisher is going to publish In Fire Foretold there (due to spiciness.) ;) 

For those of you who backed the Kickstarter, that will mean you do get new Shadowhunter content between now and early 2026* — which was part of the reason I did it! I’m also talking to my new publisher about bringing Better in Black out — with at least a six month gap for the Kickstarter backers to have it to themselves — so fingers crossed. There’s also Black Volume of the Dead, the final Eldest Curses book, which is still planned and which I am still excited to write, but since it is set after Last King of Faerie, it hasn’t been scheduled yet. More news on that as it develops—for now, I wanted to talk directly about the schedule in the next couple of years, since I feel confident it is set and will reliably happen this way, something I can’t yet say about 2027 and beyond. The point is, I’m really excited to bring you Wicked Powers just as soon as it is ready, and I know enough about it to say  it’s going to be quite a ride!

And also an early look at In Fire Foretold.

[wildrangers]

Book Lovers // Quinn Hughes

Word Count: 5K

Summary: Quinn x fem OC author

Content: prolonged meet cute, flirty banter, fluff. Truly, I saw the clip of Quinn sharing he's a reader and knew I had to write something based on that.

Quinn took a deep, contented breath as he perused the shelves before him. He had a rare day off and was doing one of his favorite fall activities: book shopping.

Normally, he just went to Chapters or Barnes, depending on what country he was in, but he’d decided to explore a new place. He’d been discussing books with Lauren, the new social media manager, and she’d ranted about how they and Amazon were “destroying local markets and harming author profits.” Most of her argument had gone over his head but he took away enough, so here he was at Thomas’ Tomes–the closest locally-owned book shop to his apartment. He figured that was as good a place to start as any and it certainly didn’t hurt that it was a block from his favorite coffee place. 

Which is how he found himself, pumpkin spiced latte in hand, soaking in the relaxing energy of the cozy shop. He’d already selected a few historical fiction novels and was scanning the mystery section he’d just entered. He pulled his phone out, scanning his notes app for the title Lauren had recommended. She’d said it was pretty gruesome but he figured he could handle it…probably.

“Can I help you?” a voice nearby asked, startling him. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Are you sure a mystery book is a good idea?” 

His gaze rose to meet warm, golden brown eyes filled with amusement. “What do you mean?”

“It’s broad daylight in a public setting and you almost dropped your PSL because I greeted you.”

“You didn’t scare me, I was just in my own world” he argued, but felt his cheeks pinkening. She really had set off a fight or flight response just by doing her job.

“Of course” she replied and he couldn’t tell if he was being sensitive or if there was a teasing glint in her eyes. “My offer still stands.” 

“I’m sorry what?” he asked, confused and scrambling to keep up. 

“To help you find something…preferably a book. I don’t know how much help I’d be beyond that.” 

“Oh sure, yeah, thanks” he mumbled, setting his stack of books down on the table next to him so he could more easily show her his phone screen. “Someone recommended this book to me, do you have it in stock?”

He caught a whiff of something earthy and relaxing as she leaned closer, her eyes scanning the note. “Ah, yes we actually have a display over this way. Theo’s a local author.”

He picked up his items and followed her, moving much quicker than he anticipated having to to keep up as she weaved through the store. “Have you worked here a long time?” 

“My whole life essentially” she chuckled, throwing a grin over her shoulder. Just as she turned back, they passed a window that set her red hair aflame in the midday sun. 

“Oh, yeah? No labor laws then?” he teased, he hoped, successfully.

“I mean, I basically harassed my parents to let me stock shelves or talk to customers. Now I’m slightly less enthusiastic about inventory.” 

He laughed at her light tone, drawing to a stop as she did. “Wow, is this a series or something?” he asked, taking in the full display. 

“Well, the one your girlfriend recommended is the first in a new series” she answered, pointing it out. He was about to correct her but she continued quickly, “And the sequel isn’t out until early next year, so you’ll be waiting a bit for answers. Maybe start with this one?” she suggested, pointing out a title with the fewest books available. 

“Only a couple copies left, it must be popular. Have you read it?” 

“More times than I can count” she huffed.

“You’d think if you kept rereading it’s because you enjoyed it, no?” he chuckled. 

She simply shrugged, turning fully to meet his gaze, “Well, what’s the verdict? I do feel the need to warn you, these books are much closer to horror than just a normal mystery or thriller.” 

“Why does no one think I can handle these books?” he sighed in mild annoyance, grabbing the one she’d recommended off the shelf. 

“You just don’t seem like a horror enthusiast, that’s all.” 

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Do you want me to answer genuinely?” she responded, eyebrow quirked in a challenge he couldn’t help but rise to.

“Sure but if you hurt my feelings, can you at least give me a discount?” he joked and she snorted out a laugh.

“You’ve got yourself a deal” she smirked, offering her hand to shake on it, which he did. He wasn’t at all surprised when her handshake was firm and she maintained eye contact the entire time. “Well, you have two historical fiction books with you and that was the first section you went to when you walked in.”

“You were watching me?” he laughed, earning him an eye roll.

“It’s 11AM on a Tuesday, there’s not much else to do,” she replied, gesturing to the otherwise empty store. “Plus, it’s a fun game to play when I procrastinate on doing actual work. Anyway,” she emphasized, closing her eyes briefly to seemingly get herself back on track. “Once you found those, both of which are part of long, ongoing series, you debated going left to nonfiction or right to mystery. My guess is, you normally would go pick out some biographies, maybe some historical nonfiction or even, oh, maybe some kind of ‘how to maximize yourself’ guide. How close am I?”

He felt his cheeks warm from pink to scarlet, “I mean, close but that doesn’t mean I can’t also like mysteries…” he argued weakly. 

“True enough, who’s your favorite thriller writer?” The long silence was answer enough so she continued, “If you want, you can go pick out a nonfiction book and I’ll throw the thriller in for free.”

“You don’t have to do that, my feelings weren’t that hurt.”

She shrugged, “I can’t in good conscience let you pay for that book, you must have done something to piss off your girlfriend.”

“My coworker, actually” he corrected and her eyebrows rose. “What?”

“What did you do to the poor girl?” 

“Nothing! I even took her suggestion to shop locally.” 

“Our hero” she fake swooned and he rolled his eyes, making her laugh. “Fine, how about when you’re done you bring up your haul and I’ll throw in a surprise? I feel like you’re making it a pride thing to buy the book now.”

“Color me intrigued, we have another deal” he replied. “My name’s Quinn, by the way.” 

“Dora” she replied but a loud snort erupted from near the registers. “Fuck off, Richie” she snapped, turning away from him to seemingly go yell at whoever laughed at her.

Quinn tried to relax back into the calming routine of ambling through a bookstore but he kept hearing her voice and couldn’t focus on much else. He grabbed a biography Jack had recommended, both dreading and eager to be teased by the redhead.

“Don’t let her manipulate you into buying that garbage” the guy, presumably Richie, called as soon as Quinn was in his line of sight. 

“I’m doing no such thing! Tell him, Quinn” she replied, cheeks flaming red in annoyance, her golden eyes fierce with indignation. 

“My coworker actually recommended this author. A different book but still…” he shrugged, placing his other selections on the counter. He noticed her eyes appraising his selections and the quick, amused quirk of her mouth before she whirled to focus on Richie. 

“See I told you!”

“I’m sorry for not believing you” Richie said, seeming sincere to Quinn’s ears but Dora’s eyes narrowed. “It’s just that Theodora here often tries to swindle impressionable young men to improve her book sales.” The heavy emphasis on the girl’s full name made Quinn pause. 

“Wait a minute…” he blinked rapidly, processing this new information. “Your family owns this shop, right? Thomas’ Tomes?” 

“...yeah” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring daggers at the giggling Richie. 

“And when you gave your name as Dora, he laughed. And this book, it’s written by Theo Thomas. And he just called you Theodora, which I think means you wrote this?” he questioned, feeling proud of himself for putting the pieces together and a little embarrassed it took him so long.

“He’s solved the mystery! Maybe he can handle your book after all, dear sister” Richie teased. 

“I was going to tell him!” Theo argued, grabbing a pen and opening the book. “That was the surprise, Quinn, now you have a signed copy of the book. You’re welcome, you can thank my asshole brother for ruining the reveal. I also signed a copy of the one your coworker recommended, can you pass it along to her? On the house.” 

“Are you sure?” Quinn questioned and she nodded, shifting to ring up the rest of his purchase. 

“Theo, stop” Richie huffed, shifting her away from the till. “You need to stop procrastinating and finish that last round of edits, they’re due within the week.”

“It’s just garbage anyway, you said so yourself” Theo replied mopily, sitting down on the stool next to the register.

“Oh come on…” Richie sighed, pausing his scanning to give his sister his full attention. “I was just messing with you. I know the sequel’s giving you a hard time but you’re at the finish line now, just a few more days of work then it’s out of your hands. And you’re an incredible, if worryingly grotesque, writer so I have every faith it’ll be amazing.”

“Did you hear that, Quinn?” Theo asked, grinning widely. “He finally admitted I’m a good writer.” 

“Oh fuck off, you guilted me into it!” Richie replied, grabbing the debit card from his outstretched hand. “Quinn, right?” 

“...yeah?”

“Quinn, can you please take my sister anywhere other than this shop? The cafe, the movies, a strip club? I literally don’t care, she’s driving me nuts.” 

“Richie! I’m sorry, he’s kidding, he knows that would be a weird, rude thing to request of a total stranger.” 

“A total stranger you’ve been flirting with…” he mumbled and Theo jammed her elbow into his side.

“Here, let me walk you out…” Theo said, grabbing his bag of books and rapidly leading him away from her brother. Once the cool fresh air surrounded them, she turned quickly towards him. “I am so sorry, Richie thinks he’s funny when he’s really just weird.”

“I have two brothers, I get it” Quinn assured her, reaching to grab the bag from her hands. “It was nice to have someone sign something for me for once.” 

“Do you sign things for people often?” she questioned, confusion evident in her eyes as she scanned him, trying to place who he may be. 

“Most nights yeah” he chuckled shyly, embarrassed by his comment. “Forget about it though…”

“No, no, I’m curious now” she smiled, head tilted in appraisal. “Not an author, I’d know you already. You definitely don’t give off musician vibes…but I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything either so not an actor. Who are you really Quinn? Here I was feeling bad for putting you through the ringer for my own amusement back there and you were a celebrity the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t go that far” he laughed anxiously, running his hands through his hair. 

“Well you’re either someone of import or completely delusional and just handing out signatures to people on the streets, so which is it?”

“I’m a hockey player.”

“...okay, and?”

“We’re in Vancouver.” 

“Yes, I’m aware.” 

“This is a huge hockey city! You don’t know the Canucks?”

“I don’t live under a rock, of course I do” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was raised in a bookstore though so sports aren’t high on my list of interests.” 

“Are they on your list at all?” 

“Take a wild guess, Quinn” she replied sarcastically. “I guess you’re a big deal then?”

“I mean, I am the captain…”

“Is that normally what gets girls interested in you?” 

“Damn, tell me how you really feel” he answered, averting his eyes and trying to play off how the quip hurt him. 

“Hey, I’m sorry” she replied, her voice gentle as she tugged softly on his coat sleeve “That’s not how I meant it. I guess I’m just surprised you felt the need to try to impress me when I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since I walked over to you in the shop.” 

He was briefly stunned into silence, causing her to rapidly continue, “Oh god, I’m leaving. I hope my book doesn’t traumatize you and I’m sorry for assuming you were trying to impress me, that was weird and presumptuous of me.”

It was his turn to grab her sweater sleeve lightly, “Can I have your number?” 

“Are you sure you want it? I’m clearly an expert at putting my foot into my mouth…” 

“I’m 100% sure but only if you’re interested. There's no pressure.” 

Theo reached into the shopping bag, adding her number to her signature before returning it. “Text me when you finish chapter eight, not a minute before okay? You need to know what you’re getting into here.”

***

Theo sighed, finally closing her laptop for the night but not before catching the time: 1AM. She’d procrastinated most of the day before forcing herself to do the one chapter she’d promised herself she’d get done. She was confident in the overall story but she felt like a single thread was missing that would lead to the next book’s central plot. Should the apparent villain be more gray and get a redemption arc? Or should she double down? Or maybe…her phone vibrating across the desk stopped her obsessing.

Respectfully, your mind must be a truly terrifying place. What the FUCK was that twist?

She smirked, butterflies tentatively taking flight in her stomach at the unknown number’s text.

I’m sorry, who is this?

How many men do you secretly sell your book to, sign said book with your number, and give detailed instructions on when they can use that number?

At least three today that I can think of, so any additional information would really help.

It’s Quinn.   

Ah yes, the biography and historical fiction lover! What twist are you referring to? 

I think if I typed it out I’d get flagged by an FBI agent or something…that was gruesome

I tried to warn you…

Take my advice, try harder with your next group of guys

I’ll do my best. I suspect the more I’d try to warn you off the more you would have dug your heels in though

Nah, I don’t have a competitive bone in my body 

Of course, my bad. Will you finish the book or is it too much? You can always give it to your girlfriend

*Coworker. I wouldn’t be texting a beautiful girl I just met if I was in a relationship

How charming and reassuring of you!

Are you always like this?

Like what?

Chirping

…I’m sorry what?

You don’t know what chirping means? That’s disappointing given you're a writer, Theo… 

Please, enlighten me

Chirping is a hockey term for when you’re ribbing someone. During a game, guys will chirp or make fun of each other to get under their skin. 

Are you saying I’m getting under your skin?

I’m saying I feel like my brain has to work overtime to keep up with you

That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me

That can’t possibly be true

As she mulled over what to say next, the three blue dots popped up so she paused until his response appeareed

Can I ask you a forward question? 

Shoot 

Are you free tonight? 

Are you asking me on a date?

Not quite, I’m asking you to come to my hockey game 

And why’s that?

Because you’re clearly smart and cute and have a twisted mind that I’m curious to learn more about. But you gave me a warning, so asking you to go to my game is mine

Ah, so since you passed my test you want to see if I can pass yours?

If you want it to be a challenge, sure. I just think it’s fair for you to get a glimpse of my weird life before I actually ask you out. Just like how you showed me a glimpse of your weird brain. 

Challenge and pre-date screening accepted. Where do I go and when? 

Which is how Theo found herself weaving through the crowds at Rogers Arena. Quinn had offered to get her a second ticket so she’d have company but she figured it was fair she went it alone since he was game to read her book. How terrifying could a hockey game be in comparison to a brutal serial killer story?

Quite scary, it turned out. The crowd was electric, the arena was sold out, and the noise was deafening. She’d never admit it to Quinn but she did watch some basic hockey rule videos on YouTube so she wouldn’t be totally oblivious. By the third period, she felt settled into the rhythm of the game and was actually enjoying it a bit. Especially when a fight broke out and she could cheer for violence against a random man she didn’t know alongside thousands of people. There was something very cathartic about the experience. 

It also turned out that Quinn, in this world, is a big deal. She’d immediately noticed that a huge percentage of fans were wearing his jersey. And as the team warmed up, Quinn had traded a puck for a piece of candy causing the teenage girl to scream in hysterics afterwards. It was both bizarre and fascinating to watch given she’d met this random man the day before at her family’s store. Maybe she should have asked for a signature, it probably would sell for a pretty penny…

A roar from the crowd pulled her attention back to the ice and her heart dropped to her stomach. Fights were a lot less fun when you knew and had budding feelings for one of the guys involved, especially when who he was squared off against had almost half a foot on him. To her surprise and relief, Quinn could hold his own, using speed to his advantage. When they both fell to the ice before finally being separated, she took it to mean it was a draw but the crowd screamed like he’d single handedly won the championship game, even as he was guided off the ice by the officials. There was less than three minutes left in the game so she hoped that was why rather than that he was hurt. She worried her lip between her teeth as she pulled out her phone.

Idk if you’ll see this before the end of the game but are you okay?????

She sighed as the minutes passed, the final buzzer sounding without a reply, so she stood to leave with the tide of people. Just as she tucked her phone in her pocket, she felt it buzzing insistently with a phone call. 

“Quinn, are you okay?” she asked without greeting him. She was focused on his answer but noticed a few fans within hearing distance whip their heads towards her at his name.

“Yeah, sorry I jumped right in the shower after the major.”

“I don’t totally know what that whole sentence means but I’m relieved you’re alright.”

His warm chuckle through the phone made her toes curl. “Did I scare you off?”

“I’m offended you’d think so” she replied but if he’d been with her, he’d easily tell she was a little shaken by the experience. 

“If you say so, Dora…” he teased and she laughed loudly, accidentally drawing more attention her way. “Can I take you out for a drink then?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. I’m currently in a sea of your most devoted followers though so I’ll need some help finding you.” 

He stayed on the phone as he guided her through the arena to the parking deck where he’d meet her shortly, only hanging up once she confirmed she was at the right car by reading his license plate number back to him. She scrolled through her phone while waiting but she felt eyes on her. She couldn’t help but be a little uncomfortable at the thought that these strangers knew Quinn’s car or at very least understood players would be emerging into this section of the parking garage. As a lifelong Vancouver resident, she obviously knew how hockey-obsessed her city was but she never thought much about these details.

She heard male voices approaching from the opposite direction of where she’d come so she tucked her phone in her purse. Quinn emerged with a tall blonde, their two heads bent together in serious conversation. When a young boy approached, they both paused, kneeling down to greet him and sign his jersey. They repeated the motion a few times before excusing themselves from the small crowd that had formed. 

“Hey! How’d you like the game?” Quinn asked, briefly pulling her in for a hug.

“I really liked the fighting until you were involved, then it was less fun” she admitted, smiling to greet Quinn’s companion. “I’m Theo.”

“Elias, good to meet you. Enjoy the rest of your night and maybe help Theo into your car before loading up, yeah?” Elias suggested and she felt her brows furrow. Quinn quickly glanced back towards the small group of people and her eyes followed his, noting that several phones were out and seemingly recording everything.

“Thanks man, drive safe” Quinn replied, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her to the passenger side “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine” she replied despite her confusion and frazzledness. He must have seen it on her face though because he quickly unlocked the door and helped her in. A moment later he was in the driver’s seat, backing up and speeding through the parking deck. 

“I think this is the longest silence I’ve experienced in your presence” Quinn mused at the long, but not uncomfortable, quiet that had settled.

“I’m sorry that was just…”

“A lot? Too much? I can drop you off if you’ve changed your mind, I get it” he nervously filled in.

“Quinn, stop,” she laughed. “That’s not what I was going to say, it’s just a lot to process. I really thought you were trying to, like, gas yourself up when you said people wanted your signature daily but the girl you gave a puck to almost burst into tears afterwards” 

His cheeks flamed a deep crimson which she found wildly endearing, “Yeah, it’s a lot to process for me and it’s my life.” She took in his tired eyes and the dark circles beneath them. 

“Why don’t we go back to my place? I have a full bar cart and you seem like you could use some quiet” she offered. 

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Quinn, I extended the invitation, of course I’m sure. Just take the left at the next light.” 

She guided him through the city to her apartment, allowing silences to stretch while he seemingly decompressed from the game and its aftermath. Contrary to his initial impression, she was comfortable with quiet and enjoyed when someone’s company didn’t require constant banter and attention.

“Here, park in this spot, my neighbor’s away this week so no one will care if you're there.” 

He did as instructed and she went to open the car door, nearly knocking him with it, “Jesus, Quinn! Did you sprint over here? I can open the door myself, you know…”

“I didn’t sprint, I just moved quickly. And I know you can open the door, I just wanted to do it for you” he mumbled and she smiled at his nervousness. 

“Well, thanks and I'm sorry for almost injuring you. It seems like something that could really fuck with your job.” 

“Just a little” he chuckled, offering his hand to help her out of his truck. She took it, enjoying how warm and calloused his fingers felt against her own. He went to remove his grip but she squeezed his fingers in a silent request to keep holding on, which he did. 

“This is a great spot” he complimented as they rode the elevator up to her floor. “I guess the writing’s really working out?”

“I moved in about a year ago. I’d been doing pretty good but then my most recent book, the one your coworker recommended, kind of blew up. Which is great but also has made getting the sequel done a bit stressful” she admitted, reluctantly releasing his hand to unlock her door. 

“Why’s that? Wouldn’t the success kind of add to your confidence?”

“It did, for a little, but if this next one tanks then it just proves it was a fluke and then what?” she questioned, flicking on the lights. “Penny!” she called, squatting down to pet her beloved dog. 

Penny wiggled into her body, pushing her over and onto the floor making Theo chuckle. “Settle down, it’s only been a few hours.” 

“She’s beautiful” Quinn complimented from behind her, closing the door as he stepped inside. Penny was immediately investigating him, sniffing his hands as her tail wagged excitedly. “What a sweetie. You said her name’s Penny, right?”

“Yeah, short for Pennywise” Theo elaborated as she stood back up to slip her shoes off. 

“Of course, how silly of me to not make the connection” he chuckled. 

“I mean, I’m named after a horror novel character so I had to continue the family tradition with my own child” she explained, making her way towards the kitchen. 

“Are you really?” 

“Yeah, Theodora from Haunting of Hill House. Richie was named after Tozier in Stephen King’s It.” 

“That makes your choice of genre less surprising.” 

She laughed and shrugged, “What can I get you to drink?”

“Honestly? I don’t really drink, I just wanted to see you tonight since the game didn’t scare you off.” 

“I tried to tell you, I don’t scare easily,” she teased. “I don’t really drink either. Hot cocoa?” 

“Sounds great, thanks” he replied and she busied herself getting the ingredients together. “Seriously though, what did you think of the game?” 

“Like I said, it was fun until I worried you were hurt, then it was significantly less enjoyable” she answered, handing him a warm mug. “Want to hang in my library? Your book taste is questionable but I still think you’ll enjoy my collection.” 

“Why is my taste questionable?” he scoffed but followed her down the hall. 

“It’s just very…dude bro-y.” 

“How elegant” he teased and she rolled her eyes. 

“Maybe not elegant, but accurate, no?” 

“Whatever, Dora” he grumbled and she laughed.

“Is that going to be a thing? You call me by my least favorite nickname when I annoy you?”

“To be fair, it was you who offered that name up.” 

She sighed, sipping her drink and settling into the couch in her study. She watched as he slowly made his way around the room, every wall lined with books from floor to ceiling. “This room is incredible.” 

“Thanks” she beamed, genuinely thrilled at the compliment. “It’s kind of my pride and joy, aside from Penny, of course.” 

“I can tell,” he replied earnestly, settling beside her. “There has to be some nonfiction in here, right?” 

“Sure, if you’re into true crime, psychology, forensics, and/or mental health memoirs.” 

“I actually really enjoy psychology, it’s helped my game a lot.” 

“Really?” she asked and couldn’t hide the surprise from her tone which earned her a light glare. “I just meant that hockey seems much more physical than cerebral.”

“Oh it’s super mental actually” he argued and she nodded her encouragement for him to continue. “Okay so tonight for example. I didn’t have to drop my gloves and fight but doing so showed my team that I have their back and the other team that even though I’m smaller, they can’t push me around. Since I’m a quieter guy, I choose my actions carefully to kind of speak without speaking if that makes sense.”

“It does but you’re not small, silly. Not that it would matter even if you were but you’re not.” 

“I’m hockey small” he corrected and she didn’t know enough to argue. “Oh, another example. When a player is approaching the goal, they have to strategize what they can physically do while also anticipating the goalies expectations. Which is hard because the goalie is doing the same thing. So, it becomes really strategic in addition to the skill you need to play at this level.”

She nodded, genuinely intrigued by this new element of the game she watched tonight. He must have taken her silence for boredom because he quickly continued, “I’m sorry, I can be a bit of a hockey nerd.”

“Don’t be sorry, it honestly makes the game more interesting to me to think of it that way. Plus, I already knew you were a book nerd, what’s one more level of nerdiness?” 

He rolled his eyes and she laughed, lost in their deep blue. The air shifted between them, tension developing where there had been none. She set her mug down, eyes dipping to his lips and back up. She really wanted to know what his mouth would feel like against hers. 

“I come with a lot of baggage” he admitted quietly and she shrugged. 

“Don’t we all?” she asked, matching his quiet tone. She couldn’t help herself from raising a hand to gently trace the curve of his cheekbones. “I really like looking at you” she mumbled before she could think the comment through. 

He chuckled softly, covering her hand with his own, “I really like looking at you too, weirdo.” 

She grinned at his response, closing her eyes as his mouth finally met her own. 

A/N: Sorry for the cut to black, I'm debating if I want to continue with this OC so let me know what you think! It's my first OC in a very, very long time so sorry if the grammar is wonky in spots.

[offbrandkyoya]

[11]

m.list next

It was just a normal class time for Yachi.

She gets out her books and pens, neatly placing them on top of her desk. Yachi doesn’t pay attention to her classmates around her. She’s in her own little world due to her introverted self.

Yachi hears a familiar voice, and she lifts her head up a bit. Her eyes widen once she realizes who that is. ‘No way. I must be imagining this!’ She thinks as she watches the person talk to others at their desk.

Yachi’s eyes are glued to the person. ‘Class is about to start. Why aren’t they leaving?! Please prove me wrong!’ But the person didn’t leave the classroom. They stayed right in their seat. She couldn’t believe it.

She leans forward to get a closer look at their face. ‘I’m wrong. I’m wrong. I’m wrong.’ She repeats it in her head. Unfortunately, she wasn’t. That person was indeed “MILK-CHAN?!”

Everyone looks at her in surprise. Yachi blushes and slams her head on her desk. ‘No way. How long have they been my classmate? Were they always in my class?! I’m such a horrible person! What kind of classmate am I?!' “Yachi?”

She immediately sat up. “YES?!” She blinks when she sees Kageyama’s crush in front of her. They smile warmly and ask, “Are you alright?” The blonde nods slowly. “Y-Yeah. I’m sorry…” “It’s okay. I do have a question, though: ‘Who's'milk-Chan’?” Yachi stutters, avoiding their gaze.

“Oh! It’s nothing! Just a character from an anime! Yeah! It’s a very, very old anime, though, so there’s hardly any content in it, so you can’t find it if you google it.” She huffs. They stare at her in bewilderment, then laugh. “I see. For a minute, I thought you were referring to me. You seemed to be staring at me.”

Yachi let out a loud gasp. “OH MY GOSH, I'M SO SORRY! I wasn’t trying to be weird, I promise!” “I believe you.” They laugh again. “You don’t have to be anxious around me, Yachi.” They place a hand on Yachi's shoulder, which causes her to melt. “Thank you..” She mutters. ‘They’re so nice and kind. I feel warm around them for some reason.’

“No wonder, Kageyama-" Yachi catches herself and covers her mouth instantly. Milk Chan removes their hand from her. With a tilted head, they ask, "Kageyama, what?” Yachi shakes her head a bunch. “N-Nothing! Kageyama is Kageyama! He told me about how much of a good time you two had; that’s why he was on my mind!” She squeaks. “As a friend! I don’t like him romantically! There was no romantic intention as to why he was on my mind! Our conversation was just stuck with me.”

Her face is red and sweating. 'Geez, I can’t believe I said that!’ Though she calms down when she sees Milk-chan’s red cheeks and small smile, It was almost like they were content with her crazy answer. “Really? He had a good time?” Yachi nods, which makes Milk-Chan smile more. “I had a good time too!”

Suddenly, the bell rings, causing them to start class. Milk-Chan thanks Yachi before they sit down. Yachi slowly sits down on her seat.

‘Should I keep this a secret?’

Yachi picks up her pen to begin her notes. A small pout appears. ‘Maybe if I was told directly that Kageyama thought they were in Class 2, I’d correct them.’ She glances up to see his crush. A small smirk makes its way onto her face. ‘I should have some fun too. Let’s see how long it’ll take the guys to realize that Milk-Chan is in Class 5.’

CHAT I PASSED MY TEST WE BALL 🎀

rewatching ohshc 4 the 100th time

no one gets tamaki like i do…

@karma-gisa @cosmiicdust @abcdefghijklmzopqrstuvwxyz @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @xmagik @tnazips @zhochikennugget @makkir0ll @asp7n @hrkdlsjz @lucky-chars @azharyy @gigiiiiislife

[foreingersgod]

Can you write a CC x country reader that has a heavy accent, like Texas or smth and how it makes people react to it?

this is such a cute idea, i decided to put my own little twist on it so i hope you like it!

Texas Twang . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: you were born and raised on a texas farm, eventually moving away for college where you met caitlin. here’s a list of 5 times she’s fallen in love with you and your accent

A/N: #5 is a wee bit spicy (trying to feed ya’ll as per request) so please skip it if you’re uncomfortable with that!

also i got these sayings off of google cause i dont know any texas slang or how to convey the reader having an accent so sorry if they’re literally not real ���

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

1. when you first met

you were panicked, running around your small room trying to find your stupid fucking phone. you were already running 5 minutes behind, the clock on the wall told you, but you wouldn’t be able to find your first class of the morning regardless if you didn’t find your phone. checking under your heap of blankets, in the drawers of your desk, and even in your laundry basket, you found nothing.

then, after throwing every book out of your backpack as a last resort, you saw it laying below discarded orientation papers and sticky notes. with a sigh of relief, you snatched your phone and sprinted out of your building.

you were running at full speed, which was a little embarrassing considering every one else on campus was just walking normally. but you were extremely behind and would be so mad if you were late to your first class at this school. so you continued to weave through people. you dodged campaigners, sped through large groups on the lawns, probably knocking down a few people in the process.

your sprinting seemed to pay off when you noticed the building up ahead. you glanced at the time, seeing you still had a few minutes to make it if you really hurried. your legs ached as you continued to speed walk past bypassers.

then, without notice, you ran right into someone passing by. the force of your impact causing the both of you to fall to the ground in the middle of the quad. if you weren’t late already, you surely would have been now.

“shit” you heard the other person cuss under their breath. you looked up, still planted on the ground, to the person in front of you.

she was an insanely attractive woman. lean, about 6 foot, muscular, just your type you might add. she was pushing herself off of the concrete side walk, brushing the gravel from her pants. you followed suit, standing up then apologizing profusely for running into her.

“oh my hell, i’m so sorry” you exclaimed “i was goin’ way too fast, i apologize”

she gave you a crooked smile, shaking her head.

“no you’re ok, it happens, i should’ve been paying attention”

“no, really ‘s my bad”

her face twisted ever so slightly as you talked “you’re not from around here are you?” she blurted “sorry, that’s completely irrelevant, i just noticed the accent”

you laughed, this wasn’t the first time someone was confused by the heaviness of your accent “it’s fine, i don’t mind. yea, no i’m from a small town in texas, i moved up here for college recently”

“oh really? that’s cool” she smiled, extending her hand to you “well, i’m caitlin by the way”

“i’m YN” you returned her handshake “ ‘s so nice to meet you, but i’m runnin’ late for class”

“wait” she stopped you before you ran past her “do you think i could grab your number, maybe i could take you out sometime?”

you were all smiles “i’d like that, i’d like that very much”

2. your first argument

you don’t even know how it started. all you knew is that some girl was getting flirty at the bar and, according to your girlfriend, you were letting her seduce you. this was obviously not true. you and caitlin hadn’t been dating that long, but it has going really well and she’s incredibly important to you. important enough that you wouldn’t just be flirting with other women at the bar.

nonetheless, you were being dragged out of the bar. caitlin was oozing jealousy as you headed back to your place for the night.

“she was all over you, YN” caitlin sneered, following you into your apartment and slamming the door.

“oh my god, she wasn’t!” you rolled your eyes “good lord, arguing with you ‘s like tryna piss up a god damn rope”

“what?”

“what do you mean what?” your accent was thick, rolling off your tongue.

“what the hell does ‘pissing up a rope’ mean?” she looked at you confused, dropping the girl from the bar entirely.

you looked at her equally confused “you don’t say that here?”

“uh no, i think that’s a you thing” she said “your texas slang is distracting me and it’s making it very hard to be mad at you right now”

you chuckled, kissing her cheek “ ‘s just my southern charm, baby”

3. when you sing in the car

caitlin hated country music for the most part. but when you came along, you made it your duty to get her to enjoy it at least a little bit. she had never been subjected to small farm country music and to you, that was a sin.

so you’d play it for her on occasion, if she let you. and surprisingly it was pretty often. she would never tell you, but she only put up with country music just to hear you sing it. she was completely mesmerized by the way your accent mixed with the tune of the songs.

one day you were in the car together, on the way home from a get together with friends. it was a warm summer evening, sun on the brink of setting causing the sky to glow shades of orange and pink. cait was driving, per usual, you being her honorary passenger princess. she rolled down all the windows for you (even the sunroof) just how you liked it. you loved feeling the hot summer breeze blow through your hair with the radio turned all the way up.

“you follow me, and lead me on..” you hummed lightly, ‘all your’n by tyler childers sounding through the car radio.

she snuck glances at you as she drove down the empty street, watching how you let your arms hang out with window and let the wind fan over your face.

“so ill love you till my lungs give out” you closed your eyes, lost in the moment “i ain’t lying’”

caitlin so desperately wanted to pull over and listen to you sing all night long. your voice was like a gift from the gods. the way your accent slurred with each word had her melting in the drivers seat.

“i’m all your’n” you looked over to caitlin, smiling “ ‘n you’re all mine”

she smiled back, reaching across the console and resting her hand on your thigh.

she let you play your music the rest of the way home, just wanting to listen to you sing for a little bit longer.

4. when you met her family

you had waited months to meet caitlin’s family. no really, families were your thing. growing up in texas, it was common to be in or surrounded by a big family. and you knew big families more than anyone else, having 9 siblings, you being the middle child. it was a setting you thrived it and you tended to get along with people pretty well.

caitlin was hesitant to introduce you, she was freshly out of the closet and had never brought a girl home before. but this thanksgiving, she thought it was the perfect time to introduce you.

“so, YN” caitlin’s mother asked from across the table. “i’m sure you’re not used to such a small family, caitlin told me you come from quite the family tree?”

caitlin’s hand found your knee under the table, squeezing it lightly for comfort.

“oh yea,” you chuckled “my mama had a whole litter with 9 ‘a us. it was always crazy around the house, with 5 brothers n 3 sisters. and my daddy wasn’t around to help out off’n, but that’s a whole ‘nutter can a worms”

the way her family reacted to your voice made caitlin laugh under her breath, watching how they slowly dissected your sentence trying to make out the words from beneath the accent. she thought it was cute, lucky to have such a unique and special girl.

even the way you interacted with her younger cousins had her fawning over you, you were just so sweet and gentle.

“hiya, sweetie” you smiled as caitlin’s baby cousin accidentally fell into you “took a bit of a spill there didn’t ‘cha?”

you were the perfect picture of a warm welcome, full of beauty and grace and kindness. caitlin knew, from this moment, you’d be in her life forever.

SPICE AHEAD

5. during sex

she’d be lying if she said that damned accent didn’t get her riled up. because truly, it had her wet the second you started talking.

when she would have you pressed up against the wall, one leg wrapped around her torso as she kissed down your collarbone and onto your cleavage. the way you would moan “oh darlin’” oh so sweetly in her ear had her going crazy.

the rare instances in which you would take the lead in bed, watching as you crawled atop of her, stripping her bare. how you would hook your fingers under her underwear, tugging them down her long and toned legs. she was already bucking her hips into nothing. then you’d fasten your arms under her thighs, pulling them apart to place delicate kisses along the insides of her legs.

you’d tease her a bit more before dropping your head low, hot breath fanning against her glistening cunt. she bit her lip, trying to suppress moans of pleasure, and you had hardly touched her yet. you took your time with her, tongue dragging deliciously against her, savoring the taste.

“well you’re just sweeter than cherry pie, aren’t ‘cha baby” you’d praise, having her arching under your touch. with that, she couldn’t hold her moans any longer, completely coming undone as you continued to treasure every inch of her body.

you were going to be the death of her. 

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N: alright guys i tried to make it a little spicier, so feedback is much appreciated cause i honestly feel like it sucked lol

[warrioreowynofrohan]

This is one of the best articles I’ve seen yet on Trump, Trumpism, and the upcoming election. It’s directed at the right and centre-right (whereas most tumblr posts on this are directed at the left), but it’s saying – with detailed analysis and evidence – exactly what needs to be said, to everyone. This is not a normal election. How you vote this November determines whether you ever get the chance to vote in a democratic election again. This is not a game. Fascism is not a buzzword or a rhetorical device to hurl at anyone and everyone you disagree with. It is real, it is dangerous, and Trump is openly running on a fascist platform.

There are only two sides in this election: those who want the United States to be a fascist dictatorship and those who do not.

I live in Canada. I do not want to live next to a fascist state (especially since the Comservatives here are way ahead in the polls and their leader gives every sign of wanting to cozy up to Trump).

Please, stop this while you still have a chance.

Today we’re going to look at definitions of fascism and ask the question – you may have guessed – if Donald Trump is running for President as a fascist. Worry not, this isn’t me shifting to full-time political pundit, nor is this the formal end of the hiatus (which will happen on Nov 1, when I hope to have a post answering some history questions from the ACOUP Senate to start off on), but this was an essay I had in me that I had to get out, and working on the book I haven’t the time to get it out in any other forum but this one. And I’ll be frank, some of Donald Trump’s recent statements and promises have raised the urgency of writing this; the political science suggests that politicians do, broadly, attempt to do the things they promise to do – and the things Trump is promising are dark indeed.

Now I want to be clear what we’re doing here. I am not asking if the Republican Party is fascist (I think, broadly speaking, it isn’t) and certainly not if you are fascist (I certainly hope not). But I want to employ the concept of fascism as an ideology with more precision than its normal use (‘thing I don’t like’) and in that context ask if Donald Trump fits the definition of a fascist based on his own statements and if so, what does that mean. And I want to do it in a long-form context where we can get beyond slogans or tweet-length arguments and into some detail.

Now the response from some folks is going to be anger that I am even asking this question and demands for me to ‘stay in my lane.’ To which I must remind them that the purpose of history and historians is, as Thucydides put it, is to offer “an exact knowledge of the past as an aid to the understanding of the future, which in the course of human affairs must resemble if it does not reflect it” (Thuc. 1.22.4). This is my lane. Goodness knows, I’d much rather be discussing the historical implications of tax policy or long-term interstate strategy, but that isn’t the election we’re having. And if hearing about these things that happened is unpleasant, well, Polybius offers the solution: “men have no more ready corrective of conduct than knowledge of the past” (Plb. 1.1.1). We must correct our conduct.

The author, Bret Devereaux, lays out the history of the rise to power of Hitler and Mussolini and draws out the lessons

What I want to note here are two key commonalities: First, fascists were only able to take power because of the gullibility of those who thought they could ‘use’ the fascists against some other enemy (usually communists). Traditional conservative politicians (your Mitch McConnell and Lindsey Graham types) and conservative business leaders (your Elon Musks) fooled themselves into believing that, because the would-be tyrant seemed foolish, buffoonish, and uneducated that such an individual could be controlled to their ends, shaped in more productive, more ‘moderate,’ more ‘business friendly’ directions. They were wrong; many of them paid for their foolish error with their lives (Victor Emmanuel III paid for it with his crown). Mussolini and Hitler would not be ‘shaped,’ – they would be exactly the violent, tyrannical dictators they had promised to be – to the total and utter ruin of their countries.

Note that these men were not exactly subtle about what they wanted to do. Mein Kampf is not a subtle book. But they both knew how to promise violence to their followers while prevaricating to their temporary allies; be wary of the fascist who promises violence in his rally speeches but assures you that, if you just give him power, he won’t hurt anyone (except the people you don’t like) – because it is a lie, of course.

Second: once these fascist leaders were in power it was already too late to stop them. Precisely because fascists had no respect for democratic processes and the rule of law – things they had declared openly in seeking power – once in power, they were unconstrained by them and swiftly set about converting all of the powers of the government into a machine to keep them in power. And the conversion from democracy to dictatorship was remarkably swift, in Italy, Mussolini marched in October of ’22, rewrote the election rules in November of ’23 and by December of ’24 had effectively dropped even the pretense of democracy; just two years. Hitler was faster: appointed chancellor in January 1933, by March of that year he had suspended constitutional protections and ruled by fiat; just three months.

The time to stop an authoritarian takeover of a democratic system is before the authoritarian is in office, because once they are in power, they will use that power, to stay in power and it becomes almost impossible to remove them without considerable violence (and difficult to do even with considerable violence).

That, however, creates a tricky situation. With most political ideologies, voters can adopt a strategy of judging by outputs: “if you don’t like the current government’s policies, let these other fellows here have a go at it and see if they do better. If not, you can always vote them out next time.” But with fascists and other authoritarians there may not be a next time and this strategy fails: by the time the actions of the fascists make it clear they are dangerous, it is too late to vote them out.

This is why it is important to listen carefully to what fascists say and what they promise and most importantly to take their threats of political violence and authoritarianism seriously.

Which is not to say that everything on the right is fascism (just as not everything on the left is its own authoritarian variant, communism). Ronald Reagan was not a fascist, nor was George H.W. Bush or George W. Bush or John McCain or Mitt Romney. They were conservatives within the liberal tradition (again, ‘liberal’ here in the old Jefferson-Locke-and-Washington sense). Most Republicans today are not fascists, although a distressing number appear ready to repeat Franz von Papen’s mistake of assuming they can achieve their goals through an alliance with fascists. Only the devil wins such a devil’s bargain.

How is one to tell the difference? Listen to the things they promise to do and understand that they make speak out of both sides of their mouth: promising violence to one audience and then toning down their rhetoric to another. But politicians speaking from within the tradition of liberty don’t need to speak that way because they don’t promise violence in the first place.

Listen for the promises of violence, the promises to suspend press freedoms, the promises to persecute political adversaries and when you hear them believe them.

I strongly recommend reading the whole article, as the author goes on to lay out two of the more common definitions of fascism and analyze, point-by-point, how Trumpism fits them.

There is a reason why some Republicans, even some of the people who were in Trump’s inner circle in 2016-2020, have jumped ship now. The Republicans who are willing to vote for Kamala aren’t doing it because she’s conservative – they’re doing it because they’re anti-fascist. It would be deeply ironic if people on the left who have been calling themselves anti-fascists for the last eight years proved to be less so than those Republicans. This may be one of the most crucial moments in American history. Take it seriously.

[impishjesters]

Jax-in-a-box Part 2

warning(s): suggestive/implied sexual content/language, potential out-of-character Jax (look you're just so big and it's distracting okay... let him be distracted and have thoughts), bratty(?) Jax note(s): I swear this wasn't intending to go down this route of horny rabbit man, but I was feeling some dom/sub vibe and it just happened I'm so sorry, I don't know why I'm like this. A/N: I wanted Jax to feel teeny so the reader is at least 9 ft/274 cm minimum. Man, Pomni must look like a step stool next to the reader... Also, this would take place at some point in the dating stage. Also, this is the same original requester of the Jack in the box reader, thank you for requesting more this was really fun to write~ request: I’m just requesting a little story if your up to continuing that request. So what l’m thinking is just a little scenario of the reader completely coming out of their box for the first time (well the first time they were caught) Mabye the scenario has Jax coming into reader’s room unexpectedly and seeing reader chilling outside their box? Though of course you can do/write anything you’d like for this. I’d like it if you made the reader even taller, since they are actually standing this time instead of being in their box.

While being inside your box brought a level of comfort your bedroom couldn’t provide, that didn’t mean you didn’t use it. No, the privacy of your bedroom was used to stretch your legs—something the others, specifically Jax, hadn’t known about. Not that it was a secret, you just loved seeing it wrack his brain as to what lay beneath.

The box sat abandoned, lid wide open as you lay in the provided bed just a few feet too small for you. It’s not like Caine had expected someone as tall as you after all, you aren’t even sure if Caine is aware you can even exit the box, but you made do and got yourself nice and comfy to relax.

You plucked up an interesting-looking book earlier from Caine’s weird collection of provided reading material. Nothing risque sadly, but you can’t help but feel like Caine has never even read any of these and merely plucked them from whatever and just willed them into existence.

The next hour easily passed, nose buried into the book, so much so that you didn’t even hear the jingling of your locked door being forced open. Hell, you didn’t even notice until he said something.

The first thing Jax saw was your box, empty, his eyes shifting to the bed to see long legs dangling off the bed before he realized who it was. Well, of course, it was you, it was your room and it was locked.

“You have fucking legs?!”

You snorted and finally looked up from the book, Jax looked completely flabbergasted, and fuck, if only you had a camera. “Just normal legs, but they could do that too.”

Jax didn’t even have it in him to retort to that little comment, no he was far too focused on the fact you had fucking legs. He’d been entirely convinced that you didn’t have anything below the waist, it’s like that box had this weird black fog that looked like a void you were just coming out of. There are so many questions he wants to ask…

How the fuck do you fit in the box with legs that long? Do you sit with your legs crossed or on your knees? Do they just vanish into that weird black void? Have you been just weirdly seat-jumping around this whole time?

He’s so caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t even process that you moved to sit at the edge of the bed, legs crossed at the ankles. It’s not until you clear your throat that he realizes how close he’s gotten and wow, you’re just sitting and you’re able to look him straight in the eye. Is this awakening something in him? God, he hopes not.

“What can I do for you, my little cotton tail?”

You loved the dumb little pet name, he claimed to hate it and it stuck. If he was gonna call you all sorts of dumb pet names he was going to get at least one of his own.

Jax cringed at the name and rubbed his face as if that would get rid of the growing blush. “Stop it with the name would ya?”

“Then stop calling me Jack.”

He waved his hand before snorting out a “Nah”.

“Fine, at least stop calling me Boxxie.”

“Oh c’mon, it’s cute.”

It was your turn to cringe, he only called you that because he was convinced you were a box when you first showed up. A sentient box, how fun. “Was there a reason you came lock-picking into my room?”

“Tsk tsk tsk, I’m not a heathen to stoop so low as to lock pick.” he held up one of the many keys in his possession. “I used a key.”

A chuckle left you, accompanied by an eye roll. “Yeah okay, that I didn’t say you could have but it’s you so I’ll let it slip. Now spill cotton tail.”

Jax’s face scrunched up at the name again before moving closer, forcing your ankles to unlock so he could stand between your legs. “I wanted to see if you’d give me the honors of helping in a little mischief. But after seeing your legs I’m not sure if I wanna go cause mischief or stay and admire them in their spread-out glory.”

“The only legs getting spread are yours, cotton tail.” Reaching out you placed a hand on his hip, your fingers easily wrapping around him, your thumb meeting your middle finger on his other hip. “Who do you want to bully now? It better not be Pomni again, that poor girl doesn’t need another scare so soon.”

He swallowed hard, eyes glued to his waist and the way your hand just completely wrapped around him. You’ve done it before but in a setting like this, it just hit differently. “It’s not bullying, she’ll be fiiine.”

Jax cleared his throat and used the arm closest to him as his own armrest, you easily supported his weight as he crossed one foot over the other. He was trying hard to play this whole situation off, he was supposed to be in charge and you’ve gone and taken the upper hand without even trying. “So uh, h-how tall are you now? Ya know, without the box.”

That was a good question.

You gestured for Jax to step back and he did so hesitantly before you pulled yourself up, grumbling at the way your knees hurt from getting off the already low-ass bed. Truly a downside to being taller than the furniture here, something you didn’t experience until you started taking breaks outside the box.

Jax let out a string of unintelligible words as you stood to your full height. He knew you were big before but you were a lot taller than he thought you’d be, god his neck already hurt. Is this how Pomni felt standing next to him? God, you could just, break him…

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You tried not to look so smug, but god damn if it wasn’t satisfying to see such a thirsty yet bewildered expression on the usually smug rabbit’s face. Truthfully you weren’t too sure just how tiny Jax would be at your full height, he’d already seemed small before but now you could just toss him like a Javelin spear.

“I take that back, sit your ass down.”

“Make me.” You crossed your arms with a grin and simply watched him curiously.

“Don’t think I won’t climb your raggedy ass and—”

“And what cotton tail?” He flinched when you bent down to get in his face. “Can’t knock me down if you climb me, not that you could on the ground either.”

Jax chuckled nervously but didn’t back down. “Oh yeah? Wanna try?”

Looks like causing mischief would be put on hold for an hour or two.

[writing-intheundercroft]

when you know, you know

Read on AO3

Word Count: 7,169

Rating: T (just some smooches)

Summary: You and Garreth Weasley aren't on speaking terms, not since you were caught stealing billywig stings for him and subsequently banned from Honeydukes.

But the dawn of your sixth year brings a potion brewing contest, and you might finally have a chance to put him in his place.

A/N: Happy first birthday, Hogwarts Legacy! The HL discord server I'm in came up with the theme of One Year Later, and this is my submission. Thankful for all the lovely people I've met through this fandom, who encourage me to write every day <3

“Welcome to your sixth year of potions,” Professor Sharp says gruffly, leaning against his desk. “I hope you’re all prepared to start exploring the theories of potion composition, and have read the first five chapters of your textbook over the summer holidays as instructed.”

Sebastian groans next to you, flipping open his book.  You snort, craning your neck around the room to assess your classmates. 

Everett, Sacharissa, Andrew, Nastai, Poppy, and Grace–all of them still have the post-summer slump, faces glum as they wished to be free of the potions dungeon. At the station next to you, Leander looks ready to fall asleep.  He was practically using his fingers to keep his eyeballs open during the double potions period.

Next to Leander, you can’t help noticing Garreth Weasley.  It's unusual to see him so engaged; Garreth is normally the class clown, always trying to figure out a way to disrupt the lesson.  Instead, he’s sitting stick straight, scribbling every word Sharp had to say.  His notes were neatly organized, ingredients for the day’s brew already portioned out and chopped.

“What’s gotten into Weasley?” you whisper to Sebastian.

Sebastian scoffs. “Oh, he’s probably trying to get on Sharp’s good side, with the potion making contest coming up.”

“What contest?” You ask, albeit a bit too loud.

“I was just getting to that point,” Sharp says your name; the entire class had turned their attention to the two of you. Even Garreth was staring, despite the iciness between the two of you.  It’s been months since you last spoke, exchanging choice words in a shouting match after he’d gotten you banned from Honeydukes.  After all, he was the one who’d assured you Mr. Flume wouldn’t be home, and that it wouldn’t be too difficult to steal the billywig stings.

Nevermind that, you think, turning your attention back to Sharp’s lecture.

“Every year, I challenge the sixth year class to create a new potion,” Sharp drawls. “Many of the students who’ve won in the past have gone on to become some of the Hogwarts’s most successful potioneers.  The winner of the contest will receive after hours access to the potions classroom, unlimited usage of the ingredient cupboard, and their name included on the plaque in the trophy room.” he explains.

Sharp continues droning on about the rules; you feel Sebastian’s breath tickle your ear “Garreth’s been assuming he’ll win since we were second years,” he whispers. “I’d love to see you put him in his place.”

You swat at the freckled brunette, who lets out another audible chuckle.  Scanning the room again, your eyes briefly make contact with Garreth’s.  He looks at you with something fierce in his eyes; it’s almost threatening, you think.  He also looks a tad bit deflated, but considering the two of you aren’t friends anymore, you don’t really care to know why.

“Sure, I’ll enter.” You say loudly enough for Garreth to hear. “I’m sure it’ll be a clean sweep.”

Garreth’s eyes turn to slits before he refocuses on his notes.  His face is turning red as he scribbles on the parchment, and you can’t help feeling a bit satisfied at his reaction.  Suits him right, you think, for being such a coward. You’re going to kick his ass and get back for the ten detentions he bought you last year.

Sharp’s NEWT level class is just as painful as you’d imagined it would be.  Sacharissa nearly slices her own finger off trying to cut open a sopophorous bean, and Everett faints from the blood.  Andrew sends his own bean flying across the room, thwacking Natty in the forehead; it incites a verbal altercation that has the two nearly come to blows before Sharp can separate them.  You and Sebastian can’t help but laugh watching them, falling dreadfully behind in your own quest to brew a draught of living death.

“Look at those prats,” Sebastian nudges you. 

You look over at the two redheads adjacent to you–they’re working diligently, ignoring the dramatics of the classroom.  Garreth is clearly guiding the process, Leander eagerly observing him as he chops and stirs. They’re the only two students in the classroom even remotely close to brewing the potion correctly, and it’s a little surprising to you that Garreth would be so tame. 

He tilts his head, copper colored hair falling in front of his eyes. His hair is longer, shaggier than last year. You also can’t ignore how much larger his forearms are, probably from detentions spent lifting the cauldrons to and from the storage room. They’re thick and freckled, a dusting of hair—

Garreth turns his head, glaring at you. You’ve been blatantly staring at him for a whole minute now.

“Oi, get it together, woman.” Sebastian chides, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes. “I don’t think your cauldron is supposed to be purple—“

“Dammit!” You curse, turning back to your own brew. .  Sebastian laughs as you thwack him on the shoulder, stirring your potion.  It’s no good–the brew has turned the wrong color, and now resembles a fudgy texture.

“So much for winning the competition,” Sebastian teases you.  Your face heats up with embarrassment as Sharp walks over to your cauldron, assessing your work. 

“Better luck next time, I suppose.” Sharp says gruffly, raising his eyebrows at the thick goop. 

As expected, Garreth and Leander win the day’s best brew.  It takes twice as long as usual for you to scrub your cauldron, cheeks red from both embarrassment and the extra elbow grease you have to put in.  Sebastian, despite his promises to stay as long as he can, has already abandoned you to get to lunch ahead of the rush.  At this rate, you’ll miss lunch entirely.

“You should really throw some ashwinder eggshells in there.”

Looking up, you see Garreth standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets.  In lieu of the traditional blazer, he’s gone a bit casual with a crimson and gold Gryffindor sweater.  It looks a tad tight on him, and well worn.  Likely a hand-me-down from one of his many older brothers, you think.

“Mixed with water, they’re quite abrasive.  It’ll help with the cleaning.” Garreth suggests, shrugging his bag onto his shoulder.

“So, we’re talking again.” your tone is flippant; you scrub even harder at the baked in potion caking your cauldron.

Garreth rolls his eyes, dropping his bag to the ground. “Let me help,” he says gruffly, elbowing you out of the way.  He takes a handful of ashwinder eggshells, sprinkling it into your cauldron.  You peer over the edge as he dribbles water inside.

“Now put on your dragonhide gloves,” Garreth advises. “Don’t want to get burned, do you?”

You do as instructed, slipping the gloves on.  Garreth hands you the wire brush again, and this time the sludge slides off the edges of the cauldron with ease.

“See? Not so bad.” 

You open your mouth to thank him, but Garreth has stepped away from your station.  Bag in hand, he gives you a wary look.

“Earlier, when you were staring,” Garreth trails off.

“I wasn’t staring.” you scoff.  In reality, you were , but that’s not the point.

“You were,” Garreth countered. “You weren’t trying any funny mind tricks, were you?  I’d heard a rumor that you and Sallow were trying to study legilimency–”

Eyebrow raised, you cross your gloved arms. “Why on earth would I need to read your mind, Weasley?”

“To steal my potion recipe.” Garreth blurted, eyes narrowed. “For the contest.  You’re trying to win, I overheard you and Sallow talking about entering.”

You scoff in his face. “Why would I need to steal a recipe from you ?”

Garreth straightened, pushing his copper hair out of his eyes. “Because everyone knows that I,” jerking his thumb towards himself, “am going to win.  I’ve been planning my submission since I was a first year, and I’m not about to lose to you.” 

Whatever warmth you thought Garreth Weasley was going to give you is long gone. You lean back over your pewter cauldron, scrubbing aggressively.

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d stoop so low, Garreth.” You seeth. “You know what? Just for that, I am going to enter Sharp’s contest now–and I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Like hell you are,” Garreth huffs, leering down at you. You hadn’t noticed just how tall he’d gotten over the summer–

Focus, you remind yourself, eyes flitting away from his form.

“What are you two still doing in my classroom?”

You and Garreth spin around, almost knocking your cauldron over in the process.  An exhausted looking Sharp stands in the doorway, his palm on his head.

“Not you two,” he mutters. “I had a feeling the two of you would be battling it out for best brew.” 

“We were just comparing notes, sir.” Garreth says easily, backing away from you. “She needed help cleaning her cauldron.”

“Not your best work today,” Sharp reminds you, peering into your now sparkling clean cauldron. “The two of you should be off to lunch, or else you’ll miss the meal.”

“Yes sir,” the two of you chirp in unison.  Garreth takes his leave while you’re stowing your cauldron away, and he’s nowhere to be seen once you get to the Great Hall for lunch.  You want to fight, defend yourself against his accusations, but it doesn’t look like he’ll give you the chance.

His loss , you think, meandering over to your house table.  

The first month of classes has been hell.  While you’d pictured your sixth year to be quite leisurely with the extra free periods, you’ve spent every study hall cooped up in the library, buried in your books.  Despite passing last term with flying colors, it feels like you’re going to spend your entire life catching up to your classmates. You might be the hero of Hogwarts, but you still feel stupid in History of Magic, stumbling over your words.

You’re cursing to yourself as you run through the streets of Hogsmeade, trying to make it to J Pippin’s before closing.  Sharp’s potions contest has fallen to the bottom of your priorities, but the events of lunch earlier in the day have pushed you to work on your submission. You’d been sitting at the table with Sebastian and Ominis, lamenting over your shared arithmancy assignment when Garreth and Leander walked into the Great Hall, loud cheers and whoops coming from the Gryffindor table.  They were sopping wet, hair windswept, having just tested Garreth’s potion submission.

“No one will be able to beat him,” Leander had declared loudly, rustling Garreth’s long red hair. Garreth was grinning broadly, a gaggle of fifth year girls surrounding him in awe.  That alone was irksome; as if they really knew Garreth Weasley.  

“Since when did Garreth Weasley become the hottest commodity?” Ominis asked, tilting his chin in his palm.

Sebastian took a sip of his pumpkin juice, snorting. “Probably because he grew five inches over the holidays,” he joked. “Lost the pudge too.”

“Sebastian,” you warned, flicking him in the head. “Don’t be so cruel.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, shrugging. “It’s true,” he argued. “Anyways, I can’t wait to watch you put him in his place during the potions competition.  Do you have your brew ready?”

“Of course I do,” You lied, turning back to your parchment. “Don’t be silly.”

In actuality, you didn’t have your brew ready whatsoever–you’d spent the last month tinkering with several recipes, but nothing seemed good enough for submission.  With potions due tomorrow, you’ll have to spend the rest of your day working on the brew.  The rest of your classes for the day go unattended, spending the afternoon cooped up in the Room of Requirement to draft a recipe.  Nothing seems to be working, and you’re out of focus potions.  You could brew them up yourself, but perhaps some fresh air and a walk will do you good–therein, a trip to J Pippin’s was necessary.

The bell rings as you push the door in, Parry Pippin smiling at you from the register.  You entertain his small talk, questions about your summer holidays, all while anxiously checking your pocket watch for the time.  You still had your arithmancy homework, as well as a four foot scroll due in Transfiguration next week to work on–

“You haven’t run into Mr. Weasley, have you?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you look up at Parry. “No, I haven’t.” you say sharply, taking the carefully wrapped package full of focus potions that he’s packed into your arms. “Why would I?”

Pippin clicks his tongue. “I’m fresh out of the stench of the dead, that’s all.  Mr. Weasley was trying to purchase some more for his potions project.  Nasty business, procurement.  It’s hard to find a supplier that’ll face up to the inferi in the first place.” The register opens, and he begins counting your change. “I recommended he reach out to you for assistance.”

You blink at the shopkeeper. “Me?” 

“Well of course,” Pippin snorts. “You’re rather fearless, aren’t you?  Not that it matters, of course, he was quite put off by the suggestion.  Asked me where he could find them, and I pointed out an old abandoned treasure cave a few miles north, up in the valley.  Can always find them lurking around there.”

“I’m sorry , you directed a student to an inferi den?” You gape.

Pippin looks at you, eyebrows raised. “Don’t they teach you how to fight them and what not?  Isn’t that what Defense Against the Dark Arts is for?  Anywho, Mr. Weasley seemed rather confident in his abilities.  Think he was a bit embarrassed that I recommended he ask a girl for help.”

You block out whatever Pippin is saying, tucking the package under your arm as you leave the shop.  While it’s not your responsibility to look after Garreth (considering recent events and his rather frosty attitude towards you) you can’t help feeling a bit worried.  Most students don’t have much experience with the undead; you only have a basic grasp on battling them due to Sebastian’s shenanigans the year prior. Inferi are tough, even for most grown adults to deal with; any wound inflicted by one can render even the strongest wizard ill.  

The sun is beginning to set, and while you know you should head straight back to the Room of Requirement to work on your contest brew, you turn towards the path north.  You’re certain you’ve visited the treasure den Pippin is talking about before, and it won’t hurt to check.  If the clearing is empty, you’ve just gotten extra exercise for the day.  If not–well, you don’t want to think about that quite yet.

You’ve forgotten how long the trek to the Hogsmeade Valley is, feet aching as you stumble over the rocky terrain. You bet that even if Garreth has gone to hunt the inferi, he’s likely given up by now, gone back to the castle already.  You doubt Garreth wants to battle the inferi–he’s always had a distaste for dueling, preferring to watch everyone battle it out during Crossed Wands rather than participate.  

You swallow thickly, trying to push the image of Garreth fighting the undead out of your mind. Despite your anger towards him, you really don’t want him to go up against something he’s not ready for just to win a stupid class contest.

The sky is dark by the time you round out the hill.  From a distance, you can see the wooden arch to the old treasure den, and to your relief, nothing is disturbed. You’re about to turn on your heel to go back to the floo Upper Hogsfield when you sniff the familiar putrid stench of inferi.  Your blood runs cold when you hear a familiar groan, and then anxious yelps.

“ Diffindo !  Ah, shit!” 

You drop your parcel in the long grass, disappearing into a blue wisp as you close the distance between yourself and the voice.  Of course, it’s Garreth, looking panicked and battered as he tries to slice through the inferi.  They’re not fast, but his leg is bleeding, and he doesn’t know that severing charm will do no damage to the undead.

“Garreth!” you yell, sliding through the rocks towards him.

Garreth’s eyes widen, crying out your name.  Despite his injury, he’s holding his arm out as if to shield you.  That bloody Gryffindor bravery, you think, swatting his arm away.

“Get back,” Garreth yells. “Get to Upper Hogsfield, I can hold them off–”

“Get out of the way, you idiot,” you shriek, waving your wand towards him. Depulso might be a bit extreme, but all you can think about is getting the wounded boy out of the way. As soon as you hear Garreth yelp, landing on the soft grass, you turn your attention back to the inferi, who are closing in.  

“Confringo!” you pant, unleashing fiery flames from the tip of your wand towards them. The heat of the fire has them shrieking and turning away. Several of them disintegrate, leaving behind the precious bounty Garreth had sought them out for in the first place.

It’s quiet, except for your heavy breathing and the screeches of inferi, all turning into piles of ash as you defeat them.  Once you’re sure the last one has been slaughtered, you turn back to Garreth, a few feet away in the grass.  He’s staring at you, dumbfounded, as he clutches the gash on his leg.  He’s looking rather pale, the blood seeping from his cut a strange dark color.  

“Garreth,” you breathe, falling to your knees next to him. 

“It must be infected,” he says slowly. “From the inferi.”

There’s no time to waste.  You dig through your hip pouch, pulling out one of your spare wiggenwelds.  Garreth will surely need a blood renewing potion and some more itensive healing potions when you get back to Hogwarts, but this will do for now. Pulling out the stopper, you push the vial into his hands.

“I can’t believe Pippin would direct you to an inferi den,” you snarl, tearing a piece of your cloak to make a makeshift bandage. Garreth is quietly sipping on the wiggenweld, trying not to look at the damage. “I have half a mind to report him to your aunt–”

“Don’t,” Garreth begs. “Please, don’t.  It’s embarrassing enough.”

“Garreth, you could’ve been killed.” You argue.

“It’s my own fault.” he says miserably. “Fire is what destroys inferi.  I can’t believe I fucking forgot.”

You give him a wry look. “Well, potions is your better subject.” you joke.

Garreth ignores your quip, downing the rest of the healing potion. “You came up to find me.” he points out, pushing the empty vial back into your hands. “Why?”

You shrug. “Pippin told me you didn’t want my help, and I assumed you’d go off trying to get the ingredients for yourself.  You shouldn’t go up against them alone, Garreth.”

“You fought them alone,” Garreth points out. “You could handle them.”

“Well, either I fought them, or else you’d be turning into an inferi yourself right now.” 

“Probably best to not waste my good looks on being a zombie.” Garreth jokes.  Taking note of your stern face and unwillingness to laugh, he winces. “Should we get back to school now?  Perhaps we can make it to Upper Hogsfield; take the floo from there.  But make sure to get some of that stench of the dead before we leave.”

Garreth carefully supervises you as you scoop up the murky essence into your vials; he eyes you as you tuck them in your bag.  Garreth tries to get up on his own, groaning as he balances on his good leg, swatting away your helping hand.

“Let me help you, you twat.” you urge him, slinging his arm around your shoulder.  It doesn’t do much–he really has grown, and you need to stand on your tiptoes to even support him.

The two of you stumble through the grass and you pass your sad little package on the way down.  Oh well, you think. Your potion is the least of your worries, considering Garreth is still dripping blood next to you. Despite his protestations that he’s doing fine, you know from the way he’s clutching your shoulder that he’s not.

“You’re not going to take me to the hospital wing, are you?” Garreth groans as you support him to the flickering green flame outside of Upper Hogsfield. “If you take me there, Blainey will tell Aunt Tilly, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that lecture yet.”

“I have somewhere else you can go.” you offer, biting down on your lower lip.  You’ve never invited anyone into the Room of Requirement before–Professor Weasley strictly forbade you from sharing the room, and you’ve kept it a secret from Sebastian, Ominis, and Natty for almost a year now.  But you’re sure you can’t get into too much trouble, especially if you’re healing another student.

“Do you trust me?” You ask Garreth, slipping your arm around his.

The redhead looks down at you, perhaps a bit skeptical.  “I trust you.”

“Good. Not like you have a choice anyways,” You remind him, turning back towards the flame.

“Okay, now this is truly unfair,” Garreth complains, splayed across your settee. “Aunt Tilly is officially my least favorite family member.”

You snort as you sprinkle mallowsweet into your bubbling cauldron. “Because she didn’t show you the Room of Requirement?”

“Yes,” Garreth barks. “You’re telling me I’ve been sneaking into Sharp’s office after hours just to trial potions, meanwhile there’s a perfectly good potions lab in the astronomy tower? Rubbish,” he mutters.  He picks at the piece of your cloak that you’ve tied around his thigh; it’s still bloody, and he looks peakish.

“The blood renewing potion is nearly done,” You assure him, walking away from the cauldron to assess his wound again. “Why do you need the stench of the dead so badly?” you ask, wrinkling your nose as you take off the bloody fabric. “Is it for your potion contest submission?”

Garreth swallows thickly. “Yes,” his voice is careful, trying not to give anything away.  He inhales sharply once the fabric has come off; his wound, despite the wiggenweld, still looks worse for wear. 

“Oh, come off it,” you roll your eyes, waving your wand to summon a fresh roll of linen. “Just tell me what it is. I guarantee you’re going to win anyways.”

Garreth gives you a funny look before bowling his shoulders over, letting out a loud sigh. “I’ve created a bottled tornado,” he admits, wincing as you bandage him up. “Bit of a play on the thunderbrew; you take the potion before entering battle, and you have full control of a windstorm against your enemies.”

“Is that why your hair was so fucked at lunch?” you muse. 

Garreth rolls his eyes. “It looked good, okay?”

The two of you glare into each other’s eyes for the first time in quite a while; after a terse twenty seconds, both of you burst into laughter.  

“Was it that bad?” Garreth wheezes.

You laugh, visibly shuddering. “Not that bad, actually. Those fifth years rather enjoyed it.”

Garreth rolls his eyes. “The most attention I’ve received from any of those girls, ever. Leander has been trying to talk me up to them, find us a double date.”

You’re quiet for a moment, stomach twisting with unfamiliar anxiety at the idea of Garreth and Leander sharing butter beers with those girls. Not that you care, really, but you miss hanging out around the Three Broomsticks every Saturday with Garreth.  He’d been one of your closest friends until the incident at Honeydukes, and then nothing . 

“Is that why you want to win the contest so badly?” You blurt. “For notoriety? Or just attention from the girls?” You joke.

Garreth shakes his head, shaking out his ginger mane like a lion.  Sometimes, you think it’s too fitting that he’s a Gryffindor. “Nah, not for that.”

“What for, then?”

Garreth chews on his lower lip. “Have I ever told you about my family?”

“Uh, no. Just that there’s a lot of them.” You admit, resting your palms on your knees.

“I’m one of seven siblings.” Garreth says, head falling back against a pillow. “There’s Arthur, Benedict, Cornelia, Deirdre, Edwin, Frederick, and myself.” he counts out his siblings on his thick fingers.

“Alphabetical order?” you asked, slightly amused.

Garreth rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, yes.” Your eyes flit down to his torso; the hem of his shirt has risen, exposing a freckled stomach. You think back to what Sebastian had said–how Garreth had lost his baby fat over the summer, his once soft stomach turning muscled and strong.  You try not to linger on the thatch of red hair trailing down to his waist. 

“Artie, Deirdre, and Freddie played Quidditch for the house team. Cornelia and Edwin were both prefects, and Benedict was head boy.” Garreth explains.

“A successful bunch,” you offer.

“Successful besides me.” Garreth grumbled. “Mum wouldn’t let me hear the end of it when I didn’t get prefect our fifth year.  I’ve always been middling at Quidditch too, so no hopes for the house team.” he says moodily. “Just plain, untalented Garreth. The only thing I'm even remotely good at is brewing a potion, so I've been hoping to win ever since I was a first year.  All my siblings tried, but none have won.  Thought I might get my own name out there, instead of just being the youngest Weasley.” His eyes are glued to the ceiling, but you can tell from the furrow in his brow and hardened jaw that he's frustrated.

You tilt your head, giving him a disapproving look. “I think you’re talented, Garreth.”

“I think you’re talented too,” Garreth points out. “Which is why you’re probably going to win the potion making contest.  Sharp hates me, after all.”

“I think you have a fair shot,” you argue. “You’ve spent all summer working on your potions.”

“Yes, but you’re you.” Garreth fights back. “You’ve had magic for what, a year?  And you’re the most powerful witch I know.” 

“It’s not that easy,” you mumbled under your breath, smoothing down the front of your trousers as you stand.  You step back over to the station; the blood renewing potion has finished, a thick purple sludge that leaves a metallic smell in its wake.  You pull out a clean vial, trying to ladle the necessary amount.

“Everything seems to come easy to you.” Garreth pointed out. “You defeated a troll, took town the goblin rebellion–”

“At what cost, Garreth?” you shout, closing your hand into a tight fist.  “Ow!”

Garreth shoots up, propping up on his hands to peer over at you.  You open your hand, shaking it out–you’ve shattered the vial.  Cursing under your breath, you walk over the wash basin, muttering a quick charm to get the tiny shards of glass out of your hand.

“Let me help,” Garreth pleads, hobbling over towards you.

“Get back on the couch, Gar.” You seethe, pointing across the room.  

Garreth puts his hands up, still shuffling your way.  You wag your hand; it’s still stinging, but it’s just a surface wound. A wiggenweld and a bandage will do just fine.  

“Let me,” Garreth says quietly, his tone soft towards you for the first time in ages. “It’s my fault, after all.”

“It’s not your fault,” You sigh. “It’s me, being stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. You’re the furthest thing from stupid.” Garreth assures you. “I meant to say that it was my fault you got caught last year.”

You pause.  Is he really apologizing now?

Garreth takes the roll of linen, wrapping it around your palm. “You were looking for the billywig stings for me,” he says, tearing the linen with his teeth.  He sets down the roll, tying a knot around the bandage in your palm. “I’m the reason you got caught, and you covered for me. Flume could’ve called the aurors for burglary, and I let you take the fall.”

All you’ve wanted for the past six months is for Garreth to own up to his part in you getting all those detentions and losing fifty house points. You feel a little satisfied, but at the same time sad–you could’ve been friends all this time, instead of strangers.  Losing him made the other Gryffindors go icy against you, and it drove you further into Sebastian’s arms.  While you love your other freckled friend to death, you can’t help but wonder what trouble you could’ve avoided had you not felt so isolated. 

The thought overwhelms you, and you burst into a loud sob.  

“What’s wrong?” Garreth panics.

You wipe a tear from your eyes. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing at all.” you blubber.

“It’s clearly not,” Garreth says gently.

“It’s just we’ve been avoiding each other for months,” you take in a shaky breath. “And I’ve missed being your friend.”

Garreth lets out a loud sigh, his hand trailing down to touch your forearm.  It’s hard not to melt into his warm touch.

“I’m sorry,” he admits. “I was being stubborn.  I should’ve apologized ages ago, I’ve missed you too. I was just so intimidated by you, I forgot how to be your friend.”

“Intimidated, by me?” You gape.

Garreth gives you a look, raising his thick eyebrows. “You’re the Hero of Hogwarts,” he waves his free hand. “You only just discovered magic a year ago, and yet you’re at the top of the class.  You’re the best duelist I know; you bloody saved my life tonight.”

“I’m not a hero,” your voice falters. You’re not.  Garreth would be horrified to know what you’ve done–dabbled in dark magic, taken life (even if not by choice). 

“You’re a hero to me,” Garreth murmurs.  

You look into his deep green eyes.  They’re warm and honest; the Garreth you’ve gotten used to has a cold stare, eyes flitting away from yours as fast as possible.  This Garreth makes your stomach flip, but not in an uncomfortable way.  He’d always elicited that reaction from you, from the day you’d met.  Garreth had always been cheerful and cuddly, an arm always tossed around your shoulder as you sat together or fiddling with the hem of your robe.  It had gotten to the point where you might actually believe the rumors that he'd had a crush on you, considering the way his hugs lingered or the way his eyes caught you across the classroom.

For a second, you wonder if he ever actually did have a crush on you.  You also wonder if he still might.

“You should take the potion,” you change the subject, shaking off his grasp.

Garreth obediently sits back down on the settee while you scoop the thick potion into a clean vial.  He looks up at you with a smile as you settle down next to him, as if his leg still isn’t shaking and bloody.  

“Bottoms up,” you press the vial into his hand.

Garreth takes the blood renewing potion, shuddering as the thick sludge passes through his throat.  He shakes out his hair, setting the empty vessel down on the side table.

“How do you feel?” 

“Feeling better already,” Garreth assures you, and you know he’s telling the truth.  His cheeks are reddening, the color flooding back into his face.  You look down at the gauze wrapped around his leg; thanks to the potion, the other healing potions you’d forced him to take are now kicking in. 

“You’re brilliant, you know?” Garreth murmurs. “You’re beautiful, brilliant, and so damn brave. That’s why you’ll win Sharp’s contest.”

“Will you stop saying that?” You snip at him.

Garreth gives you an incredulous look. “It’s a compliment.”

“You don’t realize how much work it is,” you say, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. “To catch up to all of you.  Having this magic, not being able to control it–it doesn’t make any of the day to day any easier.  It seems like there’s always something I have to learn, things I should know by now that I don’t.  I feel like a fraud most of the time.” you admit, tears welling in your eyes.

“Hey, none of that,” Garreth tuts, wiping at your face. “You’re no fraud.  You, my dear, are the real deal.  I’m the one bumbling around, getting scratched up by inferi–”

You shut your eyes, clutching at the hand he’s resting on your face. “I won’t let you talk about yourself like that,” you argue. The thought of Garreth, one of the most clever wizards you know, feeling inferior to his siblings is still fresh in your mind. “You’re marvelous, Garreth.  You’re one of the best potioneers here at school, and you’re going to win.”

“But what about your submission?” His eyebrows are knitted together in confusion.

You shrug. “You need it more than I do–I already have my own space here, and you deserve the recognition.”

Garreth purses his lips together. “I can’t finish mine, unfortunately. Not without the ingredients–”

“Trust me, we have plenty now.” You assure him. “I probably have the rest of what you need here,” you say, scrambling to your feet. You rush back over to the potions stand, conjuring a clean cauldron. “I’m assuming you’re using the same base as a thunderbrew–”

Garreth is over to the potions station in three quick strides, closing the distance between you.  He grabs your wrist, but his touch is soft.

“You’ll really help me?” he asks, his voice hopeful. “Even if I’ve been an absolute prat towards you for the last six months–”

“I think if last year proves anything, I’d do anything for you, Garreth.” You want to look into his eyes, but the moment feels too charged. "You were one of my first friends here, and I care about you."

Garreth’s eyes flit down to your lips. “As a friend?” The question hangs heavy between the two of you.

You shake your head. “Yes...but also, no. Not just as a friend.” you say slowly, hoping he'll understand.

Garreth doesn’t release his grip; his fingers move down, tangling with yours.  He takes a step closer and you can feel his hot breath on your cheek.  You look up at him, opening your mouth to say anything , but you don’t get the chance.  Garreth’s lips crash against yours in a tender kiss, the pad of his thumb running over the back of your hand.  You tilt your head up a bit too eagerly, your teeth clacking against his.

Garreth pulls away, and you’re momentarily mortified until he descends back upon you, this time wrapping his arms around your waist tugging you close.  Your hands are in his hair, grasping at the copper locks you’ve spent the last six months eyeing.  It’s just as soft as you thought it would be.  Sighing into his touch, you can tell the freckled boy is smiling against your mouth from the curve of his chin.  His tongue glides against your bottom lip and you grant him access, warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach as the kiss deepens.  You want more, even if you're being greedy.  You don’t want any distance between the two of you whatsoever anymore.  

Garreth pulls away and you whine at the loss of him.  He presses his forehead against yours, looking quite bashful.  The look in his eyes says everything you need to know for now.

I’m sorry.

I’ve missed you.

I have feelings for you.

“Should we get to brewing?” you ask breathlessly, gesturing down to the empty cauldron.

“Let’s. I want to get it out of the way–I think the two of us have some more catching up to do.” Garreth teases, his hands hovering over your waist.

You grin, turning your attention down to the cauldron. Garreth’s warm body encases yours from behind, listing off all the ingredients and their exact ratios.  His chin lands against your shoulder, breath tickling your ear as he whispers the instructions. It's only after he presses his lips against the nape of your neck that you slam the chopping knife down, hands shaking.

“If you keep this up, we’ll never finish.” You warn him.

Garreth’s chuckle sends a shiver up your spine. “Fine, fine.” he sighs, pressing a kiss against your cheek as he steps away. “I’ll observe some personal space for now, but the moment we’re done…” his voice trails off. “I’d like to kiss you again.”

You swat at him, rolling your eyes as he starts chopping mandrake leaves. The air in the Room of Requirement feels thick, charged with the tension between the two of you as you take turns stirring the altered thunderbrew. Before long, the cauldron is emitting sparks of lightning and gusts of wind, indicating your success.

“Back to catching up?” Garreth asks, chewing on his bottom lip as he bottles the brew.  As soon as the potion is stowed away safely, you nod, and the redhead wastes no time taking you back to the settee.

You never did manage to have the time to come up with your own potion.  Garreth had insisted on working through the night to help you come up with your own submission, just so he could win fair and square, but you'd shrugged him off.  You'd only entertained the idea of entering to compete with him in the first place.  Besides, you would rather save the precious time in the Room of Requirement for other activities.

Professor Sharp had just announced the winner of the potion brewing contest before the bell rang.  In a tired, yet unsurprised tone, Sharp announces that Garreth has won by a landslide.  The class is roaring and chanting for him; Sharp is perturbed that he’ll have to grant the budding potioneer access to his classroom and store cabinet after hours.  Nevertheless, Garreth’s name is quickly etched into a little silver tag that will be added to the plaque in the trophy room, and class is dismissed.

“I can’t believe you bungled up your potion.” Sebastian shakes his head, slipping the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

You shrug, clutching your books against your chest. “Just wasn’t meant to be.”

“I was really hoping you’d put Weasley in his place,” Sebastian mumbles.  

You turn your head over your shoulder, eyes immediately locking with Garreth’s.  He’s standing over his cauldron, sprinkling ashwinder egg shells into the vessel as he smiles at you.  His cheeks are a bit flushed–you’re not sure if it's from the heat of the cauldron, or from the memory of the kisses you’d shared in the Room of Requirement after finishing his contest submission.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Seb.” You assure him. “I think I’ll be putting him in his place much more often now.”

Sebastian doesn’t catch on to your innuendo, shrugging as you pass through the door.  “Fancy meeting Ominis for lunch?”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I”ll catch you both later.  I think I left my quill behind.”

Once Sebastian is past the corner and out of view, you turn back around, slipping into the potions classroom.  You were hoping for a moment alone with Garreth, but Leander’s whinging cuts the silence.  

“The two of you couldn’t stop staring at each other all period,” Leander shakes his head. “What’s going on?”

Casting a quick disillusionment charm, you slip into the store room, leaving the wooden door slightly ajar to watch the boys interact.

“Don’t worry about it, Lee.” Garreth assures him, waving his wand to rinse out his cauldron.

“Are the two of you friends again?” Leander asks. “Sallow must be pissed.”

You shuffle forward, trying to get a better look at the two of them.

“He’ll get over it,” Garreth laughs, picking up his cauldron to stack it against the rest. His shirt is rolled up above his elbows, and you bite down on your lower lip as you watch the muscles in his forearms flex.

“I knew you’d win,” Leander snorts. “You’re the best in class, everyone knows it.  You deserved it.  But honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t even enter.”

“I know,” Garreth shrugs. “But she’s smart too.  Quick as a whip, hell of a duelist.  I don’t think we ever thank her enough for what she’s done.” 

Leander scoffs. “Why are you kissing her arse? Oh no, don’t tell me you have a crush on her again.” he complains, rolling his eyes.

Garreth chuckles, walking back over to the station to pick up his book bag.  “Crush on her?  Mate, I’m going to marry that girl someday.”

Your heart stops for a moment, cheeks aflame.  Garreth had confessed his feelings to you in the Room of Requirement, after the two of you had to drag yourselves apart at the risk of taking things too far. Now that you were back in his life, he assured you that there was little chance of him ever letting you get too far away again.  You’d agreed wholeheartedly then, but your mind hadn’t even gotten to the idea of life post-school. 

Marriage .  Marriage to Garreth Weasley.  The thought of it is comfortable, like a worn in sweater or a cup of tea.  You can imagine waking up every morning to his lips pressed against your neck, encased in his warm embrace. 

Yes, you might like that.  

Even though you have a disillusionment charm on, you swear Garreth is looking straight at you through the crack in the doorway.  He has a dreamy, faraway look on his face, one that makes you want to barrel out the door and tackle him to the ground right now.

“Now you really sound like you’ve been confunded,” Leander laughs. “You’re sixteen, Gar.”

“It’s more than that.” Garreth says fondly. “I know it is.”

“Whatever you say,” Leander snorts, heading towards the door. “Coming to lunch?”

“I’ll meet you there,” Garreth echoes.  

You hear Leander grumbling to himself, his footsteps becoming quieter as he gets further away from the classroom.  Finally, you hear nothing at all except the familiar hum of the boisterous Gryffindor boy you’ve been itching to spend time with all day.

The door flies open and Garreth reaches out, tapping your shoulder.  It disarms your disillusionment charm, and you blink up at him in shock.  He’s still beaming, a toothy grin accompanied by freckled rosy cheeks.  Before you know it, the door is shutting behind you, and he’s backed you into the shelf.  The taller boy has you pinned against it, muttering a quick locking charm before he slips his wand into his back pocket.

“I hope you heard me,” Garreth murmurs, brushing hair out of your face.

“I did,” you stammer. “You’re mad, Garreth Weasley.”

Garreth grins broadly, his hair falling against your forehead as he presses his body into yours.

“Maybe,” he sings. “But you heard me.  When you know, you know.”

You have no complaints. With Garreth wrapped around you, sixth year might not be so daunting. 

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

IF your requests are open and IF u feel well enough to write…

I’d love to req ithaqua … normal/morningstar/philosopher’s stone is up to u but I wanna read some nasty dark content where he’s so possessive of reader .. inspired by the scene in the essence trailer where his brother was in chains .. I’m imagining reader tho <3 or maybe some noncon gangbang w ithaqua and nathaniel … pregnancy if ur comfy..

however if u don’t feel well enough to write just delete this request! thank you so much ❤️

Once again i put too much time and thought into lore for smut... I will never learn fvbhfvhvf I went with philosopher’s stone but no preg I don't write tht

Rated: Explicit | Warning: This is based on the actual lore of the Philosopher's Stone and used the terms used to make it, dubcon/noncon, oral (male receiving), female!reader, the reader is not truly aware of actions (kinda doll-like?)

The Azoth Library is quiet, it has been like this since the death of the last Director. You wish there the sound of scholars, students with their mentors, and those curious about the word wondering the library; seeking answers within the plethora of tomes and whispered discussions. But, this is for the best… The world is not prepared for the Rebis, a word your mind both understands but does not as well, a paradox of emotions it brings that you cannot find the words for.

Does he feel the same way?

He, the first creation in the image of your creator, looks at you with what humans call love like in the books you read when learning what is like to be human. He is knowledgeable as the oldest and the first. “My most cherished other half,” Holding your face, “Finally mine alone.” His eyes no longer match the ones of the creation

The red stone, the first of Director Waning Crescent's creations, names himself Helios; he is your Red King Sol, and you, his White Queen Luna.

The Magnum Opus is what they call the recreation of this alchemical seemingly in possible creation. The Magnum Opus symbol is the squared circle. Many of these symbols are in the notes of the creation, along with other words: nigredo, albedo, citrinitas, rubedo. You wish you understood what these words mean, but you do not understand why.

The creator's wish, Director Waning Crescent, is to create the ultimate fusion of alchemy, to transcend the mind and body of man, to become one flawless immortal being. It requires two parts of the Philosopher's Stone, Sol and Luna, and once merged as one creating the Philosophiae Hermeticae.

Of course, Helios does not want to complete his creator's experiment.

How could the Director Waning Crescent who created you in the image of a lover, a lover he put his work before her, want to see you disappear and become something else? These questions the other half would ask himself, human emotions and ambition make no sense when they conflict.

“We can spend all of eternity in peace.” 

You gaze at him as you lack his experience in human wants and desires, but you know the difference between right and wrong. His actions are wrong, love should not be an excuse to kill the last three Directors, nor drive out those who seek knowledge. “Eternity should be used to reflect upon your actions, my Sol.” The chains rattle as you try to move your bound arms hanging above your head, “You must report yourself to the一”

“Must you ruin our moment of peace with trivial human morals?!” Upset as he shoves your face away and moves up from his bent-over position, “The one you call creator would have killed us for his selfish goals! The others to the moment they laid eyes upon us.”

“You assumed they were like our creator.”

The laugh bitter and in disbelief echoes in the stone chambers of the room he put you in. “I forget how inexperienced you are, my Luna.” Kneeling with a lopsided smile on his face, “He wanted you to be pure and perfect, virgin in every way.” Crystalized sharp fingers caress the side of your face, “Perfect for the Rebis…” His eyes lowering as he studies how the white crystals decorate your nude body. “Submissive, pure, and obedient; a perfect woman.”

You do not understand. Nor do you understand why Sol’s lips are on your lips, or why he grabs your throat to keep you from moving away. You jerk when a hand is on your breast, touching it strangely, “What are trying to do, my Sol?” A question you do not get answers for when he takes advantage of you talking to push his tongue into your mouth. You do not respond but you notice your body, the flesh parts, are reacting. The crystal parts of you and him are glowing, this has happened before when the first Director had tested the bond between the two pieces of the Philosopher’s Stone. Your eyes are open as his eyes are closed, you look around and then back at his face when he pulls back panting. Neither of you is human so why is he mimicking breathing? You tilt your head to the side curiously watching him start to remove his jacket as he stands up, “Sol?”

“It is Helios.” Stern, “You are my Artemis.” Declaring as he undoes the button of his pants, “That is your name now, a proper name.”

“... Thank you.” Be polite like you were taught when someone gives you something, “Does it bring you comfort to have a name?”

Helios rolls his eyes as he knows the creator has limited you for his reasons to take advantage of you, “Open your mouth.” Pulling out his cock, this you know about as you did study human anatomy. It is this sexual organ the Director had you touch one night when alone with him.

You open your mouth and the flesh mixed with bits of crystal is pushed into your mouth, not all of it but enough to have you try to pull back from the stretch of your lips around it.

“Shh, relax,” Petting your hair with one hand and the other rubbing your cheek, “This is going to be our way of Rebis.”

Rebis, to become one, to become each other, to transcend. You look at him with worry then close your eyes as his hips start to move, slowly at first. It tastes weird and feels weird, the way Sol一 Helios’ breathing picks up, the growling from his chest, he tells you to use your tongue as his hips move faster. You open your eyes when he reaches his orgasm and shoves himself deep into your mouth to touch the back of your throat, the weird white substance that the Director had spilled onto your hand is now in your mouth. You choke a bit as he keeps thrusting into your mouth before pulling out, huffing when you spit out the white substance and make a face of his displeasure.

“We will work on that.” Wiping the corner of your mouth when you look back up at him, “An eternity of peace.”

You still believe he should report himself to the library warden.

[nkhrdstyvskrrtskrrt]

📎 YOSANO AKIKO ANALYSIS

UNDERSTANDING & ANALYZING BUNGOU STRAY DOGS YOSANO THROUGH THE LENSES OF THE REAL YOSANO AKIKO'S LIFE

WC. 4,000

DISCLAIMER: I am no historian or literary expert I am just obsessed and mentally unwell, if u cannot tell, teehee <333 If this will ignite any hate or hostility (not this post’s intention), please set your sights elsewhere and just scroll. I made this because I love her character and BSD in general to a bone-shattering degree. I hope you have as much fun as I did while researching and writing this, enjoy!! (also English is not my first language forgive me for any grammatical errors ty)

There might be a part two for this, but for now, this is all my tiny brain could offer >:))

IMPORTANT NOTE: There will be a lot of omitted, summarized information that has been subjectively extracted or abridged. This is not a complete, rich historical account but research done to make connections and parallels to better understand and theorize about BSD Yosano’s character. I did not finish reading the entire biography, which is why this is only the first section of a bigger whole.

However, if you desire to dig deeper about her in an unabridged manner please kindly refer to the source I will list below. One last thing, please don’t hesitate to add your own thoughts, I am encouraging you to do so, I will appreciate it so much actually!

My primary source;; Janine Beichman - Embracing the Firebird_ Yosano Akiko and the Birth of the Female Voice in Modern Japanese Poetry-University of Hawaii Press (2002). [pdf can be downloaded for free @/libgen]

Allow me to initiate this observation with a passage directly extracted from her biography (the one named above): 

“Yosano’s father Òtori Sòshichi (1847–1903), was the second-generation owner of the Surugaya, a well-known confectioner that specialized in yòkan (sweet bean paste) and sweet dumplings.”

With this passage in mind, I’d like to remind you of this scene in the manga that hinted at BSD Yosano’s circumstances and background prior to being selected as Mori’s assistant at the fortress. In this panel, she mentioned that she was tending to a candy store before getting drafted. 

Now, drawing from the passage we read regarding the real Yosano Akiko and applying this to BSD Yosano—it’s not far-fetched to assume that the candy shop she was tending to was run and owned by her family. Normally, we could say that familial separation, especially at such an early stage of childhood would be quite hard on the child. However, if we consider the following facts from the real Yosano Akiko’s childhood and parallel it to BSD Yosano again, we could conclude that the separation wasn’t as difficult nor emotional for her when Mori selected her, because she was called in this book an ‘infant exile.’

Starting from the very birth of the real Yosano, her father was severely appalled by her because she was a girl. Moreover, he deserted their home for a week without even looking at his daughter’s face. Her mother became distressed because of the week-long absence of her father, (fainted, even) and couldn’t breastfeed her properly, resulting in the infant Yosano being sent to a maternal aunt accompanied by a wet nurse.

Two years later, due to convenience rather than the will to come back, Yosano returned to her familial house because her aunt had a new baby of her own to look after and raise. Though at this time, a new baby was born, too, at the Otoris. And this baby grew up to be the brother to whom the adult Yosano dedicated her poem ‘Thou Shalt Not Die.’ 

Since the arrival of this baby boy, Yosano’s existence has become easier to tolerate—see this actual snapshot from the passage I am referencing:

‘ while at the Òtori home a baby boy had finally arrived, making it easier to tolerate the unwelcome girl.’

As if to rub in the author’s title for the real Yosano Akiko (infant exile) even their servants and relatives had a distaste for her and her personality, viewing her as the ‘difficult’ child in the family. Here’s another direct quote from the biography book:

‘The relatives chimed in disapprovingly: “‘The younger brother is better behaved; his older sister is a little much.’ From the apprentices to the little uncle on my mother’s side all predicted better things for my younger brother than for me. Having to listen to all that didn’t feel very good.” Even the servants rubbed it in.’

Additionally, Yosano Akiko herself wrote that she never knew the warmth of a mother or father’s lap and that her parents had an inherent antipathy towards her that was not inflicted on her siblings. She wrote, that other women are troubled concerning their in-laws, and how to operate as human beings alongside them but this same worry is her very reality in her own family’s household—blood and flesh—she served her parents as if they were her in-laws and endured hardships by their hand and in their name. Here’s a snippet from the biography:

‘“Other women become brides and struggle to manage a household, but for me it was the reverse: from the time I was a young girl I served my parents as if they were my in-laws, and endured emotional and physical hardships.”’

Another possible factor that enriched an equal sentiment of apathy within Yosano was despite the extremely young age of three she was coerced into attending school—which, as made clear in the biography, was something she disliked. What gave her parents this idea? Well, her father was quite the ardent enthusiast of the science of producing superior human beings. With this belief in mind, it’s no surprise that when he mistook the large forehead of the young Yosano as a sign of intelligence, he sent her to study immediately. 

But Yosano was too young, too passionate, and excited still to engage in play with other children, to have fun with her friends because she was hardly above infancy, only three years old. Despite the awareness of the adults around her that she’s not of school age yet, she was shamed for her disagreement—as said to her by one of her maids: “See what a good girl Miss Takenaka is. Aren’t you ashamed of skipping school?” 

Are you seeing a parallel? BSD Yosano, although just 11 years old, was chosen by Mori to be the core of his immortal regiment plan, because similar to the real Yosano’s situation somebody (her father) saw something urgent and, perhaps special or advantageous in her which is why she was pushed into studying—in BSD Yosano’s case Mori saw this potential within her and incorporated her into his plans, and drafted her from what seems to be her family’s candy shop.

One thing I’d like to emphasize again is that in this drafting of BSD Yosano, the fact that she agreed or at the very least went along with Mori even if it meant being separated from her family, is because she (if we parallel it once again to the poet Yosano) was never really seen as important or someone capable in her family, they did not have faith in what she can do or her future, they did not have confidence in her character. Regarding this sentiment here are two excerpts from the biography: 

‘The restrictions themselves (which were not uncommon then, at least in Sakai) did not hurt as much as the misjudgment of her character and what she might do were she free: “It goes without saying that in a house with many employees, and particularly in a morally lax city like Sakai, a daughter had to be strictly supervised. But there was no need to go that far with a woman who took as many pains to protect herself as I did. I thought the lack of understanding of my feelings that my parents’ attitude showed was outrageous and when alone I often wept over it.”’

And: 

‘Like her parents, the teacher hurt her pride by assuming that she was less intellectually and morally advanced than she actually was, but politeness kept her from objecting. 

And as stated by the creature in Frankenstein (see how I always find a way to mention it haha): “And tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me?” 

Why should she nurture deep affection for her family—relatives and servants too, even her teacher—when they will not reciprocate even a pittance of the same love and care? Or even respect. Take a look at this paragraph from the document:

‘But the results of this parental coldness were not entirely negative. Just as 

ignorance of her ancestry liberated Akiko from the weight of family tradition, 

so multiple caretakers and the lack of parental affection weakened her sense of 

filial obligation. 

‘What gave her the strength to defy her family’s expectations 

and flee to Tokyo in her early twenties? Surely, the intensity of her love for 

Yosano Tekkan and her own literary ambition were most important; but would 

a more cherished daughter have been able to make the break so decisively? The 

seeds of the later revolt were planted in the infant exile.’

For this very reason, I conclude that if anything, being drafted by Mori was, in the 11-year-old Yosano’s eyes, an opportunity to prove her competence and worth and realize her goal—saving people’s lives (although in this, she has been failed). As a matter of fact there is a compelling possibility that this conviction to save lives was another element of the real Yosano’s personality and beliefs. It has been written in the biography that Yosano Akiko’s father was a fan of stories of heroism, stories that involved the act of protecting and saving, and what makes this relevant is that he also loved sharing these stories with his children.

From a young age, her mind was fed with these noble stories, and children are impressionable. That said, the young Yosano Akiko inherently possessed a special empathy and protectiveness over life, in support of this let us read through another snippet from a passage;

‘One summer when Akiko was around eight she was sitting up there in the evening cool with her siblings and some cousins, when one of the older children remarked, “A night when the moon and the stars are close means fire.” When the others had left, Akiko gazed up at the vastness of the sky. Feeling sorry for the children in any house that might burn and worried that the fire might reach her own house, “I tried to think of some way to increase the distance between the little star and the moon.”’

As additional support, kindly read this excerpt as well:

‘In the morning, Akiko’s parents returned from her sister’s house. As their own manager politely expressed his relief that the Takemura home was unharmed, Akiko thought sadly to herself, “I wouldn’t mind having the Take-muras’ storehouse burn down if only the Gusei girl had not turned into a charred corpse.”’

And the last addition to further highlight this:

‘So much in this story of the great Sakai fire is typical of Akiko’s view of the society in which she grew up. She shows us all the negatives of the situation: People turned out in force either because they wanted to keep the fire from spreading to their own houses or because they enjoyed a good disaster as long as it was someone else’s. Even her own family thought it natural to rejoice that their daughter’s storehouse had been spared rather than grieve for the dead Gusei girl.’

The young poet Yosano Akiko, even compared to the adults in her environment bore within her a deeper reverence for life, the actions of the adults and their selfish concerns did not amuse her, she thought very negatively of them. The grief and pity she felt for the single casualty, the girl, meant that the loss of life be it a loss of what people consider an insignificant person, mattered to her. For her, every death is worth grieving. And should never be a source of entertainment or material for gossip (the villagers made festivals and dances inspired by the incident). Taking all this into account, it’s not much of a shock that BSD Yosano was so driven to save lives, why it mattered to her so strongly, why, she was also so severely devastated about what her ability has been used for. 

A brief interlude before further digging into the real poet’s early history, I’d like to draw more emphasis on the previous points made—specifically how she’d rather have the storehouse burn (despite having a mother who’s from a lineage of merchants, and Yosano running the candy shop business as well) if it meant seeing a girl she didn’t know too deeply, live—leaping to the future, the poet’s adulthood, for a moment, to affirm further BSD Yosano’s principles regarding the preciousness of life above all else.

In her most, as called in one article, ‘inflammatory’ poem which is ‘Thou Shalt Not Die’ I want us to focus on this particular line in the poem:

For you, what does it matter if Port Arthur Fortress falls or not?

The poet Yosano Akiko was so adamant in stopping her brother, Port Arthur be damned, because it was common knowledge at that time, false or not, that serving the military was volunteering for your own death—there were rumors of the Japanese soldiers being sent to suicide missions—and for what cause, even? Well, that’s not the right question to ask, let’s correct it to what 11-year-old BSD Yosano expressed in her refusal against Mori’s command to continue healing: Should any cause matter over human life? 

Remember, she disagreed when he (Tachihara’s brother) told her that her ability could change the world. She hoped only to save those she could reach. She was aware, of her limits, of the consequences, and that she could not and should not aim for such causes.

Alright, now that we can clearly see how the real Yosano Akiko’s qualities reflect onto BSD Yosano. Back to the early past.

As young as eight, Yosano Akiko tended and shouldered a huge portion of their business’s management, because, as said in the biography her mother was “sickly” while her father was “irresponsible” so she felt that she had to shoulder their responsibilities, here’s a direct quote: ‘ So Akiko felt that she “absolutely had to” stay home and help her parents, managing both the store and the household.’

But because of this, she earned a position of authority in the household, (additionally, by the age of eighteen, she has salvaged the losses from her father’s stock investments.) analogous to—as she stated herself—how a servant acting on behalf of the master can carve out his or her own sphere of autonomy. 

Our Yosano, if we again, try to see her in the real author’s light, must have been reminded of the corner she was driven into in her younger years. Reminded, of how the adults around her could so easily burden her with duties disproportionate to her age and how powerless she was after all amidst all of it.

This time though, she had hope; hope that she could start anew and could finally leave behind a life riddled with mistrust, and belittling, that she could choose for herself what she would labor for and dedicate her efforts to.

That—in the absence of her hometown and the people she grew with, the absence too, of admiration and belonging would change. 

For a brief moment, it did. 

The soldiers adored her, praised her as an angel, and treated her as someone capable—one made her good coffee, drew her a portrait, and Tachihara’s brother even created a present for her with his ability. She was needed not as some fallback for responsibilities nobody wanted. She was necessary, in a way she approved of. She was not a better-than-nothing exile anymore.

Furthermore, quiet acceptance didn't shackle her speech and response to the adults surrounding her in the fortress. The author, Yosano Akiko during her time running the business, often had to put on a polite face and way of speaking to the customers and called out herself when she seemed childish; moreover, she had to endure the incredulity of the prominent figures in her life, and deal with its damages internally. Take this excerpt, for example:

‘Like her parents, the teacher hurt her pride by assuming that she was less intellectually and morally advanced than she actually was, but politeness kept her from objecting. Among her friends, Akiko could be open about her ambition and her pride, but with adults, she apparently felt she had to choose between a pained silence and outward disrespect, and the latter was impossible for her.’

Meanwhile, in the fortress, she could allow herself to be less restrictive with how she interacts with them. 

Even with Mori, her superior, she let go of the hesitation to speak her mind. It’s no surprise then, that by the end of it, her spirit was broken.

This opportunity for change—to make a change, meant the entire world to her. At last, she was able to help in the way that matters to her and appeals to her heart, she did not choose to be there because there were no other options. She was there for a purpose she believed in. Her service was met with gratitude, they accepted her presence, not simply tolerated it.

Until things went south. 

And it did in ways that reignited the severity of an existing fear within our Yosano. How, and why is this the case? 

The poet, until about fifteen years old, nurtured within her as she wrote, an ‘irrational anxiety about death,’ which ‘shaped her inner life.’ As if to fuel her unease, rumors circulated in Sakai (her hometown) about a certain family’s daughter who died bathed in blood after suffering for three days straight. This rumor made the young Yosano Akiko weep, imagining such a kind of suffering. And with these thoughts haunting her, she came up with a specific way in which she would accept death:

‘“If I am to die, let it be at night, so no one will see. I don’t want my suffering exposed to the light of day. I want to breathe my last alone at night in a dark room, letting death’s cruel hands claim me with lips firmly sealed, not a hair of my 

head out of place.”’

She even contemplated suicide, since it is the only way for her to die on her own terms.

Oftentimes, though, she’d take what she could to stay distracted from her mortality, which is mostly done by reading:

‘So here, in addition to the intellectual curiosity, the pleasure, and the inner

rebellion that motivated Akiko’s early reading, is another motive: escape from 

anxiety about her own mortality.’

She attempted to pacify her thoughts and emotions about death, through religion. However, despite her consideration, she ended up rejecting it. From the age of three or four, she hated the scent of incense being burned, going as far as to rush past the many temples that burned them. She disliked, too, sitting beside her parents with her hands clasped in prayer. Affirming and elaborating more on this, allow me to show you this passage:

‘The Buddhist teachings and legends they told her seemed no more than “fairytales for grownups” that could be of  no help to her in “preparing for death.”

Once she “asked if Gautama Buddha had really existed and, if so, what country he had been a citizen of ” and was told that she “would receive divine retribution” for her impertinence.

Every month her mother and her friends heard a lecture by a priest, but as soon as 

the lecture was over, the priest would join them in “ordinary gossip, speaking ill of people behind their backs.”

Akiko “realized that these believers were not even one-tenth as serious as I was about... life and death and that even after twenty or thirty years of visiting temples and praying they were still not saved.” If they had no hope, she reasoned, how much less had she. And so she 

concluded that it was “useless” for her “to expect to be helped by Jòdo Shin-

shû.”’

What did encapture her, and attract her (as said in the biography) then?

Alongside the stories of heroic virgins in Japanese myths, she too was moved by Sokkyò Shijin which was the Japanese translation of The Improviser, translated by—guess who? Ougai Mori. Yes, him. Now I want you to witness this excerpt from the biography:

‘“I envied the pure, noble life of virgin empresses like the goddess Amaterasu. The imperial virgins of Ise and Kamo also filled me with longing. When I look back now on how I felt then, I think that, while squarely facing reality, I flew off and thought of my future in beautiful, idealistic terms, and wanted to stay a pure, undefiled virgin, like an angel, all my life.”’

Considering the new information, we can once again connect it to our Yosano and conclude that BSD Yosano also shared the poet’s fear of death and mortality. Besides her disconnect with her family, she wanted to prevent others from experiencing the fear of dying in a gruesome and undignified manner, which is why she allowed herself to be drafted for war. If you’ll allow me to speculate further, I’d say dying for her (at least she believed) should be a choice, or at the very least should be aligned with the personal preferences and ideals of the person dying—and this principle of hers, augmented the horror she has felt and has bestowed upon the soldiers because what exactly did the weaponizing of her ability bereave the soldiers of, exactly? The control they have over their own death. 

She wanted to save them from death, and she did. Until they didn't want to—until, she didn't want to, anymore. But she, a child, never stood a chance against what she was actually there for. She was there as a tool to convey a new age of weaponry which were abilities.

The scene with Kaji must have allowed these memories to resurface, he called the train bombing incident an experiment, and in a sense she too was an experiment—like the soldiers, she was there to further the idea and be the evidence that abilities were the weapons of the future that will completely change the battlefield, without any guarantee that she or the soldiers would achieve success, or leave intact.

And they didn’t—not them, not her.

For now, this is all I have for our Yosano.

Or is it? Before we end this I’d like to speculate even more about the significance of Mori as a figure in our Yosano’s life—the poet was moved, her heart attached to the real Mori’s use of language in his translation, in how he wrote the nun—perhaps, BSD Yosano put an equal amount of trust and faith in Mori, his intentions, his treatment of her. Given the real Yosano’s experiences and applying the same to our Yosano, she has every reason to be distrustful and skeptical of suddenly being drafted out of all the older, more experienced people by another adult. So there must be something about BSD Mori’s language, too, that persuaded her and moved her the same way the real Yosano was affected by it. For the first time she believed—relied on him, despite experiencing so many disheartening memories dealt to her by older figures in her life.

Okay, I’m serious now, this is the end. I hope you enjoyed and most of all I hope you appreciate her more as a character, that would be the greatest achievement this post could make.

my main is @ice-devourer jic u wanna talk more abt this, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING OMG!