#so i was afraid that i might have been called out for copying the idea when i didnt

[leviathans-watching]

can i request a continuation of this post: (https://www.tumblr.com/leviathans-watching/655248256619724800/brothers-or-datables-with-an-mc-whos-given) if u havent already done so ? n if u have done a continuation than can u link me to the post :) ? thank

finally calling the dateables by a pet name

includes: the dateables x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .6k | rated t | m.list | pt 1

a/n: this was a blast from the past! i hope you enjoy!!! my inbox is open to chat, req, and leave feedback so come say hi

please reblog this yall

➳ diavolo frowns, thinking about your behavior towards him. you weren’t acting strange, warm and kind to him as ever, but he can’t help but feel a distance from you when he considers how intimately and familiarly you call everyone else. “what are you thinking so hard about?” you tease gently, giving him a smile, and his frown deepens. should he say anything? or would that be childish? you roll your eyes. “just spit it out,” you chasten, and so he does. “i was just thinking about how you never call me by a pet name. it’s not fair.” you can’t help but laugh; considering everything the demon lord and acting demon king has to focus on, he’s hung up on this? “you want me to? i just thought you might find it rude for me to discard your title. but i can call you by a pet name–in fact, i’d be glad to. how does ‘tiger’ sound?”

➳ barbatos adjusts his collar slightly, unable to pinpoint why he’s so irritated. all you’d done is paused in your conversation with him to ask simeon to get something, weaponizing your pet name for him to make the job get done faster. oh, that was it. you’ve never once weaponized a pet name against him. he doesn’t know what kind of face he makes at the realization, but you notice something’s wrong and give him a questioning look. barbatos smiles thinly. “sorry, i hope you don’t mind the request, but can you call me a pet name? i’m afraid i’m feeling a little left out.” you blink at him, and he grows somewhat self-conscious. “sorry, forget it, it was a weird ask of you.” “no!” you hasten to reassure him. “absolutely, i will. now, baby, will you go help simeon? i think he’s struggling.”

➳ simeon hasn’t really, you know, dated before. so it’s not unusual for him to do research, making sure he’s being a good boyfriend by looking at the most reputable of resources: teen girl magazines. but when he finds an article about ‘picking the perfect pet name for your partner’, he realizes you’ve never once called one another by a pet name. you call the others familiarly, but not him… he does what anyone would do and sets out to remedy that. “hey, mc,” he begins, “do you think we could call one another by pet names? this article says it’s a good way to further a relationship and deepen the bonds between a pair.” “just what are you reading?” you ask with a chuckle, but give in, quite liking the idea. “how does ‘sweetheart’ sound?”

➳ solomon puts at you. “call me by a pet name! you call everyone else one but are only rude to me! it’s not fair!” you raise your brows. “fine. i had a few i wanted to try out anyway.” your easy agreement should have been a sign; you spend the next few days calling him every variation of pet name. it’s funny when you call him ‘studly’, mildly embarrassing when you shout ‘snuggle buggle’ across the cafeteria, and just plain annoying when you refer to him as ‘shortcake’ for an entire conversation. he gets back at you when you call him ‘wild thing’, stating, truthfully, that he likes that one and it’s a keeper. “fine, wild thing,” you smirk. “love you.” “i love you too, sugar plum,” he says, enjoying how your face contorts.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[writerslittlelibrary]

Thank you so much for writing my request. Omg that was amazing if you could do a part two pretty please (also like reader scared of Maria but I didn’t think of what to call her apart from agent/director hill)

I hope it wasn’t much problem writing it

Sending you this love💛💛💛

-🦈

We are your mothers 2

masterlist requests masterlist

part 1

summary: when you get kidnapped, your moms do everything in their power to get you back, only to find out that now you'll never call them mom again...

pairing: Blackhill x daughter reader

warnings: yelling, nightmares

genre: angst

words: 1169

a/n: part 2 is finally here! also, covid's been kicking my ass and I can't really breath or see (due to teary eyes) so sorry if this isn't great. I really wanted to write the part 2, and I might improve it or make it longer when I feel better :)

(also who has covid three times? why is that a thing🤨)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work 

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

It had been over a week, and you were yet to interact with your mothers. Yelena was the only one you let close to you, but even she had no idea what you had endured. You didn't sleep a lot, nightmares haunting you, seemingly even when you were awake.

It broke your mothers hearts, to hear you scream and cry every night and not be able to comfort you. They made that mistake the first night, and the moment they walked in, you tried to crawl away from them, falling off the bed in the process. They tried helping you, but when they got close, you shielded your head and face with your arms, shaking in fear with the thought they might hit you. Natasha had spent that night crying in Maria's arms, hearing how Yelena shushed your cries and cuddled you back to sleep.

When the mornings came, you wouldn't come out of your room, afraid your moms might be in the kitchen. Natasha picked up on that quickly, and her and Maria started having breakfast at least an hour before you'd wake up.

Most nights they spend crying. Maria tried to be the strong one, comforting Natasha to the best of her abilities but she failed, and soon broke down beside her with the fear they might never get to hold their little girl ever again. 

It was a frightening thought to the both of them.

“How you doing, baby spider?” Yelena asked as she walked into your room, seeing you drawing at your desk. You shrugged. Yelena sighed softly in disappointment, but made sure not to let you hear her. You hadn't spoken a lot, and despite Yelena's many efforts, you wouldn't speak to her either. 

Yelena sat down on your bed, leaning back and facing you.

“I was thinking we could go to the mall today. Maybe visit that bookstore you like so much?” Yelena tried, but you didn't even acknowledge her sentence. 

Yelena sighed to herself again, getting up and walking towards you. You quickly closed your sketchbook when you felt her coming close, turning around with your chair to face her.  

“Will Miss Romanoff and Miss Hill come too?” you asked Yelena softly, and she smiled hesitantly at you. “You know they are still your mothers, right? They'd love for you to call them mom and mama again…” Yelena tried carefully, but you flinched from even hearing those names.

You shook your head and turned back around to your desk, tears stinging in your eyes. 

Yelena wasn't sure on what to do, but she decided that after a week, it was finally time to push. “Why wouldn't you want to call them that again? They've missed you so much.”

Tears streamed down your face, but Yelena just couldn't drop it. “They love you.” That was when you let out your first sob, crying as quietly as possible. Yelena didn't hesitate to lean forward, capturing you in a hug and letting you cry on her shoulder.

“What happened to you? What did they do to you?” Yelena asked softly, rubbing your back with one hand while the other cradled your head against her. 

You sobbed and shook your head, trying to tell her, but your sentences came out muffled and in broken sobs. Yelena continued to comfort you, softly sushing you and continuing to rub your back. “We all love you, y/n,” Yelena said softly. “Just know that.”

After your sobs reduced to sniffles, Yelena tried to pull back to look at you, but you just pulled her closer.

Quietly you explained what happened. You left out most details, but covered the most important parts: they hurt when you didn't listen, and all you could see were your mothers.

Yelena had tears stinging her eyes as she heard you explain, holding you closely as she tried to keep in her own sobs. Hearing you talk about Natasha and Maria like that, hearing what you thought they did to you, broke her heart into a million pieces. She kept rubbing your back when your sobs started up again, whispering comforting things into your ear as you explained. 

After a few minutes, when you both calmed down, Yelena finally pulled back, pulling you to face her. “We all love you. Natasha and Maria love you more than anything in this world. They would do anything to hear you call them mom and mama again,” Yelena explained, wiping some hair from your face.

You nodded softly, your tears finally reducing. 

“I'll try,” you said, hugging Yelena one more time before standing up.

Yelena held your hand as you walked to the common area, your moms found sitting on the couch, watching a movie together to try and distract themselves. 

“Natasha…” you softly called, her head whipping around to see you standing there, squeezing Yelena's hand out of fright. “Hi baby,” she said softly, slowly getting up to walk towards you. You tensed up slightly when she came closer, but Yelena squeezed your hand reassuringly.

Natasha came closer carefully, reaching her hands up to try and touch you. When she saw you didn't try to move away from her, she softly put her hands around you, pulling you into a hug.

Maria soon joined, putting her arms around you both as you quietly embraced each other.

When Natasha pulled back, she carefully reached her hands to your face, wiping some hairs that had fallen in front of it away. “I love you so much,” she spoke, tears stinging in her eyes. You kept quiet, tears stinging in your own eyes as well.

“We both do,” Maria spoke, putting her hand on the other side of your face carefully.

They were so afraid to hurt or scare you away. You nodded softly, your tears now streaming down your face. When you fell asleep that night, it was on the couch, your head on Yelena's lap and your legs on Natasha's.

You still hadn't spoken to them, but it was progress. You fell asleep in the same room as them, even going so far as letting Natasha touch you. 

Natasha smiled to herself as she saw your sleeping form, softly stroking your legs as you slept. Yelena had told them everything that night, and both Natasha and Maria had broken down after hearing what you'd been put through. 

You hadn't really said anything to them, and it would for sure take a long time before you'd call them mom and mama again, if you'd ever even call them that again, but Maria and Natasha were willing to wait, helping you wherever they could. 

They love you, and they always will.

(Tags : @marvelogic @marvelav @lgas202-blog @jusnough @carol-romanoff @natsbraids)

[braveclementine]

Chapter 2

Warnings: None. (Will however be a 18+ reader book)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own a few OCs like Elizabeth, Katherine, Stacy, and Jessie. I do not condone any copying of this.

The walk from your apartment building to the Avengers HQ was a good thirty minute walk. On a good day, it would've been pleasant, the kind of walk you might've made daily if you'd had a dog. However, wearing the sweatshirt again with the nerves made it feel like you had been walking for hours.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stood at the gate with the intercom thing-a-ma-bobber before pressing it with a shaky finger.

You weren't entirely sure why you were so nervous. There was no crime for bumping into people. . . but when it was a King, much less the King of Wakanda, well perhaps it was good sense to be nervous.

"How may I help you?" A bored, female voice said on the other side.

"Hi, I was hoping to talk to the King of Wakanda." Your voice, at least, didn't sound shaky.

The voice on the other side snorted, "Yeah, sure."

"I'm the girl that bumped into him earlier." You said, embarrassed. "I just wanted to er, apologize to him was all."

There was a bit of silence before the female voice said, "I'll let him know. Have a fantastic day."

You blinked. Well, at least he would know that I had attempted to apologize. Some of the nerves dissipated as you turned to walk back to the apartment.

Having only walked a few feet though, you heard a voice call behind you, "Excuse me!"

You turned slowly and then flushed dark when you saw the King standing there.

He was wearing very standard clothing. A black button up shirt with black slacks and black dress shoes.

"Aren't you hot?" You blurted out. The blush went darker. "I mean, hot in your clothing. I mean cause it's summer. You know what, just completely ignore what I just asked."

The King actually smiled, his white teeth almost blinding against his darker skin. "You forget I am used to African climate. Much hotter than this."

Oh. His accent. Oh my God.

You swallowed again and then you said, "I just wanted to apologize. I forgot about work and I was rushing to get to work and I bumped into you and I just spat out an apology and I had no idea that you were the King of Wakanda-"

"Breathe." He said with a light chuckle that almost made you die inside. "It's quite alright. I understand."

Every nerve dissipated. You nodded awkwardly.

"I never got your name." He said, tilting his head.

"Oh, I'm Y/N." You said quickly, not sure if you should hold your hand out. You saw his left hand twitch slightly and he held out his hand, "T'Challa."

"Ouch." You yelped before shaking his hand. You'd felt a sharp pain in your left wrist. It was like backing into a table corner. It didn't really hurt, but you felt like saying 'ouch' anyways.

You blushed, "Sorry, I had a pain."

"I thought you might." He said with a small smile.

You stared at him blankly. He rolled up his sleeve which had a singular colour there. You noticed that it was [Periwinkle/Turquoise/Jade] line. You barely even realized that it was the same colour as the one on your right wrist- a.k.a your favorite colour.

He stepped closer, showing you the name that had been branded into his skin: Y/N.

Of course. After you met your soulmate their name was matched with their colour. You just hadn't realized that it hurt.

Then you realized something.

Your soulmate was the freaking King of Wakanda.

You weren't entirely sure what the correct reaction to the information was. Faint? Squeal? Run away screaming?

Somehow, you just stayed frozen, staring at your name on his wrist.

"Are you alright. . . Y/N?" T'Challa asked.

You licked your lips, trying to form a coherent response. "I- but you're a King."

T'Challa chuckled again, "That I am. Which will make you my Queen."

You blushed again and then said awkwardly, "I'm afraid that you're going to have to um, share me with quite a few people." As you spoke, you pulled up your sleeve to show the eleven brands. The eighth line of purple and black now had the name T'Challa imprinted there.

T'Challa took in the ten other lines and chuckled, "So I will. I recognize your name now, from the record book. Of course, only your baby picture is in there."

"That's a good thing." You muttered.

"Follow me. I'd like to introduce you to my sister Shuri." T'Challa said with a smile.

You nodded, slightly surprised as he put his elbow out. You hooked your hand around his elbow like you had done this before, and let him lead you into the compound.

"Did the attendant behind the intercom let you know I was out here?" You asked curiously.

"Sharon? No. I was walking along the grounds. Tony has a good selection of botany here. I thought I recognized your figure and I was curious about what you were doing here so I came to inquire." He said with a smile.

We entered the Avengers compound and you took a look around. There were two women there, both dark skinned and bald. One, the taller of the two, narrowed her eyes at you. "What is-"

"This is my soulmate, Y/N Y/L/N." T'Challa introduced me. "Y/N, this is Okoye, my personal guard and friend."

There was a slightly shorter girl there with a head of hair who bounced up onto her feet, rushing to hug me. Slightly taken aback, it took me a moment to hug her back.

"Hi! I'm Shuri. You're beautiful." She said, pulling back.

"Y-You're stunning." You stuttered.

"Whose this?" A new voice, male, asked. You looked over to see the Tony Stark strolling along the floor like he owned- oh wait.

"Mr. Stark." T'Challa said genuinely.

"I'm Y/N." You introduced, sticking your hand out on a whim. No idea where you got the courage to do so, even more surprised when Tony actually shook your hand.

"Tony Stark naturally." He said easily but you felt another prick on your left arm. You fought the urge to look down. He was wearing long sleeves as well, so you had no idea if he had felt the prick. Probably, right?

You both stared at each other as you both lowered your hands. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe it was an after effect of T'Challa's bond.

Tony's eyes shifted to T'Challa as he swiped his glasses off, putting them in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "Everyone's upstairs. We're just waiting for Thor and Loki."

You blushed. There must be some sort of meeting. You certainly didn't want to intrude.

"How about we bring Y/N along here to introduce her to the rest of the crew?" Tony asked.

"Y/N?" T'Challa asked.

You were startled, "Oh, but I couldn't possibly!"

"Nonsense." Tony said, putting an arm over your shoulder. "You're clearly my soulmate, unless you didn't feel a prick in your left arm. It's only fair to introduce you to the group."

"Oh?" T'Challa asked in surprise, "You as well?"

Tony turned to look at him, "Pardon?"

You quickly rolled your sleeve up. Indeed, Tony was there on the red and gold line. Tony looked at the several lines and then whistled, "Well, aren't you a hot commodity? Definitely need to introduce you now, pretty sure that's Capsicle's line." He said, pointing to the red, white, and blue line.

Was he right? Was it really Captain America's line? How many of your soulmates were going to be the Avengers?

"Shall we?" Tony asked, quirking a brow.

Well, at least they were all hot, right?

T'Challa gave you his elbow again which you took, while Tony was slightly more possessive, taking your hand into his.

"FRIDAY, floor 47." Tony announced as we stepped into the elevator.

"Yes Mr. Stark. Miss Y/L/N doesn't have clearance however." An automated, slightly Irish sounding female voice said from. . .the speakers? The air? It kind've sounded like it was all around us.

"Override it. Miss Y/L/N can go wherever she pleases in the building, including the lab."

"You don't let anyone in the lab, not even Stephen." T'Challa said as the elevator started to move with a 'yes sir'.

"Well Stephen would break everything, but I think my soulmate right here will be quite good. Small hands." Tony said, squeezing your hand a little.

You slightly blushed. This was starting to be a bit overwhelming for you, but neither of them seemed fazed at all.

"H-How are you taking this so. . . easily?" You questioned.

"We're used to weird sweetheart." Tony dropped. "You've got eleven soulmates and we just happen to be them. At least there's no time travel or aliens involved." He paused and then questioned, "You're not an alien are you?"

"No." You said quickly. "I'm. . . average except the eleven soulmates."

"I wouldn't say average." Tony said with a nonchalant shrug, "You're quite stunning."

You blushed again.

"I was going to say gorgeous." T'Challa said in a low, husky voice that sent shivers over your spine. Exactly how long would they take to marry you? Because there was a hell of a lot of sexual tension in this extremely small box.

The bell dinged, the doors sliding open. Tony led us down the hallway at this point, pulling open one of the double doors and the three of us stepped through.

Several famous faces stared back at us and you shrank slightly into T'Challa's side.

"Whose this?" The blond man you knew was Steve Rogers asked Tony.

"Well, go on sweetheart, introduce yourself." Tony said with a smirk. You wondered just how many of the people in the room Tony suspected were your soulmates.

"Hi. I'm Y/N." You said quietly.

Five of them jerked their left arms slightly.

Steve, James Barnes, and one of the other African American men exchanged looks. You weren't entirely sure if that was Sam or James Rhodey.

Steve was the first to move, holding out his hand, "I'm Steve Rogers."

You shook it, ignoring the sting in your left arm. You'd left your jacket off, showing the eleven marks. Steve's name slowly filling in on the red, white, and blue one. Tony smirked.

"Bucky." He said. His metal arm was black and gold, but he held out his flesh hand which you shook quickly.

"Sam." The man that you hadn't been quite sure you were said next. Another sting.

"And I'm James." Another African American man stepped forward to shake your hand. "But my friends called me Rhodey."

"I'm Clint." The famous archer said, shaking your hand. Another sting.

"Natasha." The red head assassin said, holding hands with Bruce Banner.

"Bruce." He said with nod of his head.

"I'm Peter. Peter Parker." The youngest one of them said. I almost waited, cringing, for another stab of pain, but nothing happened.

"I'm Wanda, this is Vision." Another red head, slightly brighter said. The robot that was standing behind her had his arm wrapped around her waist. He settled down into a more human appearance.

"Hey I'm Scott, also known as Antman." One of the last guys with a grin said.

"Hope." The female next to him rolled her eyes.

"And I'm Maria Hill." The last person in the room said.

"Nice to meet all of you." I said quietly.

"How many lines do you have left?" Tony enquired.

"Four." I said. I showed him my arm.

"Hmm, well high probability that the gold and green is Loki. He doesn't wear anything else." Tony speculated.

"Loki?" Steve asked with slight distaste and a little bit of a frown.

"I already know the green and blue is Stephen Strange because it matches mine." Tony said, not sounding at all displeased about sharing his soulmate with You. "But the black and the gold, I have no idea."

Suddenly, the doors opened up behind us again. You pressed back into T'Challa's front as a rather intimidating man with an eyepatch entered the room. He greeted Maria Hill softly first, his one eye roving to land on You.

"And who are you?"

"Y/N Y/L/N sir." You said quickly.

There was a slight flicker as his eye moved between Maria and yourself before moving forward to shake your hand, "Nick Fury."

Another stab of pain as you shook his hand firmly. His eye flickered down to your arm, seeing his name on his arm and the multitude of colours there. "Well, aren't you special?"

Was that an insult?

He let go of your hand, motioning to Maria Hill, "This is my other soulmate."

I nodded but didn't have to say anything as Sam asked, "You and Fury? Did not see that one happening."

"Should've placed bets." Clint and Scott said at the same time.

"Guess it makes sense pure black would be Fury." Tony said nonchalantly.

Suddenly, there was a large crash of lightning and thunder outside.

"Damn, he still did it on the lawn." Tony muttered.

You were still rather stressed, feeling completely out of place at the meeting, despite nearly half of the occupants being soulmates. You weren't entirely sure if you were cursed or blessed at this point.

"Point Break." Tony barked to the tall, short brown-haired man that entered, "What have I told you about creating bifrost crop circles on my lawn?"

"My apologies tin man." Thor said in a loud, booming voice, flashing me a huge smile, "I got so excited when Heimdall revealed that our soulmate was here, I temporarily forgot."

My eyes flickered to the just as tall, polar opposite behind Thor. Loki, god of Mischief. Eyes blue as the ocean, wavy black hair neatly falling on his shoulders. He was wearing a black suit without a hint of the gold and green that showed in his colour band.

"Our?" Steve questioned behind me.

"Loki and mine!" Thor said, his voice still loud as he strode forward, "Pleasure to meet your acquaintance Princess, I am Thor God of Thunder."

He kissed your forehead and both cheeks, leaving you red as a tomato before you managed to say, "Y-Yes pleasure to m-meet you. I'm Y/N."

Loki stepped forward with more eloquence and grace, taking your hand to kiss the back of your knuckles, blue eyes never leaving your E/C ones before he said in a quiet voice that sounded a whisper to his brother, "I am Loki, my Queen."

It was so overwhelming as he stepped back and you just stood there. You had only one soulmate left to meet.

Stephen Strange. Dr. Strange.

You didn't know much about him, other than he lived in New York and had helped save the world. Oh and that he had discovered something called the multiverse. But yeah, other than that, you knew nothing about him. You weren't even entirely sure you'd be able to pick him out on the street unlike the others. Unless, of course, he was wearing his infamous robes.

As if called by your thoughts, an orange portal opened up behind Tony, a tall, extremely handsome man stepping out followed by a slightly shorter Asian man, perhaps of Chinese ethnicity, though you weren't certain. Perhaps Tibet?

The man You were sure was Stephen Strange placed a rather sweet kiss on the top of Tony's head before introducing himself to You. The familiar sting took place and You told him your name.

"Well, with introductions out of the way, doesn't change the fact you don't really have clearance for the following conversation. Neither do you Mr. Parker. So-"

"But sir." Peter complained.

"Yeah, right, of course. I should go home anyways." You said quickly. "My sister is probably wondering where I am."

"Parker, please accompany her home." Fury said with no room for arguing.

Peter followed You from the room and once you were in the elevator, you nearly collapsed. You hadn't realized just how tight and uncomfortable you had been until now.

"You alright?" Peter asked with obvious concern.

"Just stressed. That was stressful. I've gone so long without a single soulmate and suddenly they're all dropped on me. And not only do I meet all of them in one day in less than an hour, but they're Gods and Super soldiers and magicians and billionaires and spies! I mean, how is this possible?" I asked.

"It makes sense." Peter said simply. "They're all like family and they're all missing a piece of themselves. You're that."

"I thought some of them already had their soulmates." You questioned.

"Sure. Mr. Fury has Agent Hill and Agent Hill has Mr. Fury and Agent Coulson. But Mr. Fury's also had a band for the past [18-30] years, saying he had another soulmate. Mr. Stark and Mr. Strange as well. Not to mention Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, and Sam, though they're all together, they've had a band missing. And the others just haven't had one period."

You mulled that over for a moment. "It's so. . . interesting the way it works."

"Oh yeah, You should hear Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner talk about soulmate bonds. Real sciency stuff. But yeah, I got two soulmates. One's name is MJ and the other's name is Ned. I think the only one out of us all that doesn't have a soulmate is Pietro."

"Pietro. Who is that?" I questioned.

"Oh, he's Wanda's twin brother." Peter answered as we started our walk out of the Avengers compound. "He's got three bands, but he's never met any of his soulmates. But he spends a lot of time in Sokovia instead of with us."

"I thought. . . I thought he died?" You asked carefully, not wanting to bring up an insensitive topic.

"When Dr. Banner snapped everyone back, he brought back Avenger members too. That's how Natasha, Coulson, and Pietro came back. And then Captain Marvel snapped to killed Thanos and that was that."

"Interesting." Was all you could muster to say.

"Say, I could swing us to your apartment." Peter said excitedly. "We'd get there so much faster."

"Um, sure?"

What could go wrong?

*A fEw MoMeNtS lAtEr*

I'm going to die. I'm literally going to die.

You had shut off your voice so you didn't scream as you clutched tightly around Peter's neck as he swung through the city.

Sure, it hadn't been to bad when he'd first started going, but now that you were high about these skyscrapers and there wasn't even a seatbelt- well you were starting to feel a little more anxious.

Finally, Peter landed in front of your apartment building. There weren't to many people around. "See you around Y/N." He said, waving slightly before taking back into the air.

You hurried into the apartment and then made your way upstairs, opening the apartment door and stepping inside.

You sunk down with your back to the door, wondering what your reaction was going to be. Cry? Or laugh?

The apartment was silent as you closed your eyes, thinking of the head spinning day you'd had.

"Where the hell have you been?"

You screamed.

⬅️➡️

[myeagleexpert]

Saudade

Contents: Yuu returns home, but the story isn't over.

Saudade is (in Portuguese folk culture) a deep emotional state of melancholic longing for a person or thing that is absent, but you can only miss something real…right?

So why does Yuu wake up in the middle of the night afraid the ceiling might collapse at any moment? Sometimes she can't go back to sleep peacefully, which is why she sits on the porch and watches a black cat go by, jumping from window to window after anyone who will give him his can of tuna.

It's so weird for Yuu to “return” to normal when she knows she hasn't gone out or traveled for a long time but she feels something is off. She swears that her colleague Carter has always been a redhead, when the blonde actually wanted to dye it black. She was going to order some sweets from Trey Baker's bakery, a taste of delicious homemade food fills her mouth with saliva as she goes to the address, but when she stops in front of her destination her mouth, previously salivating, is stunned to discover that there never was a bakery like this , the neighbors have no idea who the Clover family is.

Her school friends never question her ability or knowledge.

"Why did you miss this potion? Can't you do it yourself?" “How do you not know something so simple? This is taught in primary schools” “Aaah, did you do your homework today? Let me copy"

She didn't listen to discriminatory words or conversations that she should think twice before answering, on the contrary…

“Your hair looks beautiful today, what did you do?” “Yuu, can you help me with this lesson? You are the best in this field” “Yuu dear, let me help you with these boxes” “You draw very well”

She would go to the zoo with her family and stare at the lazy lion hoping its eyes were venomous green and the hyena's laugh sounded different. Did I already mention the white wolf? He refuses to be buddy-buddy with anyone but as soon as you take your eyes off he's wagging his tail at them.

In restaurants she refused to eat the sea foods she always liked, for some reason the eels, octopus and shrimp made her want to vomit.

It's a strange feeling… have you ever felt it?

As if you haven't seen your family for years, when in fact it's only been a week?

As if she hugged someone, and in their warm, comforting arms she suddenly felt the chill of missing them?

Like you're experiencing new feelings in old things… or you feel a different excitement when trying the same route every day.

As if you live in a warm environment where you feel protected and loved for the first time.

By day, it's easy to dance between similar faces or conversations you've had before, it's easy to play a “game” you already know the rules. Yuu ignores these feelings during the day, when the sunlight keeps her warm and the youthful wind carries her carefree laughter.

But at nightfall, in her warm bed, the sheets trap her in terrible dreams where figures that are probably dear to her, “people of her heart” Yuu calls them, are people who live in her heart and, even if she has forgotten who they are, their presence is constant in her mind. Like false memories, or strange déjà vu, Yuu wonders what was real and what wasn't and keeps these turbulent thoughts to herself.

Dreams seem to know the answer. The heart people that Yuu feels she loves and values so much, weren't always heart people. The crimson tyrant carries a feeling of anxiety and cuts deep in the throat, the ambitious king stalks her like prey relishing her fear as claws dig into her arm, the merchant of the depths has a charming smile and calculated words, it would be the same as play a board game with the certainty that you would lose, after all, octopus arms control your every move. The throat tightens filling with sand when challenging the desert sorcerer, the shards of glass were the only thing that was warm as the blood spurted in a dark cold in the desert.

The beautiful queen made her eat poisoned apples and a sadistic smile appeared on her face as the deadly poison made her fragile body lose color and dark spots rotted her body. The divinity of the underworld preferred to burn the protagonist and leave her to suffer in a dark cloud, causing the torture to be prolonged. The dark king brings a sense of betrayal from a dear friend as thorns pierce his body.

Yuu falls out of bed, ironically…her fall saves her from a sad end.

A paralyzing fear invades Yuu, every shadow in her room seems to want to attack, the voices seem to get louder and louder screaming insults at her, a cloud of eyes and witnesses look for her weak points, a hurricane of emotions devours her piece by piece…

knock knock knock

“Honey, are you okay? I heard a noise”- her sweet mother's voice cuts off Yuu's panic as she opens the door

"I fell here, but I'm fine mommy"

It was just a dream.

“Would you like a glass of milk or some tea?”

It was just a dream.

"No need, I'm going back to sleep."- she tries to reassure her mother, who puts her hand on her shoulder

“If you say, good night.”- the mother despite being worried leaves the room, she is also very sleepy

The girl goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night, clearing her thoughts before bed.

Is not real.

If it's not real, what are those scars on her arm and neck? Where do these octopus sucks come from? When did this happen? Where did these black spots come from, it seems that the color does not return to normal there.

Is not real.

As she checks out her legs, she sees aged scars from burns on her right leg and on her left leg you don't see the marks where the thorns tortured her skin, but when you run your hand over it, if you get close enough, you feel it's always been there. .

It was just a nightmare.

That's what Yuu tells herself before going to sleep, a peaceful night will help her forget about these problems. The sight of green fireflies dances to a familiar rhythm, which in their hums works like lullaby music. Where did these fireflies come from?

Gentle rays of sunlight wake her from her sleep, as she goes downstairs she is sure that eggs would be a great idea to start the day and go training, a strong and healthy body is synonymous with a strong and healthy mind! An apple, she eats suspiciously due to the events of the previous night, her mother appears reminding her to eat healthy meals, to apply sunscreen and moisturize the skin, a person's love.

His father, “bonjour belle famille” shouts kissing each one on the forehead, he started to learn French and lives practicing with his dear family.

The calm after the storm. The feeling. The emotion. The reason. Calm is real. The storm is real. But, what about the rain? The thunder? The wind that stun? Let's analyze.

A feeling of calm after the storm. But where does this calm come from if there was no storm in the first place?

Why do you worry so much about things that didn't happen… or did they happen?

Where does the lack of belonging come from if you've never been?

saudade is,in Portuguese folk culture, a deep emotional state of melancholic longing for a person or thing that is absent, but you can only miss something real…right?

[meganlpie]

Sleeping Knight...Of Hell?!

Based on this request: : Would it be possible to do a spn Cain x Winchester reader fluffy, where cain gets cursed by a witch well helping the Winchester take down a witch. Ends up getting sleeping beauty and won’t wake up in till the reader kisses him from @sirlsplayland

Here you are, lovely! I apologize for the wait! I do not own ANY SPN characters. They are the property of the creators/writers!

Warnings: Angst-ish? Sleeping Beauty AU. Fluff.

Pairings: Cain x Winchester!reader

Under normal circumstances, you and your brothers would not want to work with a demon, even Cain. No matter how kind and fair he could be. But with you currently unable to hunt and no one else available, your two brothers reached out to Cain. The demon seemed to have a soft spot for you so he agreed to help until another hunter became available.

       "You guys be careful. Call me if anything goes wrong. Broken arm or not, I will haul ass," you said as the boys and Cain prepared to leave. Dean rolled his eyes while Sam chuckled. You turned to Cain. "Same goes for you." His blue eyes didn't betray the surprise he felt at your words. He hadn't known his safety was so important to you. Cain gave a quick nod before all three headed out, leaving you alone and bored out of your mind.

       Your boredom didn't last long, however. Too soon, the boys reappeared in the bunker along with Cas and an unconscious Cain. "What happened to him?" you asked, worry creeping into your tone without your permission. "We think he was hit with a spell, but we don't know what and we can't wake him up," Sam explained. Dean nodded along with Sam. "Cas tried and we ganked the witch, but Cain's still not waking up. But he's breathing so I guess he's still alive. For now anyway."

       You helped your brothers get Cain to a bed in the infirmary before beginning the long and difficult task of research. All the while, in the back of your mind, you worried for Cain. What if he never woke up? For some reason, the very thought made your insides churn unpleasantly. You made it your sole mission to figure out a way to wake him and soon.

*time skip*

       Weeks. You lost count of how many weeks it had been since your brothers returned to the bunker with Cain. You'd tried everything you could possibly think of to wake him. You'd even called in Rowena, who offered to go through every spellbook she could to help. Mostly because she didn’t want to be on the bad side of the Knight of Hell should he wake and partly because you told her that you’d owe her. She was very much like her son in that way. And it was Rowena’s son who would crack the case wide open.

Crowley sat with you, your brothers, Cas, and Rowena as you explained to him what was happening. While Crowley didn’t care much for Cain, he did respect him. “So you’ve had no luck waking Sleeping Beauty.” Sam shook his head, but you stared at Crowley as if he’d just said the most brilliant thing of the century. 

“Rowena?” you asked after a moment, prompting the redhead to look at you. “Are there any spells that can copy fairytales? Like…a sleeping curse?” Rowena’s brows furrowed as she thought. “I suppose there might. After all, your human fairytales have a basis in fact. It’s quite possible, but if so, I’m afraid Cain is going to sleep forever, dearie. True love’s kiss doesn’t exist.” You nodded solemnly before standing and leaving the room. All you could think about was poor Cain being asleep until the end of time.

You weren’t paying attention to where you were walking and soon found yourself in the infirmary where Cain was. With a sigh, you pulled a chair up next to his cot and sat down. “I’m so sorry, Cain,” you said softly even though no one else was around, “If I hadn’t gotten hurt, you wouldn’t be in this mess. And I have no idea how to help you. Rowena thinks you’ll be stuck like this forever.” You reached over and took Cain’s hand, repeating how sorry you were. 

You remained like that until Sam appeared in the doorway to let you know they were heading out on a supply run. “Hang on, I need to come too. There are a few things I need.” Sam nodded and turned away before speaking over his shoulder, “Alright. We’ll meet you at the car.

Once Sam was gone, you glanced at Cain again. “Come back, Cain.” You stood and leaned over him. “Come back to me,” you whispered as you leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. You straightened up all the way. However, as you turned to leave, you felt something tugging on your hand. You looked down and were surprised to find Cain’s eyes open as he stared at you in amazement. “Cain,” you whispered, unable to fight back the sound of tears in your voice.

Cain slowly sat up, his blue eyes never leaving your face. “You…” he began, “You brought me back.” Your brows drew together and you started to shake your head, but Cain stopped you. “Yes you did. I heard everything. I was trapped in my own mind, unable to move or speak, but I heard it all. It was your determination, your kiss, your…love that woke me, Y/N.”

Your eyes widened. The idea you’d gotten from Crowley had been right. It was a sleeping curse. And just like the fairytales, it was true love’s kiss that broke the spell. But that meant-

“Cain? Only a kiss of true love could have worked, if my theory was right.” A brow rose on Cain’s forehead. “Yes,” he confirmed, “Ask the question that’s on the tip of your tongue, Y/N. You already know the answer. You only need to ask the right question.”

“Does this mean that you-that you love me?” A rare, soft smile made its way onto Cain’s lips. “And you love me.” You stared at him and he stared back, an amused smile still on his lips. For a while, neither of you said anything. But the silence was soon broken by Dean. “Hey, I thought you-” You looked back at Dean, whose mouth was open in surprise. “Sonovabitch,” he muttered before turning on his heel, probably on his way to tell Sam what was happening. When he was out of sight, you couldn’t help but laugh a bit. You looked back to Cain to find him still looking at you. His hand came up and rested on your cheek. “May I?” he asked, quietly. You swallowed thickly, but agreed. Cain’s lips met yours in a moment later in a soft, sweet kiss.

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @sirkekselord @aikibriarrose @lady-of-lies @motleymoose @esoltis280 @stories-by-shanna-p @dark-angel-is-back @supernatural4life2022 @asgards-princess-of-mischief

SPN Tags: @jotink78

[brinkworth]

I heard it was your birthday @heartofspells, so I wrote you a little crack fic as a gift. (curse?) Featuring Remus, who is just trying to print his smutty fanfiction and runs into printer trouble. Happy Birthday!

Tech Support

Remus can pinpoint the exact moment his bad luck started. He’d been working on a project, printing some of his favourite fanfiction. He liked the story so much that he wanted to put a physical copy on his shelf.

It was all going smoothly at first, his printer churning out pages, all with perfectly crisp black letters printed neatly in rows. He clapped his hands in celebration. At this rate, this project would be done in record time.

That’s exactly when the bad luck starts. The printer makes an alarming noise; the paper caught half in the printer and half out. After several angry beeps, the screen reads ‘Error - printer jammed. Please clear printer and try again.’

When he opens the machine, it’s full of paper jammed into every nook and cranny. Places he didn’t know paper could even go in a printer. The printer seems to fight him as he removes it. He has to press a foot against the desk for leverage to pull out a particularly stubborn piece and the printer makes an awful grinding noise. It’s later that he sees the warning message that says, ‘Do not remove paper by pulling in this direction.’

“Oops.”

Several hours later, he’s sitting next to a printer that no longer feeds paper at all as tech support tells him they’ll mail him a new one. It should be there in 7-10 business days.

This just won’t do. Remus doesn’t want to wait that long, so he makes a trek to the store and buys a new printer. Now he’ll have two, but they’re different. And he prints a lot, so it’s worth it. Only upon getting it home, the printer won’t print anything legibly. It all comes out looking like a copy of a copy of a copy. Remus spends hours adjusting settings and test printing.

In the end, he’s sitting next to a stack of badly printed pages of his favourite smutty fanfiction when he’s back on the phone with tech support.

“Hello, thank you for calling The Printer Company. My name is Sirius. How can I help you?”

“Er- yes, hello, I just purchased a new printer and I’m having trouble with the quality.”

Sirius is very nice and seems committed to fixing the problem. He has Remus test different settings and try again several times. After 45 minutes on the phone, though, they’ve accomplished nothing. It all looks the same, and Sirius is now just as frustrated as Remus.

“Will you send me a few photos of your printed pages? One good one from your old printer and one from your new printer,” Sirius asks. “It will help me see what the problem is, and I can share them with my supervisor, who might have an idea.”

“Oh - er - sure, yeah.” Remus replies, kicking himself immediately. He should have just hung up.

He suddenly feels too hot. He begins to root frantically through his stack of papers, to find ones that might be appropriate to send.

“Oh God, definitely not that one.” He thinks, more than once.

A few awkward minutes later, he’s found two pages that look fairly clean, though by the character names, it will be clear what this is, if Sirius has ever read one of the most popular book series ever written. WHY couldn’t these characters be named something normal? Like George and Henry…

He sends the photos and chews on his thumbnail as he waits for Sirius’ response.

“Oh, I see them right here,” Sirius says eventually. There’s a shuffling noise and Remus thinks he hears Sirius snort.

Sirius hums as if he’s studying them carefully. “I’m afraid I’m having a hard time telling these two apart...”

How is that possible? Remus wonders. They are so starkly different.

“I’m just going to read these out loud to verify which is which,” Sirius says. And Remus swears he can hear the man smirk through the phone.

Remus’ eyes widen. “Oh, of course, sure,” he blurts out and then kicks himself again.

As Sirius reads, Remus wants to crawl into a hole and die. The man takes his time, drawing it out, and reading more than must be necessary for what he needs.

“Yes, yeah, you’ve got that right,” Remus says in the end, just ready to be done with this.

Another 30 minutes later, Sirius has walked him through how to fix the printer and Remus is anxious to hang up before he can embarrass himself further.

“Thanks so much,” Remus says, his finger hovering over the end call button.

“Happy to help,” Sirius says. “And you have good taste, Remus.”

Remus’ head jerks back in surprise. “Sorry?”

“I’m partial to Heartofspells’ work myself, but this is good too.”

Remus is stunned into silence for a few moments before replying weakly. “Oh.”

“Have a good day, and feel free to ask for me personally if you need help again in the future.”

Remus bit back a smile. Maybe his luck wasn’t so bad after all.

[gardensnakie]

.@nav-i-nav

YES AJSSHNSXBJSNS (referring to your stranger thoughts)

Stranger would most likely hold resentment to both Basil and Sunny. After everything, the final battle, after the realization of the truth and managing to self-forgive. It didnt help Stranger. Sure, he did what he was meant to do. A purpose fulfilled and he was meant to be erased, but he couldnt accept that. What did he want? Stranger was never acknowleged, it was always one-sided. And it was with the one person, the one hope, Stranger could rely on. Stranger remembers pieces of Basil, about how Sunny knew of his secrets, dreams, worries, all of it. It is painful, because Sunny still tried to shut him out. Stranger wants to save him, but there has to be a point where you ask "why do i try?". It might be selfish, but Stranger didnt exactly do anything wrong. He is a manifestation of the pieces of Basil Sunny was afraid him, that base eventually making him into the person he is in the present. Stranger wasnt actually there to tie the rope, he remembers it, sure, the guilt is overwhelming, but he still didnt do it. Also, while Stranger is hurt from Sunny/Omori's, he holds back a lot of his feelings for him. He is created with the outer knowledge that Stranger is a manifestation in a nightmare. Of course Sunny wouldnt think of Stranger as a person, there is no reason to be aggressive. That would probably fill that resentment further after he arrives in Faraway, since he is given that chance to be human. It seemed like Sunny's well being came first, no doubt, he was basically a god.

Resentment for Basil develops from the memories Stranger has from the recitial. "A desperate, shameful image acussed him of being somebody meant to be forsaken" is a line (maybe different wording im going off memory) i used in the fanfiction where Stranger wonders if he could possibily be a little selfish in life. Stranger doesnt want to be that unstable mess who couldnt find reason in a stressful situation.

And i agree what you said about Basil being careless about his own life and Stranger resenting that. Their abadonment struggles definetly differ from each other since Basil willingly hid away in the belief that he was undeserving of being listened to. Even so, it pulled him into such a sprial where Basil pinned those 4 lonely years on Sunny during the fight. Mostly influenced by the fact that Sunny was moving away and that Basil wasnt in the right mind space.

Stranger had no choice and had to face it all alone without any reason except for the memories he was given.

Rambling a lot, uhhhjmshsbs, about the rest of the gang, Stranger doesnt have a lot of thoughts about them. He barely remembers them, he only remembers the idea of pinics, flowers, friends, and family. He knows that the dreamworld versions are copies, so he doesnt have much to say since they were gone after the funeral.

Since Stranger is going to meet them again in the world world, he might get complex feelings seeing everyone all grown up. He might get anxious and wonder if he could really make up for what he lacked for his entire life. Its what he wanted, to belong AAAHHH LIKE YOU SAID Stranger may feel like he cant truly be friends with them. Meeting them again might make him hyper aware of who he is. An actual stranger to these people, who all changed. I have a small headcanon that Stranger would always call Hero "Henry" despite it always being his nickname because he doesnt want to seem intrusive or rude by assuming that he is close enough to call him that (unaware that literally everyone calls him Hero). Also because Stranger has never been around adults before and would probably use Ms. to address Polly as well.

Other things I think about is how Stranger precieves himself, like his human-self. He doesnt want to look too closely at his body and usually changes his clothes in the dark. Stranger isnt a human, he is a manifestation based off somebody else. A creature? He was created. Its complicated. His body is a complicated topic, one that he doesnt want to know about quite yet.

There is so much more ideas I have about Stranger. like the idea of death coming back to him, him actually thinking and wanting to go back to the darknees at one point, witnessing senseless cruetly, asking for help, the idea of aging, that fact that so many people have different minds (Stranger only deeply understood one, Sunny), self-expression, sickness, purpose and the thought of living itself.

Oh hooligans, those sillies. Stranger, as 'Rowan', hangs around with Kim and the others. Getting to know new people was suggested and Stranger got to know them a little more. I like thinking about them cause its important :>

Kim is suspcious and Stranger has to either keep lying or willingly tell the truth. Just some trust issue stuff. Cough ive been typing a lot and vomited a lot of words so yippe [good conclusion here]

[popcornoncemore]

TLDR: Basically, I have no idea why but my brain decided that in order to cope, I would need Grantaire from Les Mis in my head bc I probably have an undiagnosed dissociative disorder or something

So idk what's up with me, but I deal with stress and trauma by dissociating and just kinda becoming different versions of myself? I'm hesitant to call it OSDD or anything, but I've been doing this for quite a while now and there are a couple consistent characters that help me live life. We're all simultaneously me but also kind of not and we feel different ways about things, have different skills, and we have different priorities. There's not really an inner world for me like many people I know with OSDD, but I do have a lot of conflicting thoughts and internal conversations. Hopefully that makes sense.

There's Dallas, who is adult me and who isn't afraid of confrontation or doctors offices. There's Cheesecake, who is kind of child me who helps me deal with trauma and interact with people. There may be a guy called Maximillian who helps with my OCD stuff but idk if he's really defined enough.

But for whatever reason, a couple months ago my brain decided that the way to deal with suicidal thoughts and stress for my future was by copy-pasting the fandom version of Grantaire from Les Mis into my head? Technically, he came with the name Blake, but internally is just called R for no reason and he's a dramatic af alcoholic. I have never had alcohol or any addictive substance (besides my caffeine addiction, which is much stronger when I'm R), but when I'm in that "mode" I just get tempted to go drink it off. It's funny because it actually helps because when we're him, it's easier to pretend not to give a damn about problems and also we don't care what anyone thinks about us. It's funny because I'll feel weird in a social situation and my brain copes by turning on chilled out alcoholic man with no filter.

Idk why I decided to post about this now lol, it's just a funny thing in my head. I don't understand what this is, but it's something I've lived with for a while and I know there are some other people with dissociative disorders in this fandom who might get a laugh out of my internal fanfiction insert

[drunkinchicago]

coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird

link: chapter 1, link: chapter 2, link: chapter 3 link: chapter 4 link: chapter 5, link: chapter 6

Chapter 7: bloodstream

Depollute me, pretty baby

Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel

Water down what I call being grateful

Leith Ross

“Nothing was made by God for man to spoil or destroy.”

John Locke, Second Treatise on Civil Government

There was a time in my life where, if there was a heaven, I would’ve set fire to it.

Hozier

Monday morning began before sunrise, steam rising off of the clawfoot bathtub in Coriolanus’ bathroom. He was making a habit of this - scalding coffee, hot bathwater, biting his food long before it cooled, because why should he have to wait? Nothing melts Snow, he told himself, always challenging his boundaries, trying to imagine what an enemy would do to him so he could do it first.

Tigris hadn’t come home yesterday. Coriolanus was trying not to think about it, about the fact that she was the only other Snow left and that their relationship was undeniably scarce. She acted differently toward him and he could imagine several reasons as to why. He wasn’t the same person he’d been a year ago, and he’d be the first to admit it. Coriolanus wanted to blame this on his involvement in the Games, but that would be cheap. If he’d had a different tribute, he would’ve let them die and impressed Dr. Gaul in some other way, providing her with the same rich insight she so highly values. He was not afraid of the Games nor was he was disturbed by their conception. In fact, he was grateful for them and the many opportunities of its existence, allowing him to gloat his intelligence through his ideas. He was a Victor. That thirst for winning and power hadn’t been born into him by his assigned role as a mentor - he had been born with those traits. No, it wasn’t the Games that changed him. It was Lucy Gray.

There had been times where he fantasized about a life without their meeting, but it was a futile thought. When he thought of her and the ways she fit into his world, there was nothing but divinity. She had been the driving force for every decision that had landed him where he now stood, wealthier and more intelligent, reigning over his peers with his apprenticeship and tailored suits. He liked to convince himself that he invented Lucy Gray, that she wasn’t her without him, but he knew reality to be a much harsher truth that he scarcely entertained - Coriolanus was nothing without her.

Coriolanus stared at his hands beneath the surface of the bathwater, noticing how his fingertips were beginning to prune. Anxieties about the coming week were starting to ebb and flow through his mind, flitting around the edges of Lucy Gray shaped thoughts. The emotional high of her arrival was beginning to give way to the complexities that would come out of her being in the Capitol, the pressure of Dr. Gaul’s threats blurring the edges of his vision. He hadn’t heard from Dr. Gaul over the weekend, and she hadn’t assigned him any writeups at their last meeting. It was unnerving and irregular. Then again, his last assignment had been both lengthy and meticulous - perhaps they were due to review that first. Besides, Coriolanus wasn’t scheduled to see Dr. Gaul today anyway. He had a full day of courses at the University and intended to come home directly after to finish a philosophy paper. Had it been last week, he might have considered staying late at school to write it, sandwiched between Clemensia and Festus Creed at a crowded darkwood table. He enjoyed the library, craving the familiar grassy but sweet scent of the rotting books that the University catalog boasted - “from before the Dark Ages,” his professors would say, holding a tattered copy with yellowing pages as though it were holy. Everything must have been holy before the War, unjudged and impartial and tolerant. Coriolanus wished he could remember it, and wondered who he would’ve become if he hadn’t been choking on the taste of vengeance since grade school. He tried to imagine a softer version of himself, his frame drawn in charcoal pencil rather than sharp ink, bending at the will of others rather than breaking them. Would Lucy Gray like him more that way?

Lucy Gray. She was sleeping then, he imagined, her blanket pulled up to her perfect chin - how many times he had cupped it, rubbing his rough thumb against the smoothness of her face. Once in the meadow outside the buzzing fences of Twelve, he’d moved his hand down to neck, made confident by the sweltering heat and seclusion. Lucy Gray had smiled against his lips as he’d done it, daring him to press harder, to go further. Back then, he was preoccupied with the act of being gentle and good, caught up in the preciousness of her. But she had wanted him to, and instead, he’d moved his hand to the small of her back. She pulled away, insisting on getting back to the Covey for supper. Coriolanus hadn’t been able to tell if she was disappointed with him and was too nervous to ask. It was only a few weeks later that Lucy Gray gifted him with betrayal, reawakening the aggression he’d been swallowing every time they kissed. Since that’s how you like it, I can be harsher now, Coriolanus thought. I can hurt you in all the ways that feel good to you.

Coriolanus hesitated to grab his bath sheet as he stood, staring at himself in the mirror. He’d maintained the muscles that his Peacekeeper training had given him, stronger and leaner than any male in his year at the University. Insecurity turned on and off like the flicker of a dying bulb as he turned to the left side, the burn wounds that had become permanent scars on his back coming into view. He’d doused himself in ointments, oils, whatever he could find at the apothecary and pharmacy alike - nothing worked. They remained, a reminder of what would’ve killed him had Lucy Gray not been there to save him. Always a reminder.

Clothes, coffee, shoes, breakfast, messenger bag, call driver. His routine was just that - routine, monotonous. Today, he added a step and wrote out a menu of suggestions for Lucy Gray’s morning and afternoon meals. Breakfast: orange juice, quiche lorraine, sliced bananas, coffee with cinnamon, whatever else she wants. Lunch: gorgonzola salad with grilled chicken (perhaps add candied walnuts? Ensure she’s not allergic first). Before leaving, Coriolanus reread the note he’d left and underlined ‘not allergic’.

In the elevator, Coriolanus decided to cancel his call for the driver, opting to walk instead. This was what he once did, what he’d done for many years, back when his apartment smelled of cabbage and rat poison. It used to feel humiliating ducking through back alleys and scuffing his shoes, his only pair that was already a size too small. Now it was simply motivating, the perspiration soaking his shirt serving as a reminder of what he had been through and what he had risen above, pushing him onward as sweat danced between his shoulder blades.

-

Livia approached him during their lunch hour, an unpleasant interruption to Coriolanus’ green apple slices and Dostoevsky readings. He was sitting outside on a concrete bench that had been engraved with Panem’s emblem, the dips and ridges of the carved symbol digging into his back.

“Hi.” Livia was attractive enough to reductively be average - blonde, thin, attainable. She spoke in a gloating tone, contrived confidence brushed on like her eyeliner, which was thicker on her right eye.

“Hello,” Coriolanus replied, reluctantly shutting his book and bringing his hand over his eyes to shield the sun. The action sharpened Livia’s face before him, but made it no better. She still looked painfully regular, the daughter of a wealthy family who was convinced she was worth just as much as their revenue. She wasn’t.

“Why don’t you come out on the weekends with us?” Livia cocked her head, letting her curls fall over one shoulder.

Coriolanus didn’t have to ask who us was to know - Clemensia, Livia, Festus, Hilarius Heavensbee, Vipsania Sickle, whoever else he was forgetting. After the Games, the majority of the Mentors had remained close, gaining entry to the University and studying together in the same small groups they’d grown accustomed to at the Academy. Now that they were over the age of eighteen, Coriolanus’ classmates spent their weekends at nightclubs and other alcohol-affiliated outings in the Capitol, scandalously recounting the dramatics of such excursions throughout the school week. Coriolanus was noticeably absent and had no desire to attend. There wasn’t anyone for him at those events, no appeal in going. He planned to begin making appearances at the clubs only if Lucy Gray was booked for shows, anticipating the sight of her on stage again, making the knees of the crowd weak, his heart drumming against his chest knowing she was his. They could look, but they couldn’t touch.

“I’ve been tied up, I guess.”

Jarringly, Livia reached out to touch Coriolanus’ left wrist, examining it. “Funny, I don’t see any scars. No rope burn? Were you using cuffs?”

How desperate. He bet she thought he liked to fuck rough. Maybe he did. What would it matter to her? Coriolanus jerked his arm back sharply, embarrassed on her behalf. He wasn’t even sure how to respond.

Livia’s cheeks flushed as she observed Coriolanus’ disinterest. “I like you,” she hissed. “And you’d be stupid not to do something with that.”

Coriolanus blinked in return, not at all surprised by her shrill response. That’s who she was - loud, expectant, sneering, assuming that her opinion was remotely valued. It was true that any other boy would probably want her, but many had had her already, exchanging stories at lunch tables. Girls were jealous of her, comparing themselves to her designer clothing and routinely bleached roots. Coriolanus saw through this face. The traits that Livia thought she held - mysterious, trendsetting, likable - were characteristics that Lucy Gray possessed tenfold. And Lucy Gray wasn’t the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the Capitol. She was a girl from the Districts, if even that, natural and one-of-a-kind, created with an allure that couldn’t be replicated. That’s the kind of girl Coriolanus Snow wanted and deserved. It was entertaining to watch Livia be denied something she wanted - he imagined it must be a first.

“I’m not stupid,” Coriolanus said flatly before tossing an apple slice into his mouth.

Livia was already walking away, her skirt tight and unflattering, adding to the growing list of evidence that money can’t buy everything. “Come out this weekend, and we’ll see.”

-

When Coriolanus got into his driver’s car shortly after five, Strabo Plinth was in the backseat. It was a surprise, and a moderately unwelcome one at that. It had been a tense day riddled with assignments and he’d been unable to articulate himself when called on in his rhetoric course. Coriolanus felt off and wanted to get home, frustrated at the lack of instruction that came with obtaining your greatest desire. The combination of euphoria and lack of clarity that had come with Lucy Gray’s arrival was disconcerting. She would have to perform at shows, but when? He wanted to feel close with her again, but when? When would they share a room, when would she trust him the way she used to? They had so much to talk about in aims to understand what they'd done in each other’s absence. Was this eating her up the way it was him? The days were growing shorter as winter approached, the sun already beginning to set. It would be dark by the time he got home from school.

“Hello, Coriolanus,” Strabo said, adjusting his pinstripe tie. Coriolanus had never seen him in anything but a full suit.

“What’s this about?” Coriolanus wanted to cut to the chase, unable to play coy today. Strabo was unaffected by Coriolanus’ sharp comments, which made him all the more comfortable to make them.

The Avox driving the vehicle began to lumber forward as soon as Coriolanus slammed his door, the gravel of the cobble roads loud under the tires. For a moment Coriolanus worried this would be about Livia’s comment, already sick of the Cardews and their interest in him. He detested the notion of Strabo bartering him off like a show pony. He wasn’t something to choose, he was the one who made the choices. But that wasn’t what this was about at all.

“How’s your mail-order bride?” Strabo smirked, nudging Coriolanus with his shoulder as if they were brutish Capitol men gossiping about their boring wives, a role Strabo likely accomplished and one that Coriolanus hoped never to.

Mail order bride. The only word that stuck with Coriolanus was bride, an image of Lucy Gray in white grabbing him by the neck. “Lucy Gray is adjusting,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the hand sewn leather seat in front of him.

“She must be happy to be here, though. Must be easy enough to impress a little thing from Twelve.”

Coriolanus scoffed. “You are aware that she left me, aren’t you? I forced her here, so no, she doesn’t seem entirely happy at the moment.”

“People are fickle creatures when weighed down by the pressures of what they’ve been taught to believe. Patriotism is as rampant in Twelve as the dust of coal, scarring the faces of those worn out people. A very problematic place, really.”

“She’s not from District Twelve, she’s of the Covey.”

“All the same out there, isn’t it? Bleeding together like ink - all the same.”

If it’s all the same, what are you? Coriolanus wanted to say, irony being the richest aspect of Strabo’s perspective. District Two and District Twelve, don’t they bleed just alike too? “I’ve asked you this before, but I’ll say it again. Is this wrong to you? Are you upset with this?”

Strabo thought it over, his index finger tapping his right knee methodologically, following the same pace. “I’d simply like to be informed of your life and the decisions you have taken upon yourself to make, as is my right. Don’t you agree?”

Coriolanus could feel his blood pulsing, throbbing like something swollen and agitated. For a split second, a feeling regrettable and grim washed over him. Was this how Lucy Gray felt, indebted to a person, choiceless? He’d have to discuss this with her. He didn’t like to hunt deer that were strung up and immobilized anyway. He wanted them running, but only for fun, giving him a chase because they liked the feeling too, secretly hoping that he would shoot them down and mount their stag’s head on his wall for people to see and admire. Mutually assured destruction - it could feel so nice.

“I’m not going to marry Livia Cardew.” It was all he managed to say, ‘as is my right’ running through his head on a loop.

“Coriolanus.”

“Strabo,” he acknowledged, turning his head to meet the older man’s eyes and challenge Strabo to whatever he was planning to say next.

“I am looking out for you. I know that you assume that you know what’s best, but you are young and naive. I have been in this game longer than you have been alive. You cannot and will not become President if you take a District girl for a wife.”

“Lucy Gray has been here for two days. Let me have what I want at eighteen years old before you color my world with this speak of marriage and candidacy,” Coriolanus could hardly speak through the severity of his gritted teeth.

“I can see why Sejanus and you were such great friends.” Strabo’s voice was void of emotion, the rest of the world seeming to go quiet.

Coriolanus’ heart seized at the sound of his name - Sejanus. Sejanus.

“Why?” He sounded small, sweat beading on his palms.

“You remind me of him sometimes, so impassioned by what you think is right, so sure you know best. It’s the power of youth, I suppose. Perhaps I’ve just forgotten.”

They spent the rest of the car ride to the apartments entirely silent. Coriolanus felt as though he could read Strabo’s mind, envisioning the bittersweet recollections of a lost son. However, he was certain Strabo couldn’t read his. If Strabo could see what Coriolanus was thinking, all that he was remembering of the responsibility for Sejanus’ death, Coriolanus was certain his blood would run through the streets, thick and guilty, drying to amalgamate with dirt and waste.

-

Coriolanus worried that he had broken the front door with the force in which he slammed it. One of the maids, who was preoccupied with dusting the picture frames lining the main hall, jumped at the sound. “Where is she?” He demanded. The Avox pointed toward the ceiling, signaling with veracity.

“She’s in the garden?” Coriolanus couldn’t help but yell, furious. He thought of the rotting barrier surrounding the rooftop, imagining her stepping too close to the edge. He envisioned her running her fingers along the rose patches, her skin catching on the unbridled thorns. The maid continued to cower as Coriolanus stormed past her, running up the corridor to the grounds.

Lucy Gray was startled by his arrival, still in her nightgown, her silhouette accentuated by the waning moon. She was already close to the edge, her eyes wide and wild. Coriolanus threw his hands up, hoping to calm her, so as not to scare her.

For a moment neither of them said anything. The air was heavy with the smell of looming rain, fraternizing with the hue of roses. Coriolanus was certain it would storm tomorrow, but not tonight. Tonight was clear. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft, warm, a tone so alien to that he’d been using the rest of the day. He hardly recognized it himself.

Lucy Gray nodded, crossing her arms over her chest timidly. “Are you?”

Coriolanus shook his head as he approached her, desperate to pull her away from the precipice of the roof. “No, but that’s not relevant. Why are you up here?”

Lucy Gray didn’t move from him as he neared. “I wanted to be outside. Am I not allowed?”

Coriolanus was desperate to touch her. It was striking, then, staring at her before him, how rarely he felt the warmth of another human being. Over the last several months, he’d assumed that remembrance was enough. He could recall how she felt like it was inherent to his existence, embedded so deeply that it was just as cursory to his being as his eye or hair color. Looking at her now, he couldn’t remember it as well. The potential for new memories was too heavy, washing away what was to make room for what could be.

Once close enough, he brought his hands to Lucy Gray’s shoulders and gently moved her to face away from him, hugging the back of her. The Capitol sprawled out around them, figures moving through high rises like ghosts, flashing from window to window as they moved about. The hum of cars and electricity lines buzzed like white noise, soothing the aggressions that had been plaguing Coriolanus almost as much as the feel of Lucy Gray’s body. She didn’t protest against him, dropping her shoulders and leaning back, letting his arms wrap around the front of her and his chin rest on the top of her head. The moment was stripped down, absent of the past and current ailments, even if only for a moment.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Coriolanus whispered, afraid to disturb the delicacy of the present.

“What would hurt me up here?” Lucy Gray’s voice was equally faint, her words lingering on ‘up here’. Coriolanus wondered if she was implying that the true danger was downstairs.

“The balcony rails are decaying.” Coriolanus lifted his hand to direct her chin to the left side of the roof, showing her a gaping hole in the banister. “I don’t want you to fall.”

Lucy Gray did not respond, cheeks warm at the familiarity of his hand on her face. She was suddenly glad for their positioning and his inability to see her expression. The tenderness of his touch felt foreign, distinctly Coriolanus yet so jarringly altered from the hostile person she’d known him to be. She never quite knew what to make of him and was afraid to commit to one opinion over the other. Ultimately, it felt easier to demonize him and push him away than the alternative, which felt synonymous to betrayal, a fear greater than death, that she could love him and he could destroy her because of it.

“You can let me in,” Coriolanus whispered in her ear, close enough that his bottom lip grazed her earlobe. “You can talk to me.”

She remained silent, too afraid to say the wrong thing, more afraid to say the right thing. Instead, she simply leaned back even further, wishing to crawl inside him and make judgments on the way his heart beat and the thoughts etched across his brain. Would she understand him then? Would she understand this?

They stayed this way for a while, Coriolanus’ heart beating against her back, slowing the longer they touched. The Capitol looked beautiful, lights stretching out for miles. If Lucy Gray looked hard enough, she could almost imagine her younger self on the precipice of the world, picking flowers in Twelve. Untouched and unharmed, unaware of the darkness inside her. Innocent and rare.

[uwu-mi]

Surviving As A Maid

Description: When I opened my eyes while cooking ramen, I woke up as the Queen’s maid who was treated coldly by the King in the BL novel where the King was gay, the concubine was gay, the knight was gay, the servant was gay, and the librarian was gay.Will she be able to survive safely after becoming an ordinary maid, Ash, who has no main character buffs?

My review:

I would like to start my review with the fact that I just finished first season (gobbled it all in just one day to be more precise) and although I think the novel already ended I'm too scared to look it up because well - spoilers.

And there is A LOT to be afraid of as "Surviving As A Maid" is fucking amazing manhwa that forced me to wake up from my 'reading 10 manhwas at once as a brain turn off' mindset that I've fallen into after finishing another mind-blowingly good webcomic

Main character is called Ash.

Ash what? You don't know and neither does she.

Although MC shares her appearance in modern world with Ash (as well as certian parts of her personality) the original Ash had a life, friends and feelings towards certian someone - nothing that MC might remember

You see, this is no reincarnation into novel character with all their knowledge on the world nor popping into existence as a new character with no baggade of the past to get a new chance at life (which is usually fault of Truck-kun). No, the MC got rudly kidnapped in the middle of preparing delicious sounding dinner and thrown straight into chaos with no knowledge of her new self and only determination to stay as unnoticalbe as possible and will to survive in this new strange place

All of the characters are multilayered and you could probably write essays on their hidden motivations and what keeps them getting up in the morning (if anyone have any opinions or questions about any of those characters I'll gladly answer those) but especially MC brings something completly fresh into table as an isekaied protagonist

There is always that dissonance between her and all the other "characters" as she slowly struggles with the idea of living in this new world and treating it's inhabitants as real people - but not once does she forget of her place of origin.

Actually one of my favourite quick scenes (outside of everything with prince of course) is MC's first thought after noticing that summer is just around the corner of new world, is that it has to be winter in her homeland.

Another excellent existential horror element is fact that Ash's body is the exact copy of MC's original one which make her confused a lot about her place in universe and where she might be, and after she gets herself something to help her distinguede between those two worlds she keeps it on herself all the time

also this manhwa blessed us with this beautiful shitpost material

also also (and this might be little spoiler for chapters pre 70) if a certian white short haired man turns out to be male lead I might just fucking drop this manhwa, cause author is amazing at writing powerful and impactful scenes and his intruduction certainly made me hate that man with burning passion - and that sudden taking off his cartoon-villain-like fucking monocle that I've noticed author have been doing recently will not change my mind

Anyway this is a great read that I certainly can reccomend, so go read it and then let me know your own opinions

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Agitation 3.8

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

(Every time I type out Agitation, I feel like I'm spelling it wrong)

“Any trouble?” Grue asked Tattletale.

Tons

Tattletale took hold of the stainless steel wheel that jutted out from the front of the vault and spun it, then stopped it. She repeated the process, going right, then left, then right again, for an indeterminably long time.  Just when I had the hopeful thought that maybe she wasn’t able to get in, there was a sound of something heavy shifting inside the door.

Tattletale OP, please Nerf :P

 The bank kept copies of all important documents for the local branches here, in a fireproof vault, in case of disaster

Take those too!

Grue, for his part, withdrew a short crowbar from within the darkness that smoldered around his body.  He set to cracking open the filing drawers with the squealing noise of metal creaking and bending.

Oh. They are. Cool. I don't remember hearing about this part. Probably Coil wants to do identity theft or w/e with it.

 Or, on a similar note, maybe there was something specific that would be found in the midst of the paperwork, and he was willing to buy it all if it meant keeping his true intentions unclear.

Probably not in this case, as the Bank wasn't his idea, but it's definitely the kind of thing I can see Coil doing.

I’d only ever seen her sullen and hostile, so any smile would be kind of creepy.  It was worse than that.  Hers was the kind of smile you’d see from someone who had never seen one before and was trying to replicate one from what they’d read in books.  Too many teeth showing, I suppressed a shiver and focused on the work.

Fuck. I'm not allowed to relate to Rachel. I don't like her. But fuck me if I don't do that too. Always too many teeth when I smile on purpose. When I was a kid my then stepmom called it my 'serial killer smile' which really does to wonders for a ten year old's sense of themselves. Thanks!

The cockroach, I’d come to think of him.  The boy with no weak points.

That's a bit rude, Taylor.

Gallant was an older teenager in a gunmetal and silver costume that blended the appearance of a pulp science fiction hero with a medieval knight.

Boo hiss Dean! /s

(Dean's nice. I like Dean.)

Also, probably a striking visual image.

His muscle laden arms were bigger around than my thighs,

Does that mean much, coming from you, Taylor? :P

He’s also packing personal biokinesis, which means he’s got a kind of ability to manipulate his own body. He can heal just by concentrating on an injury, and he’s used it to bulk up. He might be capable of doing more on the fly, depending on how much he’s trained since we saw him last. He’s been a solo hero in Brockton Bay for a little while.”

Kind of the opposite of Amy then. She can affect all life but herself, and he can only affect himself.

“I made an educated guess,” Tattletale spoke in a low voice, “I was wrong.  Sue me.”

I volunteer!

“Educated guess.  It would have been nice if you had said it was an educated guess, way back when we were planning this.”

I think that's technically *all* Tattletale can do. It's just that her guesses are very educated.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was a bad situation, and worse, I was afraid it was my fault. I’d warned Armsmaster something was going to happen. I could believe that he’d told the teams to be ready to go out in force. Even worse, he could be the unknown person on the roof. If that was the case, and Tattletale caught on, I was supremely fucked.

This one's not on you, Taylor.

“You guys are masters at the getaway, right?  So we change gears.  We fight them face to face.”

There are so many ways this could go wrong for our protagonists. Is this Taylor hedging her bets, or just desperate to not get a hostage hurt and grabbing onto the only option?

[firstdivisiongirl]

Emma x Draken: Love Story Part 7

The Proposal

Emma and Draken had been together for 12 years now.  That’s right, twelve years!  Everyone has been waiting for them to get engaged.  Like, it was about time!  And Draken agreed with that!  Everyone kept trying to tell him what he should do, mainly Chifuyu.  He didn’t really listen to Chifuyu’s ideas because why would he listen to the guy that can’t get a date.  It has been exactly 10 years since their first kiss (to the day), so he had the perfect plan.

Draken had called Emma to the same place they had their first kiss, thankfully like the day they had their first kiss, it was bright and sunny.  She was sitting on one of the benches watching as couples walked throughout the park.  She looked just as beautiful the day he met her.  Her dress was flowy and navy with little flowers, her hair was blowing in the wind.  Draken really felt underdressed seeing her, even if she assured him that he looked perfect.  He took a deep breath as he played with the box in his pocket.  He hoped she liked the ring.  It took him two months to pick it out.

He walked up to her.  She stood up and hugged him.  He leaned down and kissed her.  It was getting closer to the moment.  He grabbed her hand and led her to the Musashi Shrine.  He held both of her small, delicate hands in his large, rough ones.

“You realize we’ve been together for 12 years,” he said, smiling slightly.

“I know,” Emma said smiling back, “it’s a little crazy to think about that.  But, we never really do anything special on White Day, so why are we here?”

Draken started to sweat a little.  He was never nervous.  Even in a fight or during one of Mikey’s races, but now he was so afraid.  He threw all of his plans out the window and handed Emma the little velvet box in his pocket.  Emma blinked a few times trying to figure out what was going on.  She opened the box and saw a ring.  It wasn’t huge.  It was yellow gold, with just a small little stone in the center.  Tears started to roll down her cheeks.  Draken couldn’t tell if she was happy or not.  Even after knowing her for 14 years and dating her for 12, he couldn’t understand her sometimes.

“So,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “will you marry me?”

She nodded through the tears, “yes!”  She basically tackled him in a hug.  Thankfully for him, she couldn’t knock him over.  When she was done hugging him and getting snot all over his white T-shirt, he took the ring out of the box and placed it on her finger.  “It’s beautiful Draken,” Emma said looking down at her ring.

Draken chuckled, “I hope so, it took me months to pick it out.  Hina helped me.”

“I figured.  You haven’t changed much when it comes to style since I met you.  I think this is the best White Day.  It might be better than our first kiss.”

Draken smiled down at her.  He hoped that if the proposal was any indication, they would have a lot more moments like these.  Neither could wait to spend the rest of their lives together.

Please do not copy, modify, translate or repost my writing on other platforms. Comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated!

[exactlypinkavenue]

She has a sister P1

(James Potter has always been obsessed with Lily Evans. But what if Lily’s sister, Rose Evans, was obsessed with James)

angst and more angst. Please do not copy this

James POV:

I get up, I shower, change and head for the Great hall. Some people find the walk from the gryffindor dorms to the great hall boring. But I definitely do not. In fact, I frankly cant quite understand how people think the opportunity to plan and think of your next brilliant day, is boring. As I push open the great hall doors, which are quite heavy by the way, I can’t help but stare at my beautiful Lily flower. Today she’s wearing a lovely red jumper, embellished with the lion of Gryffindor. She is also rocking some sexy ripped jeans, I mean would you look at those knee caps. She’s absolutely stunning, it’s like her beauty is pulling me in, I must go talk to her. “Hello my gorgeous Lily flower, soon to be wife, soon to be mother of my children. How are you doing on this fine Tuesday morning” “well I was doing fine, before you showed up that is” “oh come on, Lily flower I can’t be that bad can I?” “No, worse” I walked away with a sigh, right now might not be the best time to woo her. I walked over to my usual seat and waited for the jokes. “When are you gonna realize that she’s just not that into you mate” “I agree with Sirius, James, you been chasing after her for like six years now, it’s time to call it quits” “I heard that Nancy Dill is interested in you James, maybe you can work on that for a while” suggested Peter. “No, I want Lily, only Lily I am not giving up” classes went by faster then I expected. Mostly Because I was thinking of how to woo my precious Lily. Soon enough it was dinner time and I had the most brilliant idea.

I had just filled myself up to the brim with treacle tarts, fisherman’s pies, turkey legs, and all of the above when it was finally time to execute my brilliant plan. It consisted of the choir singing “say you, say me” by Lionel Richie, doves shooting from out of thin air, chocolate and letters that say “Lily go on a date with me” falling from the sky like rain, and myself taking my Lily on a beautiful ride around the Great Hall on my broom. Where we’ll catch chocolates and listen to the music, and she’ll say yes while holding me tight. It’ll be magical. I got up, stood on my chair, and gave three taps to my goblet. Very thing started to happen so fast I almost got forgot I had a part in this epic show. I ran to grab my broom which was at the end of the great hall, where the giant doors are, hopped on and sped towards my future bride. She was screaming by the time I was closing in on her, perhaps she was afraid I was going to crash into her. Anyway, I picked her up with one swift motion and placed her onto the broom, from there we soared high into the air, slightly turning to get a full view of the hall. She was starting to get more comfortable during our third lap so I decided now would be the best time to pop the question. “ evans, would you like to go out with me” “are you serious” I was super confused, why is she so mad I’d thought she would like my surprise, evans is complicated. “You arranged this whole thing, that is completely embarrassing by the way, and you expected me to say yes” “yes?” “Ughh, I hate you” can you believe this, out of nowhere she started slapping me, full on slapping “ you say you love me but this is not love potter, love is not pestering and annoying so that one can not have five minutes without wanting to pull their fucking hair out. Did you even care that I have a boyfriend. Did you even care about what kind of stress this puts On our relationship” she has a boyfriend, this is new news to me. “ you didn’t even know did you, ughh just put me down potter” I take us down and she basically sprints to the safety of this random guy’s arms, he’s some Hufflepuff. The choir has stopped singing, the chocolates and letters have stopped falling, and the doves actually never appeared. Everyone has left and I now have detention for two weeks. Funny how life is, the love of my life is dating someone else and living her best life while I have detention. “Mr. Potter I would like you to apologize to Ms. Evans, she has received an injury due to your.. actually I do not know what to call it” “ Lily is injured?” “No, thankfully not it’s her sister, Rose Evans. For some reason the chocolates fell most in her section, she was brutally pummeled the poor girl” she has a sister, Oh my Merlin she has a sister. My luck has suddenly changed for the better. “Where can I find her”

[mcalhenwrites]

Oct 14: Umbrellas

[Used an alternative prompt for today, and this is from Seasons with Bee and El - and borrows the presence of a short story I wrote years ago, called Umbrella Spider. Just fyi I didn't edit this at all, I just typed it up this past half hour lmao]

I have always had a fondness for monster stories, and Bee loves spiders, so I chose a a book we could both enjoy. It’s called Umbrella Spider, and it about a giant spider whose legs are the handle of umbrellas and have them at the knees so that people can hide beneath them in the rain.

The story is causing Bee a lot of distress, however.

“Why would they rip off his legs?” He’s sobbing as he clings to my side. “That’s so mean!”

“They wanted an umbrella more than they cared about the spider.”

My explanation doesn’t console him.

“Let’s keep reading. It must have a happy ending.”

We don’t reach that part. As soon as the centipede shows up to steal Reuben’s legs, Bee panics.

“Don’t read anymore, El! You can’t!” He’s practically screaming in my bedroom now, and while Father isn’t home, Daddy might still hear him from the kitchen downstairs. I’ll be in big trouble if they find out I read material that upsets Bee, especially when I know he’s at an age where he’s sensitive to monsters.

(But he’s been at that age for decades…)

I shut the book and put it on my nightstand to finish in my own time. I suspect the themes might be more complex than my five-year-old brother’s brain can handle.

“No more,” I promise Bee, hugging him. “You’re safe.”

“I like centipedes, but not that one.”

“I bet Reuben talks to him, and they build enough legs together to help both of them.” I have no idea if that’s true, but it sounds like a good ending to satisfy Bee. “Sometimes people do mean things to one another when they’re sad, but when they find a solution, they can become friends.”

That manages to calm him down to mere sniffling. Good. I might avert a crisis, at least until bedtime, and if tell Bee to sleep in my room a couple of nights, he’ll be safe. There won’t be an incident where my fathers wonder what got into his head to make him too afraid to settle down. He’ll have me, the brother who protects his little siblings.

“Our umbrellas aren’t made from spider legs, are they?” asks Bee innocently, his watery eyes peering widely up at me.

“No, no of course not. Our are made from wood and wire and cloth. I promise. There’s no such thing as a spider with umbrellas for legs.”

Bee nods solemnly. “Good. I couldn’t use an umbrella anymore if it came from a spider. Or a centipede, even mean ones.”

“No, no I suppose that wouldn’t be nice.” I hide my amused smile from him by pulling him close again. “I couldn’t touch an umbrella if they were made from spider parts.”

“Spiders creep you out!”

“That’s right. But I do use umbrellas, don’t I?”

Bee hums, pleased with my answer. “Okay, I believe you, El.”

I hold in a chuckle, because I don’t want him to think I’m mocking him. I’m suddenly grateful for aversion to insects, spiders, and worms. If it has more than four legs and less than one, I don’t want anything to do with it.

Bee quickly calms down, and we fetch one of his favorite books that I’ve read to him at least a thousand times over three different well-loved copies to help him forget about the Umbrella Spider.

[abbiistabbii]

Using Obsidian to organise existing Bullshit

The Alternative title of this entry should be "How the Church of Obsidian saved by dirty heathen soul".

Anyway, I have a (now on Hiatus) youtube channel that I had fucktonnes of notes, scripts and suchlike for that were sat on my overcrowded gDrive unorganised and doing nothing.

I had heard of Obsidian before but it all looked very overcomplicated and I didn't think I would have a use for it from watching all the how to videos where members of the Church of Obsidian showed people their simple (read: complex) note taking system that they had optimised.

However the one thing I will say about Obsidian is that there is no one system and because everyone works differently, everyone will do shit differently. Take ideas from those videos on how you can organise shit, but don't copy their system because their system might not work for you. However, I have been converted to the Church of Obsidian so I'm going to stand here and testify.

Anyway, as I said, I had a big fuck off load of Youtube Shit, and I decided the best way to do that was using Obsidian. Why? Well unlike other note apps, it's all text editor readable .md files. It's a personal wiki system and you can literally change .txt files to .md files by changing the file extension. Yes you heard me. Also, there is no server. If Notion or Evernote's servers got hacked or taken down, you're notes are gone. With obsidian, your notes are on your harddrive (I have my vaults, yes, plural, on a pendrive). You can put them on a cloud server or a home server or just on your PC and you can copy them and fuck around with them all you want, they're yours and if Obsidian decides "Obsidian Sync" (their optional paid web sync service) isn't enough and decide to paywall the app completely, you'll be fine because your notes are literally just a load of files readable on any text editor.

Anyway, how did I adapt all my files on gDrive to Obsidian. Well first I went to drive.google.com and downloaded all the relevant notes, scripts, files and shit relating to my Youtube Channel. They download as .doc files so I had to convert them to text. Most web "doc to txt" services limit you to two files per upload unless you pay, but I found a free (if slightly janky) app called MultiDoc Converter which is free and did the job well.

Next thing I did was mass rename the files from .txt to .md, which you can do with the shell. Yes the shell! It took me a while to figure out but here's how I did it.

Go to the folder where the .txt files are.

shift + right click > Open Powershell

Type ren *.txt *.md

This converted the txt files to markdown files. Yes, it's as simple as changing the friggin file extension. If you do not change the files to .md, you will not be able to Edit them.

Next is to open a new vault in Obsidian (if you don't already have one). In Obsidian, make a folder for all these new files (if you want) and in the file explorer, move all the files from the folder where they were into the folder in your vault.

Congratulations, they're now in Obsidian.

Now what?

Well the files (for me) were unlinked and unorganised. So I took the subjects the videos were on (I had a lot of videos about closed stations) and put relevant hashtags in them to link them all together, then when an article mentioned something else, I would link to the article using that.

This was a history channel, so I made a lot of Ghost notes to link references to years together (some I made into blank MOCs) and gave them the Hashtag #year. You can't make hashtags from numbers I'm afraid.

The Result?

Organised, but searchable and indexable chaos.

I'm now using Obsidian as a note app regularly, albeit on a different vault in a different method.

[fistsoflightning]

01 | TAKE THE WHEEL

ffxivwrite2024 01: STEER to control the course of; to be subject to steering

desperate times call for desperate measures. atalanta & a monster. 1390 wc.

It took her a small eternity to work out how to open her eyes, mostly because she couldn't remember how the muscles in her face were connected or how many eyes she had to begin with. Or eyelids. She was used to having transparent ones, not this—solid nonsense that left you vulnerable. How useless. And when she finally got them open she couldn't even tell she had managed it for several minutes because these eyes were no better than a nychterida's. It looked just as dark as when she had her eyes closed, black as death and no less cold. The only reason she could tell she was in a cavern was the roughness of the stone beneath her hands, the curve of the wall pressing into her back. Everything in her burned and ached the longer she stared into it.

She was alive. Returned to the land of the living after so long.

Then she realized what must have brought her here and a much sharper feeling started to bubble in her blood.

"You little coward," she roared, an awful ache in her throat revealing itself as she did. What came from her mouth barely sounded like words. Forget that. Forget everything she'd thought before. None of that pissed her off more than Them. She tried to leave, to claw deep down inside her—inside Their body and rip until They were forced to wake up, to take it back, take it all back, but in her fury she lost control. Every muscle spasmed. Ligaments groaned. It was only when something snapped that she grit Their teeth and stopped herself before anything more permanent occurred. The satisfaction wasn't worth the retribution she'd earn—though, if she did it right, ruined just enough…

"Alright, monster, listen close."

She froze at the sound of Their voice accompanied by a flickering light, confused and afraid. By this point she'd tipped Their body over from its seat by the wall, cheek pressed to cold and damp cave-floor as blood dribbled from the mouth, and a terrible feeling came over her; she'd been tricked, she'd been lured out to slaughter, she was in a different body and They were in the shadows ready to be free of her for good.

But Their voice came again, in perfect time with the light, and she heard it: fear.

"Don't go getting any clever ideas. You're only here because I let you," They said, and there—a tremble, a pause for a deep breath. That was a thing They did to stay calm, wasn't it? She copied them, a slow in-out-in-out through Their mouth, and most of the burning feeling everywhere dissipated, which was strange. "And before you start tearing me apart, you're not here for anything but to sit here. Right here. Get back up, you melon, before you get me ill from all the… cave dirt. Or what have you."

In a stubborn fit, she tried to stay still, but something in her coiled tighter the longer she laid on the floor. Maybe it was already too late to not be infected, or some manner of spell to compel her. Either way, she got up.

As she did, clumsily bending one arm to brush the sharp pebbles off Their face, she saw it—she saw Their sword, glowing to the rhythm of Their voice. It had been stabbed into the floor clumsily, at an angle that threatened to tip over the longer it remained that way. But it stood, and if she focused, she could clench Their hands and feel the exact way the sword's handle would fit.

"In the interest of curbing any rebellion, I might as well explain what you missed."

She groaned. "Just because I reside within you doesn't make me blind," she said. "I know already, you—"

But They couldn't hear them, or at least Their spellwork couldn't. "In the process of aiding Azem with this week's disaster, there was an earthquake. Or a landslide? Can't seem to recall the word. Either or works for you, I suppose. I got caught, and then—I was. Here." Pause. "I think I fell through somewhere I wasn't supposed to. They warned us—the village. To create, they convert aether from the abundance of crystals grown underground, instead of putting their own aether into the already-dense aetheric atmosphere of their home. They said they were trying not to give the wildlife anything more to gorge on. Creative of them. Wish I could manage even that."

"Haven't you done enough?" she grumbled. Not only had she been unceremoniously dragged here, but now she was forced to listen to more of their moping? Was it not enough that she had already personalized her own little space in hell? "I'm sitting right here."

Pause. Pause.

"I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. For the rambling and what I've done."

She blinked. Once, then twice. That was… new. Her memory was blurred, terribly so, but in all her time she couldn't ever recall anyone knowing of her and apologizing.

Their words started gaining speed. "If I were better, maybe you wouldn't be stuck down here in the dark with me. Just my luck I fell into one of the emptied caverns. It's so dark. I can't think here. So in a desperate act, I forced this on you. To think. I'll come back when I've got something. All you need to do is stay here and—not break anything. Please. I'll make it up to you, find anything you want, get your revenge twice over, just—" Deep breaths. She could feel the last remants of Their panic still running through Their blood. "Don't make me come back until I'm ready."

She watched the sword carefully as the last few sparks of aether conveying Their voice guttered out and left her in the dark for good. It was still there, a short distance from where They had abandoned their body in cowardice.

But she knew that fear intimately, didn't she. Some amount of satisfaction rose in her knowing that They were no stronger against it than she was.

And—They were sorry.

Careful of the thing in Their back she had pulled too hard earlier, she got up from her seat and stumbled over to the sword. There was no telling in the void-black darkness where the handle met the blade, and she misplaced Their hands, but it did not cut. She smiled when she finally set Their hands in the correct place, the barely-there callouses feeling at home on the grip. Her approximation of a smile must have looked strange—all teeth and pulled too tight, but who was here to see? What mattered was that it felt good.

"My turn to talk, abomination. And I know you can hear me," she growled, though she tried hard not to ruin anything this time. Who was she to ruin what she'd been offered? "You're as much a fool as the rest if you believe I'd just sit here in the dark until you come to collect. And couldn't you have thought to ask my opinion with all your intelligence, instead of so rudely dragging me out?" She paused. "Though I have to admire your cleverness. Your body is a mess, but I've not had one in an age. What a wonder it is to feel. We should do this more often."

Her old senses were rusted, but having to listen to Them talk had given them time to line up alongside Their senses. The dark remained as it was, but the body had other ways to discern its surroundings, and They had given her a clue. If she were any other being, it would have been useless. But she had spent countless years in a 'dense aetheric atmosphere' and could tell apart ambient from living by smell alone; there was at least one thing underground with her, and if she could find it, make it afraid, make it want nothing more than to escape her, then maybe it would run to the surface. Leave a path to follow.

Better than than to sit here. She pried the sword from its resting place and hefted it onto her shoulders.

"I've no desire to be trapped down here any more than you do," she said, "so let's get out of here, 'Atalanta'."