#sorry for the lack of punctuation i just didn’t feel like adding it

[vampiresluvr]

today at work a guy (probably in his late 30s, early 40s) was checking out and when it came time for me to put his stuff in a bag he held it open for me which 99% of customers don’t do and I kept thanking him and one time he said ��you got it” which made me blush profusely which I’m pretty sure his kids picked up on but oh well

[wishesfromwithin]

soulmates and stars

synopsis: jason and y/n have been friends for months both concealing their feelings from each other but could they express them if the right date was planned?

warnings:cringey,first writing so may be horrible(sorry!),like 2 swear words, lack of punctuation 😔,tense may randomly change

word count: this is a guess but maybe around 2-3k??

trope:friends to lovers

pairing:jason x gf!aphrodite reader

authors note:hope you guys enjoy!it’s my first time writing so i hope this is okay! happy reading!!💕

———————————————————————————————————————

you walk into cabin 10 after an amazing day hanging out with ur friends (specifically a certain blond hair blue eyed boy) and collapsed on your bed. you were worn out completely after a cool day playing in the lake and now just lay there silently, milling over the events of the day and occasionally blushing when remembering a few conversations with one of ur close friends jason. but the peace didn’t last long as soon you remembered you had a camp meeting that must be attended,and since you got voted for head councillor that seemed to be your job.

slowly but surely you picked each leg up and dropped onto the floor forcing yourself up with the thought of who would be at the council meeting, you chucked on some baggy joggers and a sweatshirt as you weren’t too bothered about ur appearance especially until you got some food in your stomach. god ur were hungry. that thought faded to the back of ur mind when u glanced at a nearby clock and… shit u were late. you rushed out of cabin 10 but was stopped almost immediately by one of ur cabinmates, natalie, asking you about new renovations to the cabin.

“hey y/n, i’ve got some cool colour designs here if you can take a look?”she said giddily. natalie was an avid interior designer who was always trying to trap you in a corner to speak about colour shades and storage compartments.

“i’m sorry natalie” you replied while walking backwards.

“i can’t stay and talk got to get to a meeting, maybe we can chat after tho?” you added, secretly hoping you would be able to avoid her and just go straight to bed.

“okay! i’ll have some new ideas by then anyways” natalie replied

great, you thought silently praying to ur mother that you don’t bump into her on ur way back and promising to speak to her tomorrow

but ur grumbling was quickly ended when you felt yourself hit a hard,tall surface. you turned around swiftly ,mouth open to apologise to whoever you just walked into but it closed quickly when you turned and met electric blue eyes.you felt your heart flutter and could feel colour rising in your cheeks.

“oh hey jase” you exhaled,relieved ur weren’t the only late one.

“hey y/n, you okay?”

“yeah i’m all good!what makes you ask?”

“oh you know, just the fact you walked into me maybe?” jason said with a slight laugh

oh yeahhh, you thought collecting your scrambled thoughts.

“oh yeah super sorry about that”

“no ur not”jason replied, a smirk rising on his lips

“no i’m really not” you say a smile rising on the corners of your mouth.

“wanna walk to the big house with me?” jason asked, a faint pink colour rising through his neck and spreading over his cheeks

“of course i will j, you know me, always late” you replied ur own cheeks flushing hot as you start a gentle walk across the grass, occasionally bumping into each other and feeling a shock of electricity run up your arm.

you find a general conversation topic and speak back and forth until suddenly a thought pops into ur head just at the entrance of the big house

“hey j, how come you were so late today ,your usually soo early?” you questioned,wondering why he was so held up.

“oh i just-i had to- i got carried away with planning something,shall we go inside?”jason said unusually quick.

“yeah…sure”you said wondering why jason was acting weird all of a sudden.

the meeting went quick,just weekly notices mainly but you had to admit you weren’t listening that much as you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with jason.during the meeting he wouldn’t meet ur eyes and kept gazing out the window. odd you thought, something must be up jason never acts like this? you wondered

after the meeting ended you rushed out the room,desperate to reach the familiar colour of blond hair and soon enough you do. speeding to catch up with his long strides you chase him down.

“wait j, i gotta talk to you” you barely managed to breathe out, out of breath from trying to keep up with his long strides.

“oh hey y/i” he said a quiver in his voice as if he was anxious,

“what’s up”

“the sky” you replied an ever lasting joke between the two of you,

“no but really we gotta talk” you pressed, grabbing his arm gently to slow him to a stop

“okay…” he said staring at your hand against his skin, when you notice him looking at it you remove it but wish you hadn’t.

“are you okay?”you breathe out, suddenly overcome with an adrenaline boost

“i only ask because you wouldn’t meet my eyes in there and you were acting weird before we went in”

jason stared at you for a second before opening his mouth but closing it again with a sigh

after a while he finally spoke, much to ur happiness

“im fine really y/n” he stated with a sigh

“okay,why were you late for the council meeting today then?” you questioned, determined now to get an answer from him even if you didn’t know if you actually wanted the truth.

see the truth was that you have slowly been falling for the blond haired son of zeus ever since 5 months ago, when you started getting to know him better and you started to realise he wasn’t as closed off as others thought and that he was funny,kind and caring in the best ways a person could be, his personality was the one thing you absolutely fell in love with. well, his appearance certainly helped but mostly it was his personality. but you’ve kept your feelings hidden, not wanting to ruin the friendship and resorted to only living your feelings in your dreams.

“i-i” jason stuttered unable to form full sentences

“just tell me!”you said, ur voice pleading as if the answer was going to upset you

jason stared at you again,as if deciding your fate, closed his eyes and whispered…

“i-i was planning to take someone star gazing” he exclaimed slowly as if waiting for your reaction to each word.

“and i thought” he continued, ur heart beating faster than ever “that that someone could be you.” he stated barely a whisper.

oh.

you could’ve have sworn your heart just grew inside your chest. you secretly pinched yourself to make sure this was happening.

it was.

“oh” that was all you could manage to get out through your fantasy.

“i mean you don’t have too, don’t feel forced, it was just an idea” jason whispered, his voice having an edge of sadness in it.

when you didn’t say anything still,jason turned to walk away,head turned to the floor but you grabbed his arm again, this time firmer and made him double back to you. electric shots ran through your body filling you with warmth.

“no no! i would love too! really jase i would” you finally got out, a sense of happiness filling the air around the two you stood

“really?” he said

“really really really!” you nearly shouted back

“cool!”he exclaimed his face lighting up, exciteness clearly visible through his features.

“cool” you replied,a huge smile intruding onto ur lips.

without realising it the two of you had slowly made your way to the front steps of cabin one.

“okay then i’ll see you tomorrow.9pm.the strawberry fields. try not to be late”jason said with a chuckle.

“i’ll try but i’m not promising anything”

jason laughed and then looked down at you for a couple of seconds as if taking in your features.

“okay goodnight then” he whispered

“goodnight”you whispered back and slowly turned on your heel and started your walk back to your cabin.

a sense of utter happiness had consumed you,but most of all you were overjoyed that your dreams were finally coming true.

******

the next day passed slowly, you trained some new campers, spoke about colour schemes with natalie as you had promised and gave various people relationship advice but couldn’t help glancing at the clock frequently to see how much hours were left until your date.you hadn’t seen jason at all that day but thought that was for the best seen as you wouldn’t be able to compose yourself in front of him right now anyways, you were far too giddy .as much as you were excited about this date you had to remind yourself not to get carried away.this could be a friends thing.he may not feel the same about you so no point in getting your hopes up just yet, you kept reminding yourself.

your siblings questioned why you kept fidgeting but you shook them off each time they asked not wanting to get their hopes up for you too and they soon stopped asking.

finally the clock hit 8:55pm, you got up and started walking towards the strawberry fields in a flowery,mid length dress that hung to your body in all the right places. this was it you thought , the moment you’ve been waiting for.

when you first laid eyes on the sight in front of you, your heart melted. there he was, looking perfect along with everything else. a big telescope was placed in the middle of a blanket and he was adjusting it when you walked up.

“hey jase”

“oh hey y/n! your just on time, sorry i was just sorting the telescope out”he said facing the it.

“yeah i thought i would make an exception to my late streak for you, do what you need to, i’m so ready to see some stars tonight! will the sky be clear enough to see them? you asked,looking unsure at the clouds on the horizon.

jason finally turned to look at you and when he did his mouth fell open a little.he stared at your face before he seemed to regain his thoughts.

“wow y/n you-you look absolutely stunning” he managed causing you to blush.

“thanks,you don’t look to bad yourself” you said with a huge grin.

jason stared at you some more before finally answering your question.

“yes it should be okay,i’ve made sure of it” he answered still looking into your eyes

oh yes, you thought of course it will be fine he is the son of the sky god after all.

“come and sit” jason said inching to the right more so you could get on the blanket.

when you sat down,you looked up and saw tiny dots of glitter sprinkled in the sky.

“woah” you exclaimed taken aback by how pretty the stars looked

“i know right” jason said proudly “i found this spot a while ago and have been coming here nearly every month”

“i can’t blame you” you said still in awe “it’s beautiful”

jason chuckled and looked through the telescope, you watched him enamoured by his movements,mesmerised by him.

“this star here” he started “is the arcturus, it means guardian of the bear in greek” jason said, still looking through the telescope but you spotted him glance at you with a smile before he started on a new star.

you two sat like this for a while,him telling you about all the different stars in the sky and you listening carefully truly interested in what he had to say. you watched the stars through the telescope and he quizzed you on what each meant until you could name at least five stars by sight. then all of a sudden you spotted a new star,to the right of you, one jason hadn’t told you about yet.

“what’s this one mean?”you asked, gently swerving to the side so he could take a look through the telescope,his arm leaning against yours now.

“that is perseus and that is andromeda next to it ,their love story was outlined in the stars for all of eternity” he said,glancing at you

“that’s so sweet but so sad at the same time” you said quietly meeting jason’s eyes

“would you ever want to be written in the stars for all eternity?”

“ maybe, if it was with the right person” jason said,now staring straight into your eyes

“j, i’ve got something to tell you” you said surprising yourself and talking quickly so this moment doesn’t ends and your confidence doesn’t drift away.

“this is weird and i don’t want to ruin our friendship, but i think you deserve the the truth” you started, unable to take your eyes from him.

“the truth-the truth is i-ive fallen in love with you” you blurted out, very surprised with yourself

“and i don’t want this to ruin our friendship but i had to tell you before it was too late”

jason stared at you,clearly stunned with your outburst before speaking, his expression unable to be read but his eyes had a glint of reassurance in them.strange.

“too late till what?”he questioned a look of concern filling his face.

“i don’t know,too late before you start dating anyone else i guess”you said ,hanging your head slightly from his short reply.

without realising it the two of you had moved your heads closer and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.

“eons ago,humans were said to have four arms four legs and two faces” jason whispered staring into your confused eyes “but our pride was too much so zeus was said to have split us in half as punishment” he went on slowly his face inching closer and closer to yours “humans are destined to walk the Earth searching for our other half, for some they spend their whole lives searching but i know right now, i won’t have to search any longer”

when he kissed you it felt like you were melting from the inside out, your lips moving with each other, your hand coming up the touch his blond hair while he gently brushed his fingers against your cheek occasionally sparking you gently .you felt alive, you felt like you were falling but to a happier place.

when you pulled apart, you rested your foreheads against each others looking at each other longingly, a sense of happiness surrounding you.

“that’s the best thing that anyones ever told me” you breathed out

jason chuckled as he wrapped an arm around you and you rested your head against his shoulder as you both watched the stars take over the day and you both sat, the both of you feeling happier than you ever had before.

[rent-a-bat]

Hi! Would it be cool if I requested “breathless kisses” with Jason Todd, please?? If it’s not a problem, could you throw in words? Idk I just like when words are punctuated with pecks 😊

I was kind of lost on how to do this, but I like how it came out. Thank you for requesting it!! @honey-im-hotdog hope you like it!!

"I'm sorry y/n, I don't think I can make it tonight either."

"It's okay."

"I'll make it up to you."

"Jason, it's fine. Don't worry."

"I'll see you soon."

"Bye."

"I love you." You said just as the call ended.

Today was your anniversary, or at least the celebration of it. The real one had been almost two months ago, you wanted to celebrate, but every time, a new mission would come up, and your plans were thrown away.

Guess some things we're more important. Missions were important, and you knew that, you understood. The perks of dating a vigilante. Still, you couldn't help feeling lonely.

Worst part of it all, never once had you heard him say "I love you". It was breaking your heart, making you ache inside. You knew he didn't have to say it back, that it would happen when he was ready, and that no matter what, your feelings for him won't change, but the fact it wasn't returned, even after so long, was one of the worst things in the world.

Every time you talked about it with your friends, their answer was the same. That it was time to move on. No point in sticking with someone who may never return your feelings. Better find someone who does and settle down.

Maybe they were right.

You can't remember the thing that made you snap. So lost in the emotions to clearly think about it. The pain it caused the only memory you had.

You opened the door of your building, the only barrier keeping you from the freezing cold outside. The building was silent, not even a whisper could be heard, he wasn't coming for you. Before you could think it further, you stepped outside and began to walk.

Barely a few steps down the sidewalk, a voice above you shouted your name, something behind you falling with a heavy thud.

"I'm leaving Jason." You said without looking back, resuming your walk.

"Please, wait." You heard his steps on the sidewalk as he tried to reach you.

"No. I've waited enough." You said, head falling down. Hugging yourself to try and shield you from the cold, or at least that's what you told yourself. "It's okay, Jason. Really. I know you don't feel it and I'm not gonna force you to say something you d-"

"I love you." You stopped on your tracks, unable to finish talking. Slowly, afraid it might disappear, and the words you just heard were nothing but a dream, you turned back.

"What?" You asked in disbelief, like a plea, a plea for it to be true, still not sure of what you heard.

"Y/n..." Your name sounded like a prayer. He closed the distance between the two, arms stretched toward your as he ran, holding you tight once he reached you, still unmoving.

Crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. Arms tight around you, pulling you close against him. There was no rhythm to his movements, only passion and desire as he claimed and claimed your lips, over and over.

You parted away to catch your breath, still safe in his embrace. Your foreheads pressed together, both panting from the lack of breath, sharing the heat as you both fought to stay warm.

The smile on his face was dashing as he looked at you, so clearly satisfied with himself when he dived back, catching your lips again.

"You."

Peck

"Have."

Peck

"No."

Peck

"Idea."

Peck

"How."

Peck

"Much."

Peck

"I do." The last kiss was just like the first. Long and filled with love and desire. His tongue explored your mouth, not claiming but marking you as his, only his.

"And I'm sorry, for all those times I didn't say it back. I didn't want to hurt you, but I ended up doing just that every time I held back." He shook his head, hair falling over his face.

"Please, forgive me." He said at last, closing his eyes, moving back to give you space, waiting for your answer, whatever it was.

"Say it again." You finally said after a while. The smile he gave you warming you all over as you answered him, his eyes looking at you like you had given him the moon.

Grabbing you by the waist he pulled you back, arms tight around you in s sweet embrace. His nose brushing against your face, breath hot against your ear.

"I love you." He whispered, his lips soft as he kissed you again.

Tag list under the cut (message me if you want to be added - This is also a general tag list so tell me if you don't want to be included)

Tag list: @togasknifes @thelindalorian @fizassyeda @apric-t @brightjimini @candlestudy @dickgraysonsscrumptiousbooty @profoundgreenturtle @little-miss-naill @drebi-san @truly-dionysus

[violetlichen]

showering together | avery edition

an expansion of this headcanon. not super pleased with this one but I find avery to be kind of dull. sorry! m!avery/gn!pc sfw, slightly suggestive

Going out with Avery was always a decadent affair, but somehow you didn’t feel truly spoiled until you experienced the water pressure in the shower of the five star hotel suite he routinely rented out. You had learned early on in your arrangement that every luxury came at an angle. He’d take you to restaurants you’d only ever dreamed of stepping in, only to order tasty but unfulfilling dishes for you. He’d whisk you away to beautiful banquet halls filled with music that sounded like nothing you’d ever heard before, only to be expected to show up the other dancing couples. And at the end of every night, there’d be a wad of cash with your name on it, but only if Avery got his happy ending.

But that five star shower? Compared to the cold, puny drippings of the orphanage’s bath… that truly was heaven on Earth.

Your fingers danced over the many different products, remnants of Avery’s extended stays there; scented oils, body scrubs, shampoos and deep conditioners with no English instructions, bars of soaps in intricate shapes. Most of these things you noticed had never even been opened. You wondered if he’d be upset if you used any of them.

You decided to stick to the basics, picking up what you hoped was shampoo, and began to work it into your hair when you heard a knock on the bathroom door.

It opened before you could respond, and Avery let himself in without glancing at you and walked over to fiddle with a cabinet above the sink. You fought the instinct to feel a little silly at your exposure and his lack of acknowledgment; the bathroom is almost the size of your bedroom and every sound echoed the perimeter of it, and the shower area itself is sectioned off by only a thin wall of foggy glass.

You rinsed the product out of your hair and moved on to a sweet smelling conditioner, the sounds of Avery going through the steps of his morning routine punctuating your every movement. Would it be frivolous to ask him to join you? Would he find it sweet? Or would you just be getting in his way? You both had places to be, and you weren’t sure if his perfectionism extended to his morning rituals.

As if answering your thoughts, his reflection in the mirror sniffed, and then his clear, deep voice rang out almost absent-mindedly, “It’s like a sauna in here. You’re running the water much too hot, dear. It’s terrible for your skin.”

You wanted to ignore him, the current temperature so blissfully toasty, but you reflexively adjusted the handle of the water a little to please him.

“I’m afraid there’s no time for warming you up this morning,” he said as he discarded his pajamas and entered behind you. He reached around you to correct the handle all the way to the left. It didn’t take long for the water to reach a skin-numbing degree and you were careful to not let Avery see you deflate with disappointment. “I’ll make it up to you.” He added.

You moved out of the way of the stream as much as you could, thankful you’d gotten most of the conditioner out of your hair beforehand.

He began to clean himself up, making idle chit chat with you about the day ahead. He complained about the design and supposed superiority of his associate’s business card compared to his own, and how he swore it was done intentionally to outshine him. You weren’t sure what to say in response to that, but you nodded along and hummed in agreement anyway.

Eventually Avery shut the water off, ushering you out with a sneaky squeeze to your bum and over to a pair of microfiber robes he’d laid out on a cushioned bench, complete with matching plush slippers. You dressed in silence, eventually changing out of the fancy robe and into your school uniform as you both continued to get ready for the day, until it was finally time to walk out the door. He pulled you closer to him, giving his lips a tap like he always does, and you answered with a quick peck.

“Don’t forget you promised to warm me up,” you admonished.

He beamed down at you fondly. “I look forward to it.”

[notanotherreidgirl]

Lesson Plans

Summary: Spencer’s TA helps him organize his class all while developing a crush on him, little do they know that he feels the same way

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: none? there’s some kissing

Word Count: 1434

A/N: I definitely need to go back and edit this one!! 

Dr. Spencer Reid was the most eccentric professor you ever had. 

He didn’t use any technology at all. Opting instead to handwrite his lesson plans on the blackboard in slanted chicken-scratch. He never got through his material anyway, easily getting caught up on tangents and explaining his own jokes. On the first day of class, he passed out an 8-page double-sided, single spaced syllabus. It was clear that he spent a lot of time on it but he had neglected to staple the pages together so no one walked out with more than 5 pages. Not that it really mattered, he barely followed the syllabus and half of it were recommendations for optional reading. 

The lecture hall was always full but for the people who weren’t auditing, the class was a bit of a mess. Despite the chaotic nature of the course, students kept signing up. How could they not? Dr. Reid was charming and effusive and he rounded everyone’s grades up to an A. When you took the class you were completely entranced by him but you couldn’t shake your frustration with the lack of organization. What was even worse was that most people just took his class for an easy A and hardly bothered learning most of the material. You couldn’t believe it - you had been dying to take Criminal Psychology and you poured your heart and soul into your assignments. When the end of the semester rolled around and TA applications opened, you applied without hesitation.

When Spencer saw that you had applied to be his TA, he very nearly hired you without reading any of the other applications. He refrained from referring to his obvious affection towards you as a crush - that epithet seemed too juvenile - but that’s exactly what it was. A giant schoolboy crush that had completely obliterated his ability to think. He had a tendency to ramble but it was exponentially worse this past semester with you sitting in the front row. 

It only took him one week to commit your routine to memory. Get to class 5 minutes early, sit in the front (5 seats from the left wall), drive him crazy for the whole lecture (chewing on pencil erasers and giving him small smiles when he made eye contact), have lunch at the cafe downstairs, then camp out at the library for a few hours. You were a fastidious creature, orderly and straightforward. It came through in your papers too. Well-constructed arguments that got to the point without unnecessary filler. He was embarrassed to admit that he made copies of your papers and reread them, taking note of your syntax and word choice. 

Your first order of business as his TA was to digitize his notes, taking pictures of the blackboard after class and making concise powerpoints that were sent out in friendly weekly emails. You also revamped his syllabus and held your own office hours since his were always well attended by adoring students who never seemed to ask questions about the course material. It was a lot of work but you could talk about the course material all day. You loved the class and you loved teaching your students which would’ve been just fine if you didn’t start to love something, or rather someone as well. 

The semester flew by and your feelings for Spencer only grew stronger with every day, with every evening you spent grading papers together, with every coffee wordlessly passed between you, with every lesson plan you outlined together. And now it was all coming to an end. You were standing in the doorway of his office making promises to stay in touch and thanking him for this experience while the voice in your head was practically begging you to say something. But you didn’t. What would you even say? How does one tell their boss that they are completely in love with them? What if he didn’t want anything to do with you afterwards. With these thoughts heavy on your mind, you finally turned to leave. 

“Wait, Y/N, I know what you did for me this semester.” Spencer realized that this was his last chance to say something, anything to let you know how he felt. His words came out in a rush, “I know that I’m not the best professor. I don’t follow the syllabus and my grading system is all over the place and I ramble. I’m even doing it now. I’m rambling. I know there are so many things I should change but -”

“No!” you immediately clamped a hand over your mouth but it was too late, your impassioned outburst had already escaped. To say you were mortified was the understatement of the century, you would have given anything to disappear right then. 

Spencer, on the other hand, was thoroughly amused. It was as if you stole all his anxious energy away. “What do you mean, no?”

“It’s nothing! I just - well, I just mean that you shouldn’t change anything. You’re perfect just the way you are.” Your eyes widened. How was it possible that every word out of your mouth made the situation exponentially worse? “Not perfect - no one’s perfect! I just mean that you're fine. Your class is fine!”

For a moment you recalled the transporters in Star Trek. Beam me up Scotty, you thought uselessly. 

Feeling exceptionally bold, Spencer pulled a chair up to his desk. “I think I know what you mean, darling. Why don’t you take a deep breath and have a seat?”

You had been considering making a run for it but your legs promptly turned to mush after he called you darling. He had pulled the chair to his side of the desk so you were sitting right in front of him less than 2 feet away. You were determined to get the situation under control so you took a deep breath before starting.

“Dr. Reid, I wouldn’t want you to change a single thing about your teaching style. I became your TA because I wanted other students to enjoy this class as much as I did. Everything I did this semester was so that you could keep teaching in the irregular, fun and inspiring way that you do. I didn’t mean to overstep and I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I think you’re not a good professor. Because you’re not. It’s the opposite.”

After finishing you nervously looked up at his face expecting admonishment only to be met with pure adoration in his honeyed brown eyes. He reached into your lap and took your hands in his. You had expected the hands of an FBI agent to be hard, weathered from chasing down killers but his were soft and he held you so carefully like he was afraid you’d pull away. 

“Thank you” he whispered. He brought your hands to his lips and you had to press your feet into the ground to keep from floating away. “I wanted to say thank you for typing up comprehensible notes and replying to every email and making sure there’s always sugar by the coffee machine and listening to what I have to say and for letting me be myself”

Your breath hitched, you hadn’t realized that he’d noticed everything you’d been doing in the background. You squirmed in your seat, taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. Could he see right through you? 

“It’s really nothing, Dr. Reid” you murmured. 

“No, it's not,” he leaned in closer, so close you could feel his hot breath on your neck and you were sure he could hear the drumbeat of your heart. “Not everyone is willing to be patient with me and even fewer go out of their way to make things easier or better without trying to change who I am. I know I’m a difficult person but you don’t make me feel that way. I’m beyond lucky to have you.”

He paused before adding, “That is, if you’d have me?”

Whatever was left of your self-restraint disintegrated when you pressed your lips to his. You laughed into his mouth, joy bubbling from your lips and filling Spencer with an incredible warmth. He smiled and pulled you into his lap, “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, yes, yes” you punctuated each affirmation with a kiss to his nose, his cheeks, his temples. You wanted to tell him that he wasn’t difficult at all. That he was charming and capable and lovely but there would be plenty of time for that. For now, you held him tight and you didn’t have any intention of letting go.

[roleplayerconfessions]

🌴 I recently took over a partner search forum for advanced literate roleplayers, because the old mods were inactive for a very long time and literally nothing was being moderated. Naturally, before I arrived, there were a lot of people who were taking advantage of the lack of moderation, and posting ads that were FULL of typos and terrible grammar conventions, and posts that didn't even qualify as semi-literate.

Once everything was set up, I started removing ads that were illiterate, because naturally, this was a forum for advanced literate roleplayers. Lots of advanced literate roleplayers were happy about this, because they previously had trouble finding partners among all the illiterate posts (and they couldn't go anywhere else, because no other forums curated their posts for advanced literate roleplayers).

And of course, the semi-literate roleplayers screamed bloody murder about this. One notable message was: "what the hell mind telling me why youre suddenly deleting my ads ? My ad wa always allowed before, why are you being dicks suddenly".

And another message: "The post was removed 2 minutes after it's post? What's worng with it? I can't spot any mistake in the first lines sorry". Their entire post was filled with spaces before punctuation, misspelled words, uncapitalized "i"s and uncapitalized words at the beginning of sentences (not a stylistic choice, it was inconsistent), and sentences that sounded like broken English. (Even if they were ESL, the end result still wasn't advanced literate by a long, long stretch.) When I told them the post was not in line with how the forum defined "advanced literate", and when I even spent five minutes circling all the errors to help them out, they came back all pissy and saying the errors were not worth removing the post for (I circled over twenty things), and they started arguing with me and saying I was ruining the forum.

Come on. First off, what's the name of this forum? And second, do you not see the big, "hi, I'm the new moderator, I am taking over for the inactive mods" announcement at the very top, which is impossible to miss? Or the new rules page at the very top, which is also impossible to miss? And, each of your posts have gotten an automatic reply mentioning how you should read the new rules, and how the forum is being run true to its name now. You were given more than enough information, and more than enough indication your posts wouldn't be allowed. If someone had been around to moderate last year, they would have taken them down too. Don't take out your butthurt entitlement on me, you clearly aren't even close to how the forum defines AL. You were just taking advantage of the forum's lack of moderation before when there was literally nobody around to sift through posts. You have OODLES of other forums to find partners, and I can see you're a user on them already. All you do is copy and paste your ads on every waking forum you can find, whether you actually fit the roleplaying type or not, and sorry, but that is not gonna work here.

...Sheeeeesh.

I do my best to be sensitive and polite about this crap. I understand that writing is a deeply personal thing, and a lot of people feel offended when their writing is declined on a forum, and I know how to be tactful there. If I didn't care, I would just ban them right away, and not give them any way to contact the moderators, certainly not proofread their ads like I'm a teacher when they ask me for specifics. So what the frick? Maybe this is why the old moderators left. I almost don't blame them. Some people are spoiled, entitled brats.

[honestsycrets]

Say Your Piece II: Heart Breaker

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader, hvitserk x ?

❛ type | double triple? shot, mistakes were made au

❛ chp summary | after the reader says she doesn’t want hvitserk; he makes a bad decision. it gets worse from there.

❛  tags | plus size reader, verbal arguments, extreme social anxiety, extreme body insecurity, drinking, hateful words, illustrator hvitserk x writer reader, mention of infidelity, shame, OCs, sexual frustration, blackmail, cheating mentioned, verbal abuse, sexual blackmail, poor communication? it’s more likely than you think. tags to be added.

❛ request | So Hvitserk request (you a asked for it 😂) Remember the Little Lovers event and the self-conscient plus size reader who didn’t want to have sex ?Well I didn’t get the sex lol. I want my Hvitserk to show a woman how her body is enjoyable. Thank you 😊 for @alicedopey

❛ sy’s note | i’ll eventually get you your sex scene, DAMN IT.

He wakes with a blaring headache caused by a stream of fresh morning light against his soft cheek. He pulls his arms around you-- or, what he thought was you, as the moment he does so, he knows it’s wrong. Where soft folds and overflowing breasts were, he finds thin limbs and small breasts.

It’s not your body-- he realizes all at once. The high rise apartment that overlooked the city wasn’t, either. It was the fruit of an accomplished older woman, whose many books hovered on a white shelf beside a white bed. Everything in the room holds the same pure standard. He flings himself from the bed, his naked ass colliding with a nightstand. The items ripple over the surface and settle into new positions. The woman pushes up, dragging the painfully monochrome white fluffy sheet to cover her flat chest. 

“Hvitserk?” 

Erika, in all her sharp-eyed glory, stares right back at him. Vomit spins up his throat, incited by the affection by with her eyes considered him. Hvitserk scrambles over the perfectly plain hardwood floors, upchucking up what’s left of his agitated stomach after his pathetic night out on the town. 

“Hvitserk!” 

Her spindly hand is at his back. Ordinarily, she was a comfort in your absence. That despite her pushing, and pushing, and pushing to get your name off “his” book, she would always be there for him in ways that a lover could not. Author-illustrators make so much more than being an illustrator alone, she reminded him. Her considerate words now feel like measured steps against his relationship. Her touch rips his skin into gooseflesh. Hvitserk works his shoulder away, his knuckles becoming white around the bowl.

“You drank too much last night.” it’s a non-question. Obviously, if he were here, he had. He groans his miserable response into the toilet bowl, wishing he could smother himself in the water, as it would be a better punishment than anything his girlfriend could do to him. “I’ll make you some coffee.” 

Her steps become distant echoes. When he finishes and cleans after himself, he starts his search for his clothes. He picks them from a singular pile, draws them back on, and reaches for his phone. It bleats a miserable eight percent battery life.

“She didn’t call if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ericka stands in a silvery slip; although he’s not sure when she put on some clothes. She hands him his cup of coffee and takes a seat on her “divorce couch”, a plain grey chair that she scammed her ex-husband out of. As she sits there, all long limbs, and purposefully sultry clothes-- the guilt strikes him.

Hvitserk takes a sip of bitter, burnt black coffee. She’s never been a great coffee maker but her heart is in the right place. It wouldn’t feel right to snuff her. After all, he probably spent the night before buried in her cunt. 

“You called me to pick you up at the bar last night. You were so drunk all you wanted to do was lay on my chest,” Ericka pulls a sheer black kimono over her thin collarbones. His eyes fall on her hands. “I told you she’d break your heart. Women like that-- once they get over a certain weight-- they aren’t emotionally available to do anything but eat. It consumes them.” 

“She ain’t like that.”

“If she’s not like that, then why did you have sex with me? Be honest with yourself, Hvitserk. Your needs aren’t met with her. That’s why you needed me.” 

His mouth runs dry. Like he’s been chewing on his regret as if it were paper. He couldn’t remember the night before. It was like a bad memory he never wanted to recover. Hvitserk glances down to his cup as he sinks onto her bed. 

“It was an accident,” he glares at the surface. “I- You know I can’t be with you, right? You’re--” 

“Old?” she asks. He’s never cared about something as simple as that. Twelve years his senior or not, it wasn’t an issue.

“It’s not that. C’mon Erika, you know I don’t give a shit about age. She’s my baby girl.” 

“You’re going to stay with her? A woman like that?” 

“Like what?” Hvitserk sets the coffee on the nightstand as he snaps at her before he could bite it back. He knew what she meant. Erika’s long ranging sigh reminds him of Aslaug. How tenderly her hands would wrap around him even though they were truly tainted with alcohol perfuming off her breath. 

“I’ve been your agent for years Hvitserk. We go through this every time you find a girl. This oen is by far the worst. She doesn’t care about you. Look at all that work you did for her yesterday. The pendant you bought her. The work you’ve put into her books! You even pick up all the food she eats. She won’t go outside of her house and you still expect that she’ll suddenly become this fat trophy wife on your arm.” 

“Just because she’s fat don’t--” 

“It isn’t about the fat, Hvitserk.  How many times does she have to show you, or tell you for you to get the picture through your stupid head, huh? She doesn’t want you! And you have the balls to call me a fucking accident.” 

“Erika--” 

She leaps up from her chair. Hvitserk sucks in a hard breath and tries to find sense through the nonsense, looking through his phone. Erika was right. You hadn’t sent a message. Not in his texts, not on his social media. More egregiously, he spots a new post. Ericka’s hands fold over his, pushing him back to sit on the bed. She slides over his thin hips and takes a seat on his empty lap. It was painfully simple, painfully domestic, and painfully wrong.

“Let me tell you what I’ve learned in forty years,” Erika whispered in his ear. Her thin lips move, gliding like butter in his ear. “If someone doesn’t want you, there’s nothing you can do to change that.” Her fingers comb through his hair, like slimy tendrils. “But I’m here.” 

Hvitserk tips his head nack, gazing at the ceiling. Her palm caresses his scruffy jawline to drag his attention from the ceiling to her soft blue eyes, a painless depth, if only he would listen to her words. Hvitserk shifts her back on the bed, loitering around her waist with a supportive hand on the base of her back.

“I know you care ‘bout me. I just-- need some time, okay?” 

It doesn’t slip him that she’s scowling as he walks out of her home. There was someone he could count upon, when things were difficult, his phone buzzing in his palm reminded him of that. 

“Hey, Ivar.” 

Or, maybe not.

“You fucked her?” Ivar stopped chewing his pastry, ambling his head one way then another, laughing against himself. He took his mug of properly brewed coffee to his lips. Hvitserk regrets agreeing to meet him at the cafe. “What were you thinking sleeping with your agent?”

“I wasn’t thinking! I was drunk--” Hvitserk set his hand to his forehead. He has no appetite as he cycled through what he had done, searching out the moment that he called Erika. He fails to locate anything but quiet sobbing behind the neck of a beer bottle and a distant, squeamish feeling of fingers down his nape. “I think she took advantage of me.” 

Ivar sets down his cup of coffee, picking up a fork and knife as he leaned over the table, lips punctuating each word. 

“Yes, well, I am sure that will go over with your girlfriend well. I’m sorry, I slept with my skinny, well-established agent who has been wanting me to get rid of you. That bitch has been after you for years. What do you think she will do now? She won’t let you go.”

“She understands,” he reflects at the monochrome crowd. His plate is full but has gone cold with his lack of appetite. Normally, this was the place he came with his brother to binge breakfast and muse about women. Ubbe wouldn’t care about his issues: he never had time for anyone but himself. Not really. Ivar scoffed, gazing into the foot traffic flitting by their cafe. 

“Tch, I’m sure she does. She will probably break up with you.” 

He bobbed his head.

“I think she already has.” 

A normal man would come to beg. 

But Hvitserk draws in the deep quiet of the park. With only the barks of dogs, the giggles of children, and the occasional frequency from couples watching movies in the park, it’s a place of solace by the small pond. 

He starts with an outline of Xiao’s small face. It’s a rough outline, budding and ready to be kissed with by watercolours. Soft pinks like petals of peonies droop in his photo. He must have blended this shade wrong. Line after line that he sweeps, he weeps. His phone jingles in his pocket and his heart tightens around his chest like a straight jacket to someone in an insane asylum. He must be going crazy-- if he too can no longer paint.

“Where are you?!” you boom on the other end of the line. Hvitserk fumbles his phone, suckling in a breath. Had Ivar told you? No, his brother wouldn’t. Not Ivar. He was never a gossiper. 

“In-- in the park?” 

“What has gotten into you? You could have at least texted me to tell me you were okay. I was worried sick!” 

You? Worried sick? This wasn’t the you from yesterday. The one that pelted out how selfish he was for craving intimacy. The one that told him that all he wanted was to sexualize you. As if he were some sixty year old pervert with a camera in hand to click a picture of under your beautiful pastel skirts. Hvitserk sets the brushes into his cup of water and sets aside Xiao’s painting to dry.

“Hvitserk!” 

“I’m here,” he blurts out. “I didn’t think you’d care. You didn’t call.” 

“Like I didn’t I call you all night.” 

Something cracks, deep in his belly. With all the days of work he’d done for you and you alone, he forgot himself in the mix. He jerked his phone back, frantically looking at his phone app. No recent calls meant what they meant. When he finds nothing, it only thrusts him into a further rage. 

“Bullshit,” he belts out. “You didn’t. You didn’t care about me last night. You never fuckin’ do.” 

“Hvit--” he turns off his phone. There was a sliver of a moment in which he regrets that on the basis of last night. Maybe you rejected him, but he wasn’t an idiot. A man simply didn’t cheat on his girlfriend because she said no. 

He packs up his bag and heads toward the football field. It’s time to play football.

He smashes Ubbe on the field. If he wasn’t at peace with being an illustrator, maybe he could have been a ballplayer. Flipping the ball from foot to foot with Ubbe on his trailing his tail was fun, but watching him try and miss as he thwacked the ball on its net was even better. Unlike Ubbe’s well-proportioned body, he’s all long limbs and quick feet. Just the right combination to slip out of Ubbe’s grasp. Well, that was, until Ubbe tackled his ass onto the blades of grass, sending the both of them rolling through the grasp.

“Bro, really?!” Hvitserk laughs, dropping back onto the grass. The skid marks on his clothes would be unreal. 

“If I can’t catch you,” Ubbe heaves, digging his hand into his pocket. He finds his phone there, vibrating with messages from Torvi: probably. Hvitserk shoves his arms behind his neck, drawing out breath after ragged breath. 

“Wanna go eat?” 

“Na,” Ubbe shoves himself onto your feet. “Your girl is here.”

His what? Ubbe rushes off. A sinking feeling came over his clammy hands. He opens his mouth to beg him not to go, to take him along with like he used to as a child. He’s terrible at making up and hours ago, he’d hung up on you. His lips press together, soothing himself with the false pretense that-- no, it would be fine. If you didn’t apologize, perhaps neither would he. 

He finds you on the other side of the soccer field, fashioning his favorite sundress. There’s something glamorous about its corset bodice and its draped sleeves that left him breathless. He wills down his terrible arousal, drawn to the pendant he bought you nestled between your large breasts. You wait for him by his things, pulling the rim of a broad pale hat and looking down at beautiful chunky nude heels. 

You’re beautiful and terrifying all in one. He regains himself enough to make his legs solidify from the liquidy mass they were seconds ago. He might feel much like a newborn calf falling over himself to get his things, but perhaps he looked better than he felt. Women like sweaty, stupid men, right?

“What are you doing here?” he picks up his things. “I thought you didn’t like to be seen in public.”

“You hung up on me,” you hold his tablet flush against your dress and offer it out to him. He takes it and secures it back in his bag. “I had to come to find you.” 

“Yeah? I’ll bet.” Hvitserk wills down the painful throbbing behind his joggers, pulling his bag to obscure the pain he was in. The sooner he went home, the sooner he could jerk himself off without the overwhelming guilt of being, as he was, a whore. Why couldn’t he stay mad? He wanted to stay mad! “You look... nice. Never seen you looking so nice. What’s the occasion?” 

“You like it?” You pull out the skirt and stop to do a twirl that he curses himself for stopping for. Normally, his girl wouldn’t even go outside. Who was this? He’s aware of others watching-- the fat girl in a flashy dress. “I wore it for you.”

“Yeah, I do.” He moistens his lips, his voice raspy and thick. “Looks like an angel.” 

“Does that mean you’ll come back home?” You reach out for him. Your soft hands winding around his well-corded arm. He realizes then, the confidence in which you carried yourself masked the desperation in your hands. They trembled over his bicep. “I’ll be good, I promise I won’t yell at you again like that. I wouldn’t even be mad if you-- you found someone else to fuck. I know you-- I know you need it. If you can’t get it from me, I can wait on the side. As long as you’re not in love.”

“Hey,” he softened, settling his hand atop of yours. He stops midstep, turning on his high tops on the sidewalk. He takes your hands and listens waits for your outpouring of emotion. Traffic passes by him. They speak in hushed whispers. “Hey, hey, hey. Baby girl wait-- that’s not -- what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that but you were pushing and pushing and wouldn’t stop! I didn’t know what to do. I want to have sex with you,” you squeeze his fingertips. “But you don’t know what it’s like to be fat, old virgin.” 

He was trying to listen. He really was. The moment you spoke that word: that v-word, his mind went blank and numb. You’re still talking long after he’s stopped listening. Hvitserk sucks in a breath: it sends him into a flurry, pursuing the bone of your virginity long after you’ve stopped talking.

“What do you--” his lips twitch, drawing in a smile. “--mean a virgin?” 

“I haven’t had sex-- I… I wanted to--” 

His girl-- a virgin. He wants to smile, if not for the knowledge of the other night, waking up in Erika’s itchy sheets. Hvitserk knows that he has to tell you, he only doesn’t know how. You’re talking again. 

“What did you say?” he asks. 

“I want you to do it,” you answer. “Right now. Just forgive me.” 

He about drops, a moistness coming over his mouth that he can’t-- exactly-- help. His palms feel just as hot, sweating as he pulls them free from yours. Clearing his throat, he slips his hand against the small of your back. 

“Na, let’s… let’s take it easy. We’ll talk ‘bout it later.” 

He wants that virginity. 

But logically, oh woe is he, he knows it’s not really right to take someone’s virginity if they’re not all there. You’re not all there because you don’t know of that night. It’s like, consent, right? Bad consent was just jerking your ankle like some Viking and dragging you into bed with him. If he was going to do it, he told himself, you had to know what he’d done. 

It was a slip-up. 

Hvitserk finished another drawing for his new book independent of your input. It was a children’s book about good bodies-- because as he looked at your good body, he was reminded of Ericka’s cruel words. He wanted to do better for lil kids.

“Hvitserk, your phone is ringing,” you said pointedly from across the room where you sat like a madwoman. Your frantic papers sat nestled around a basket of shared chicken he made for lunch. 

“Huh?” Tapping over, he recognizes Erika’s photo, planting a kiss on his cheek on his first big break. She had been the first one to really believe in him. It was a long time ago now, he reminds himself to change that to something more… suitable after last night. He gestures his fingers at you. “Thanks, baby girl.”

He answers the phone. The moment he does, he hears Erika’s flat voice snaking into a hiss. It’s a noise that he hasn’t heard. Not in all his years of having her as his patient agent. 

“You’re with her, aren’t you?” 

“No, I’m uh-- with Ubbe.” He throws you a glance. You tilt your head, he shakes his, and that’s the terrible loneliness of holding a secret. “Erika--” Hvitserk sighs, parting his lips to talk. She shushes him with such severity that he thinks she’s trying to lop his head off, too. 

“Break it off.” 

“What?”

He steps outside and leans against the cold metal door separating the high-rise apartments from, well, the outside world. He expects to see her standing out there. All he finds are the many cars parked on the street and the stillness of movement. It’s too quiet. The whistle of the wind through the street chills him. 

“I know you’re with her. I can tell her for you if you’d like.” 

“No. Don’t--” Hvitserk sighs, searching for the words in the silence. “I don’t think you understand. We worked through it.” 

She laughs something from deep in her belly at him.

“I wasn’t asking. Either you do it— or I’ll make you do it. You obviously don’t know what’s best for yourself. Why else are you fucking around with some--” He collapses on the stairs, cradling the phone to his ear as she goes on. “Don’t think I won’t expose her for what she is. A thief.”

“She’s never-- Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“You told me you would take care of it. Something you’ve failed to do-- I should have known you couldn’t do it. ”

“If this shit is about yesterday--” 

“I’ll give you one more chance to break it off if you come over tonight.” 

“Are you blackmailing me?” There’s a pause on the other line. Then a chuckle. A long winded, painful chuckle. He should have known better. That night-- calling it an accident wasn’t exactly tolerable for a woman like Erika. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could be easily ignored.

“If that’s what I have to do.” 

 He chokes out a sob. Ivar was right. She wasn’t going to let him go.

“Fuckin’-- fuckin’ fine.” 

@punkrocknpearls​ @flowers-in-your-hayr @tephi101 @alicedopey​ @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm @superwolfchild-fan @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

[cursestothemoon]

The Stuffed Niffler

Ron Weasley x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1618

Warnings: sliiiiiiightly suggestive at the end but only if you squint

Summary: Ron’s s/o loves collecting stuffed animals. For their six month anniversary Ron, obviously, got one to add to the collection. Mr. Cuddlesworth soon became a prized possession but as business builds, it seems Mr. Cuddlesworth has sprouted legs and walked away...

***

It wasn’t an unusual thing for you, a habit formed as a young child that has stuck well into teenage years. Your first stuffed animal was a small yellow bunny, a neat black and white polka dot bow tied around its neck. It wasn’t long after the first bunny that you started to grow your collection.

Over the years you got over being embarrassed about something so trivial, they were soft, fluffy, and they made you happy so why should you sacrifice your own joy because someone said it was childish? It also came as no surprise when you started dating Ron Weasley, the boy was like a teddy bear himself and he found the collection of well over twenty stuffies quite endearing, to say the least.

“You’ve dropped one! I reckon he’s proper offended now.” Ron gasped, pointing at a stuffed shrimp laying on the floor.

You laughed, going to go pick up the shrimp, “I think he’ll get over it, babe.”

“I don’t know, he’s telling me the only way he could even think of forgiving you is if you give me a kiss.” His tone was as serious as he could manage as he said it, watching as you shook your head at him with a smile.

“Oh? Then I better hop to it then.” You beamed, walking over to Ron.

Both of your hands came up to grab his cheeks and pull him down to your face, placing a sweet kiss to his already puckered lips. Ron hummed with happiness as he felt your lips on his, then his hum turned to a whine at you pulling away far too quickly for his liking.

“No time to waste, I’ve got to get them all organized before I join Hermione in the library to study for Ancient Runes.”

It was around your six month anniversary when Ron gifted you your most prized possession, Mr. Cuddlesworth, the stuffed niffler. Ron had even gone as far as giving the thing a few sprays of his cologne before giving it- advice given to him by George- and had already named him, knowing you were quite rubbish when it came to names.

“Honestly, Y/n, Jeremy? There wasn’t a better name? You picked Jeremy?”

You have had Mr. Cuddlesworth for a few months now, the smell of Ron unfortunately having faded due to how often it was smothered to your chest as you slept. You were sure sleeping would be impossible without it, it was your favorite out of the whole collection and you took special care of the thoughtful gift.

Exams were coming up now and you were more busy than ever, hardly finding time to spend with Ron. He of course understood and graciously declined studying with you- you got a bit hot headed when studying- and was feeling a bit deprived of love. That’s how he got his brilliant idea, concocted from clinginess and dramatics, Ron sought out to borrow Mr. Cuddlesworth while you were busy these next two weeks. He was well aware of how much you loved the stuffie, well enough to know that you slept with it hugged tightly to your chest every night- meaning it would smell just like you. Ron, however, failed to realize just how near and dear this stuffed animal was to your heart.

You had been too tired to change out of your clothes the past few days before getting into bed, throwing yourself onto the mattress was enough to get you to fall asleep. You missed Ron, were stressed about exams, and really needed a better studying schedule next year because this was not working out. Luckily, Friday had arrived- albeit slowly- and you had spent much of the night with Ron, Harry, and Hermione in the common room relaxing. It felt like home, being tucked under Ron’s heavy arm, his lips finding your hairline every so often, that you were a bit reluctant to part from him and go to bed. But you did, knowing that Mr. Cuddlesworth would be waiting for you to snuggle until you could see Ron in the morning.

Only, when you got to your dorm, ready for bed, Mr. Cuddlesworth was nowhere to be found. Under the bed was bare- save for a few dust bunnies- your trunk held the infamous shrimp, a few run of the mill teddy bears and a stuffed dragon, Jeremy, but no niffler. In little time you had turned the whole room upside down, much to your roommates’ dismay, and still no sign of Mr. Cuddlesworth.

Now you were panicking, how could he have just vanished? Surely the people in the dorm didn’t take him, and Merlin, the look on Ron’s face if you had to tell him you lost Mr. Cuddlesworth. Then and there it was decided that he couldn't know, you’d find him in the morning and all would be well. You just had to get through tonight.

All was not well, most of the night was spent tossing and turning in bouts of panic and hopelessness when you thought about where the stuffed animal could be. You had never taken it out of this room, never needing to because Ron was always there. When morning arrived, far too soon for your liking, you were still racking your brain as to where the animal could be but now you were doing it on little to no sleep.

Your eyes had bags, lids droopy, and your feet shuffled as you walked into the breakfast hall. A night of no sleep and restlessness was not a good look, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Sitting next to Ron, you let your head rest on his shoulder, a short grunt coming out as a greeting.

“You alright, love?” Ron asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You nuzzled into his side, “Just tired, that’s all.”

You were able to rest during breakfast, Ron offering more comfort than Mr. Cuddlesworth, and he smelled of his cologne which was an added bonus. The rest of the day passed in similar fashion, Ron taking your mind off of the missing niffler.  That is until the sun started to set and you were reminded of your unfortunate situation.

The common room had dwindled down to a soft buzz as it got later in the night, most people retiring to their dorms, most people apart from you, Ron, Harry, and Hermione.

“It’s getting rather late.” Hermione stated, looking toward the clock on the wall to her right.

You felt the panic rise again, not wanting to leave Ron just yet, not when Mr. Cuddlesworth wasn’t there in his absence. Harry agreed with Hermione and soon they both left to their respective dorms, Ron and you staying cuddled on the couch. Your eyes started to droop as you gave in to his warmth, nearly fully asleep before Ron woke you with a chuckle that vibrated through his chest.

“Don’t you think we should go too? You’ve been tired all day.” He cooed, sitting up causing you to sit up too.

You weren’t sure if it was the lack of sleep, panic, or stress from oncoming exams, maybe it was everything piled all together, but you felt your waterline start to be weighed down by the onset of tears. Ron must’ve noticed your full waterline glisten in the dull firelight because his face went from that of a soft smile to worry within seconds.

“What’s wrong, love?” His hands came out to pull you into him.

The sob that left your lips was choked and inevitable, “I’m so sorry Ron, but I lost him! I lost Mr. Cuddlesworth and I can’t sleep without him an- and please don’t be mad I feel very sensitive.”

You buried your head into his chest, his hand rubbing small circles onto your back as he tried his best to calm before speaking.

“Don’t panic, darling, I’ve got him. Missed you, that’s all, and he smells like you.” Ron admitted sheepishly.

His big hands coming up to wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks as you stopped crying, letting it all sink in.

“What?” You sniffed.

He nodded, “I missed you and I figured he’d smell like you so I took him. He’s on my bed, I’ll go get him.”

You reached around and grabbed a pillow from the couch, arm swinging back around to whack your boyfriend over the head. Delivering a few more blows with the pillow before speaking.

“You had me worried sick! I thought he sprouted legs and walked away!”

You then punctuated each word with a smack.

“Why.”

Smack

“Wouldn’t.”

Smack

“You.”

Smack

“Tell me?”

Smack

Smack

Ron grabbed the pillow from you before you could continue and caught his breath before speaking.

“Bloody hell, I didn’t think you were this attached to the thing.” He said incredulously.

The heat rose to your cheeks, “Well, when you can’t spend the night with me I have him. Reminds me of you.”

“Git’s replaced me, then?” Ron huffed jokingly.

“No!”

You both started to chuckle at the situation before Ron pulled you to his lips, hands caressing your cheeks with adoration. He pulled away and you leaned forward to peck his nose, making his smile grow and nose scrunch, before you spoke.

“I think I’ve figured out a way to solve the problem.” You hummed.

“Yeah what’s that.” Ron asked, placing a gentle kiss onto your forehead.

You smiled up at him, “I have to spend the night in your room of course.”

Ron smirked, nodding in agreement, “Brilliant. Only we need to make sure we don’t wake Harry. He gets a bit cranky without a full night's sleep.”

taglist:

@amourtentiaa

[daveyjacobss]

skeletons in the bathroom

racetrack higgins x reader

summary: it’s spooky season, and is there anything scarier than having to confront and admit your feelings for one of your closest friends? (or, in which y/n is helping race get ready for a halloween party and desperately trying not to think about how much she wants to kiss him.)

a/n: i did it!! a halloween fic out for october 2020!! sorry it’s so late in the month, life has been very hectic with an overload of assignments and plenty of politics induced stress. anyway this is unedited so sorry in advance but i hope you like it :)

masterlist

__________

This had been such a bad idea. Why on earth had she agreed to this? What kind of astounding lack of brain cells had led to her saying yes to attending her own goddamn funeral?

"Albert, you would leave flowers at my grave, wouldn't you?" She turned to look at him just in time to see him roll his eyes. Jojo and Finch, sitting across from them at their table in the library, both stared at her with equally confused and amused expressions.

"Y/N if you tell me you're gonna die one more time, I'll literally kill you myself." Albert fixed her with a halfhearted glare, brushing his hair out of his face. She groaned and dropped her head down on top of her arms, resting lazily in the tabletop. Jojo laughed quietly at her, but she didn't have the heart to give him a death stare in return.

"Out of curiosity," Finch started, effectively abandoning his work, "what kind of flowers would you want?" She lifted her head, pursing her lips in concentration as she thought the question over.

"I don't know, either something really pretty or something ridiculously dramatic." Albert sighed beside her, finally putting his pencil down. Jojo had stopped actually trying to get work done a half hour prior. "Like, some pretty marigolds or daisies would be cool, ya know? But, also, a single red rose would have a very nice effect." Jojo nodded along with her.

"What about black dahlias?" He asked. Y/N perked up at that.

"Oh, yes! Definitely achieving that she-was-probably-murdered-and-the-killer-is-leaving-flowers vibe." She high fived Jojo while Finch shook his head at them. Albert hit her from her right side—lightly, but she let out a loud "ow!" anyway.

"Can you stop moping and acting like you're gonna die? You're the one who got yourself into this mess." She went back to being miserable immediately, groaning again for effect.

"Will someone please explain why she's dying?" Finch asked, directed more at the other two boys than at Y/N. Albert rolled his eyes again.

"Race asked her to do his makeup for his skeleton costume before the party tonight and she said yes, but now she thinks she's gonna die when she does it." He punctuated his words with a pointed look at her which effectively communicated all of his exasperation as well as the sentiment he had been expressing to her for almost two years, that she should just go for it and ask Race out. She ignored it completely.

"I am going to die!" She threw her hands in the air for dramatic effect, giving Finch and Jojo her best 'I'm in despair' look. "I'm gonna have to be ridiculously close to his face—and his lips—for way too long! I'm gonna either go insane and launch myself out the fucking window or die of embarrassment."

All three boys laughed at her. Insulted, she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted at them.

"Y/N, it'll be fine," Finch said, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. "Anyway, why can't you just ask him out already and not have to deal with the funeral arrangements?" She offered him her best deadpan stare.

"C'mon, Y/N," Jojo chimed in. "What's the worst that can happen?"

"Oh no, don't get her started," Albert groaned.

"The worst that could happen? Are you kidding?" She looked at them incredulously. "Well, for starters, I could tell him I like him and then he could be disgusted because why would he ever like me back when he's him and I'm me, and then, because he was your friend first and things are super awkward between me and him, we drift apart, and then I lose all of my friends and I die alone with no one to leave black dahlias on my grave in order to entertain my dramatics." Finch blinked, staring at her with wide eyes as if he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard.

"Hold on," Jojo spoke up again, face contorted with anger. "He would not be disgusted. Even if he didn't like you back, which he does—"

"Does not," she grumbled.

"Does too," they all answered in unison.

"He wouldn't be mean about it," Jojo continued.

"And we wouldn't stop being your friends," Albert added.

"Plus, even if we suddenly become arch enemies I'm totally still leaving black dahlias on your grave for dramatics," Finch grinned, winking at her. That got her to laugh a little, smiling back at him.

"I just..." She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I don't want to ruin anything, and I don't want everything to change between us. I'm fine being his friend, that's enough for me. It's just hard to keep my feelings in check when he gets too close to me." Her eyebrows furrowed while she fidgeted with her fingers, not liking how vulnerable she felt while telling all of them that. Albert's arm slid around her shoulders, bringing her into his side. It was awkward and uncomfortable leaning across the gap between their chairs, but she enjoyed the comfort anyway.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," he said gently. "You have our support either way." Jojo and Finch nodded, both smiling encouragingly at her. She smiled back at them, moving to gather up all of her papers. The boys followed suit, shoving everything back in their backpacks.

"Thank you," she said quietly just as they were all pushing their chairs in.

"Anytime," Albert grinned brightly, throwing his arm around her again and leading them out of the building. A wind blew as they walked out into the October sun, sending a chill through her body and causing her to lean into Albert's body for warmth. They all started walking in the direction of their on-campus apartments, pointing out the most colorful trees and joking about the upcoming party with easy smiles.

"Speak of the devil," Jojo muttered from behind her. She went to turn back to look at him and ask what he meant, but Albert pulled her more securely against him and she laughed.

"Hey guys!" Finch called out, waving wildly. She looked in the direction he was facing and saw Race walking in the opposite direction with Romeo across the street from them. She felt heat rush to her face automatically, lifting her hand in a small wave while sporting a shy smile. Albert and Jojo waved enthusiastically with Finch, receiving an equally energetic wave from Romeo and a small wave from Race. Y/N tilted her head in confusion, frowning. Race never missed the chance to make an ordeal out something as small as seeing his friends across the street, was something wrong? No one else seemed concerned, though, and their small group kept moving. If anything, Finch and Jojo seemed amused, snickering quietly behind her and Albert.

They parted to go to their respective apartments, all three boys giving Y/N a hug goodbye. She took full advantage of their attempts at comfort, holding them tightly and burying her head in their chests. Once she was back in her apartment, her roommates thankfully back home for the weekend, she dropped her bag on the floor and took a deep breath. Race was set to come over a little while later to get ready for the party, that left her some time to clean up a little. He wouldn't care if the apartment was dirty, but she couldn't get rid of the urge to make sure the counters were decluttered and the bathroom where she would be doing his makeup smelled nice. Plus, at least it would give her something to do to distract herself from her ever growing anxiety.

She was definitely going to die.

__________

Race was ten minutes late, but Y/N had already figured he would be when his "omw" text didn't come until a minute after he was supposed to be at her apartment. He grinned at her when she opened the door, arms (adorably) holding the straps of his backpack that she assumed was carrying his costume.

"I wasn't sure if you would want me to put on the costume before or after the makeup," he said as he walked in. "So I just brought it to change into." She liked the way he looked so comfortable in her apartment, facing her casually with his hair messy from the wind. She smiled softly at him, unable to contain her ever present joy at seeing him.

"Before, definitely. If you put it on after you might mess your face up." He nodded, already shrugging his bag off his shoulder.

"Your room okay?" He asked, gesturing in the direction of her bedroom.

"'Course. Just don't mess with anything in there." She playfully pointed a finger at his chest and he laughed as he moved into her room and closed the door behind him. She walked into the bathroom, taking deep breaths and trying to tell herself everything would be okay. Her and Race were friends, and she was perfectly capable of helping him with his Halloween makeup like a normal person. Maybe. Hopefully. Kinda. Probably not. God, she was hopeless.

He found her in the bathroom obsessively reorganizing the makeup, dressed in his full skeleton getup. She smiled when she saw him in it, happy that he hadn't picked something with a good that would have concealed his beautiful curls. With his lanky stature and gangly limbs, the costume worked perfectly for him. He grinned back at her, doing a little shimmy that made her laugh.

"You like?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she shook her head in a amusement.

"It looks good," she confirmed, their usual joking banter hindered by her nerves. "We should get started so we have enough time, I still need to get changed and finish my makeup, too." She patted the bathroom counter and he followed her hand, hoisting himself up so he was sitting on the counter facing her, swinging his legs.

She tried not to think too hard as she started on his face, going in with a layer of white before anything else. She could feel his breath on her wrist, but she tried not to think about it. Thinking about it meant her own breath would hitch and then, because their faces were so close, he would notice. She brought a hand up to his jaw to steady his face and resolutely did not think about how easy it would be to pull him to her and kiss him.

Part of her wanted to listen to the boys. She wanted to say fuck it and tell him how she felt about him. She wanted to flirt with him while she had him at her mercy like this, wanted to lean in and put a hand on his thigh for balance just to see how he would react. She wanted to know if his breathing would change, if his heart would skip a beat, if he would look at her with wide eyes or if he would simply smirk and carry on. Or maybe he wouldn't do anything, because it would nothing but a meaningless gesture to him. But, god, she wanted to try. And she wanted to kiss him so badly.

Still, the other part of her triumphed. The part that told her he didn't feel the same way about her, that to him she was just a good friend and if she went and did something stupid she would ruin that.

She asked him to close his eyes and he did so obediently. She took the chance to look at his lips while he wouldn't be able to notice, realizing how quiet he'd been the whole time so far. Once his face was fully covered with white he opened his eyes and she took a small break, giving herself some time to calm down her erratic heart beat. He kicked his legs out again without her standing in front of him to block them.

"So," he started, staring down at his feet instead of looking at her. She tilted her head slightly, waiting for him to continue. "You and Albert, huh?" Her eyebrows furrowed and she stopped short as she went to grab a brush, paused in confusion. "What's going on there?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, trying to laugh to diffuse whatever tension had just overtaken the room but only managing a nervous chuckle.

"You two looked pretty cozy earlier, outside. Do I gotta start preparing myself for you to be acting all gross and couple-y whenever we go out now?" His voice sounded strained, like he was trying to force the question to be casual. She figured it was because he was upset Albert and her wouldn't tell him something like—which, they totally would if that was at all a possibility. Which it wasn't. The whole idea was so ridiculous a strangled laugh bubbled out of her throat.

"Oh, god no. There is nothing romantic happening between me and Albert." She looked down at her hands, avoiding having to look at his face. "No, it was just cold, you know? And he was trying to comfort me because I was upset." Suddenly he was there, standing in front of her. He gently tilted her chin up to look at him and used his other hand to grab hers.

"Babe, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

She was going to cry. She was going to burst into tears, standing in her own bathroom with Race's touch overwhelming her senses. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was so handsome and funny and kind and loving. It wasn't fair that whenever he looked at her she felt like no one else existed. It wasn't fair that she couldn't breathe with his hand still resting just under her chin. And the universe was just playing dirty having him call her babe like it was nothing, like it didn't make her heart swell in her chest. Like it didn't absolutely break her. She was definitely gonna cry, her eyes already watery.

His concern only seemed to increase when he saw the distraught look on her face. He tried to take another step toward her but she moved backward, detaching herself from his hands. She breathed deeply, running her hands through her hair as she tried to keep herself from sobbing. He looked so worried—so sad—and it just wasn't fair.

"I'm—" Her words got caught on the lump in her throat. "It's nothing, really. I'm just being dumb." He looked at her disbelievingly.

"Y/N c'mon, you're clearly upset, let me—" He cut himself off at the way she back away from him again while he reached out, hurt flashing across his face. "Here, why don't we just skip out on the party? I'll stay here with you and we can watch old Disney Halloween movies or something." She wanted that so bad, she wanted that more than anything she had ever wanted. But she couldn't, it would only hurt her more.

"No," she sniffled, regaining her composure. "No, you should go. I might stay back, I dunno. But I don't wanna keep you from having fun."

"Hey." His voice was soft, the corners of his lips turning upwards just slightly. He was so beautiful she could have died over it. "I always have fun with you, party or not. If you don't go, I don't go."

"God, Race. You can't just—you can't say things like that." She huffed while he blanched in confusion. "It's not fair."

"What? I don't—"

"Listen, I'll finish your makeup, yeah? And then we'll go to the party and we can pretend like this never happened. Okay?" He nodded mutely, slowly positioning himself back on the counter. The concern wasn't gone from his eyes and his mouth was set in a frown, but he complied.

Not crying was a constant effort the entire time she finished his skeleton makeup. She felt her lip quiver at more than one point and Race's eyes kept darting down toward it. She did her best to keep it steady, not wanting him to see her cry. He had seen her cry before, of course, over classes and movies and the like, but there was a special kind of shame associated with him seeing her cry over him.

It wasn't until after she was done that he spoke up again. "Do you not want to be alone with me?" He asked it so quietly she was sure it must not have come from him, used to his loud, boisterous voice. Her heart broke all over again.

"That's not it, Race. You know that, right? It's not your fault I'm upset." It wasn't, really. If she was going to blame anyone it would all be on herself.

"What, then?" The joking tone was back in his voice, clearly trying to diffuse the tension and brighten the mood. "Too afraid you won't be able to control yourself around me?" Yes. "I know you'd love to jump these bones." She laughed despite herself, playfully hitting his arm. Her reaction made him smile again, and she was glad. He always knew how to cheer her up.

It only took a little while longer for her to change into her costume (just a regular witch in shades of black and purple) and put on her makeup. Race watched her as she put on her dark lipstick, making her nervous and subsequently causing her hands to shake, but she made it through alright.

They left just a bit before the party was supposed to start, Y/N shivering in the cold air as they walked. Race glanced at her a few times, seemingly conflicted, before cautiously wrapping an arm around her. She leaned into his touch and he gripped shoulder more firmly, pulling her into his side. When they stopped to let a car go by she turned to him and wrapped both her arms around him, basking in his warmth. Race was like a heater, generating warmth from the day she met him. He returned her embrace, rubbing her back soothingly.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He mumbled into her ear. A shiver went down her spine at his voice so close to her ear, but she nodded, holding him tighter. They were later to the party then they should've been, having spent a good amount of time in that embrace. It had made her heart all fluttery, not to mention the way it did somersaults every time Race looked at her for the rest of the walk (which was a lot, he must have been really worried).

She expected him to split off once they entered, going to look for some of his other friends, but he stuck by her side. It made her smile, the butterflies in her stomach going wild. They went to grab drinks together and ran into Finch.

"Hey!" He smiled dopily, clearly a little tipsy already. "The makeup looks great," he gestured at Race's face. "And you two look so cute together." Heat rushed to Y/N's face as she quickly took a sip of her drink in order to avoid having to respond. Race simply laughed.

"Yeah, Y/N did an awesome job, right? I knew she would, though. I could feel it in my bones." Y/N groaned and Finch cringed.

"That was awful, dude." Race grinned proudly anyway, waving as Finch left to go back to the friends he was with.

"Did you pick this costume just so you could make bad jokes?" Y/N turned to face Race, raising an eyebrow. He winked, which was all the answer she needed. She wanted to give some sort of sarcastic remark in return, but the wink made her giggle nervously. He seemed content with her response all the same.

About three thousand skeleton jokes later (he had literally greeted Davey by saying "bonejour." Davey had promptly turned around and left the two of them without saying a word), Y/N and Race were sat on the couch together, chatting amicably. She felt better with a bit of alcohol in her veins and a few buckets of false hope from the fact that Race hadn't tried to leave her side once the whole time they'd been there.

"You're such an idiot," she laughed uncontrollably as he relayed a story about him following a squirrel across campus the week prior.

"What can I say?" He grinned cheekily. Her smile dropped.

"Don't you dare—"

"I'm a bonehead." He knocked on his head for good measure.

"Okay that's it, I'm leaving." She moved as if to get up before Race reached out to grab her arm.

"Y/N, no!" He managed to get out through his laughter. "Don't leave me bonely!" She stared at him in disbelief.

"You're the worst," she groaned as she let him pull her back into her seat next to him.

"But you love me anyway." He poked her side and she looked at his face. The makeup looked good, she had to admit, but she wished it had been able to mask his face better. Because looking at his face was still looking at his face, makeup or no makeup, and she had a bad habit of getting caught up in looking at his face. His features seemed to tense, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly. "Drinks!" He said suddenly, breaking their staring contest and practically jumping out of his seat. "I'm gonna go get us more drinks." She nodded, eyebrows furrowed as she watched him scurry off. That had certainly been strange.

"Fancy seeing you here." She turned to see Albert falling into Race's spot beside her, grinning around his own drink.

"Hey," she smiled, adjusting her witch hat.

"You and lover boy work things out yet?" She punched his arm and he gaped at her.

"Shut up," she hissed. "It's not gonna happen, let it go." He rolled his eyes.

"You sure? Because, from what I've seen, he hasn't stopped staring at you all night." She glared at the redhead, pouting.

"Stop giving me hope, asshole. It just makes this worse."

"Makes what worse?" She looked up to find Race standing in front of them, two drinks in hand. She took one from him with a smile.

"Nothing," she shook her head. "Albert's just being annoying."

"Isn't he always?" Race asked with a smirk the same time that Albert said "hey!" Deciding this would be her best chance at payback for teasing her about her crush on Race, she pushed Albert off the couch. Race laughed loudly, stepping over his friend to return to his seat. She smiled brightly at him and he grinned back, bumping her shoulder with his. She had to take a drink to stop the flustered laughter from escaping her throat.

"You two suck," Albert groaned from their feet. It only made them laugh more, still giggling even as Albert stood up grumpily and walked away without saying goodbye.

"Your costume looks really good, by the way." She turned to Race, her smile faltering. "I didn't tell you earlier, but I like it." He said it so earnestly, looking right into her eyes. The only thing she could think of was hoping the boys were ready with those black dahlias, because she was a total goner.

"Thank you," she said softly, lost in his gaze. She thought about them in the bathroom, how she had wanted to put her hand on his thigh just to see how he would react. Thinking of what Albert had said and taking another gulp of her drink, she did just that. She leaned forward and put her hand on his thigh to steady herself. He froze. It was hard to tell over the noise of the party, but she thought she might have heard his breath hitch. She couldn't look away from him, her eyes once again finding his lips.

"You spent so long on this makeup," he muttered. "And it looks really cool." She tilted her head in confusion.

"Huh?"

"I really don't wanna ruin it. I'm sorry."

"Why would you—"

But then he kissed her, so no question she could have asked mattered anyway. He was kissing her. Oh, Albert was gonna laugh so hard when he heard about this.

She kissed him back fervently, one of her hands tangling in the curls at the back of his head while the other remained on his thigh to keep herself steady. One of his hands rested lightly on her waist, squeezing just slightly, while the other caressed her jaw. It felt like in the bathroom earlier that night when he had tilted her chin to look at him, but so much better.

He pulled back before she was ready, eyes still closed as she unconsciously chased his lips. She opened her eyes to see his makeup smudged and definitely some her lipstick on his lips, a warm feeling settling in her chest. But his mouth was pulled into a frown and it sobered her quickly. He was pulling at his hair, his eyes wide with panic and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," he panted. "You're upset, I shouldn't have done that. I've been trying to cheer you up and now I've, like, totally taken advantage of you when you're vulnerable and—"

"Race." He looked at her, face practically begging for forgiveness. She reached for his hands with a small smile. "You're not taking advantage of me. I was only upset because I thought I didn't have a chance with you." She shrugged slightly, averting her eyes. He gaped at her.

"You didn't have a chance with me? Are you kidding?" He tightened his grip on her hands, pulling himself closer to her. "Y/N, I've been pining after you since, like, the day we met. You're ridiculously out of my league." She looked at him with wide eyes, meeting his gaze. They both broke out into grins at the same time before she was leaning in again and he was following.

He tasted like candy and alcohol and she couldn't have asked for anything better. They slid closer to each other on the couch until her hands were clasped together behind his neck, playing with his curls, and his were holding her waist. She couldn't get enough of him. She didn't think she would ever get enough of him. They were both breathing heavily when they pulled away again, foreheads resting against each other.

"You know," Y/N breathed. "If that whole 'just the two of us spending the night at my apartment and watching old halloween movies' offer is still on the table...." He laughed quietly, his head falling to the crook in her neck.

"Definitely still on the table." He pressed a light kiss to her neck and she was dragging him into a standing position immediately, fully ready to get away from all the other partygoers. She wouldn't be able to handle it if his hands wandered any further than they had already gone, she needed time to breathe and process—preferably away from the crowd.

He held her hand and lead her through the sea of people to the front door. Jojo caught sight of them as they made their way out and, presumably seeing their joint hands and messed up makeup, whooped at them. Y/N laughed and Race stuck his tongue out at his friend.

"Which movie do you wanna watch first?" She asked as they walked back, holding onto his arm and leaning into his side.

"Oh, definitely Halloweentown." She smiled, pulling him in for another kiss. He chuckled when they pulled apart. "You know, I would say a skeleton pun right now, but I don't have the guts to ruin this moment."

"Oh my god, Race."

__________

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[guccidishtowel]

The Viscount’s Secret

NSFW UNDER CUT (Warnings under cut)

Fandom: Dragon Age

Words:  3859

Pairings: Varric/Reader

AO3: The Viscount’s Secret

Warnings: Thigh-Riding, Blowjobs, Light Dom/sub elements, Light Degredation (use of ‘whore’)

Walking into the Viscount’s Keep that afternoon, the tension had been palpable. Guards gave their usual greetings, nodding their heads and a few of the more friendly lot offering smiles, but their eyes carried that familiar glint that was just as telling as the muffled voices coming from the office.

The merchant bit back a quiet grin as the reason for their sudden summons became infinitely more clear.

The Viscount was having a bad day.

Halfway up the stairs they heard the telltale sound of something heavy thump against hardwood. Seneschal Bran had no doubt avoided a heavy tome to the head by mere millimeters yet again. They’d mounted the last step when he came stumbling out of the office, chased by a few quills and--if they saw correctly--a paperweight. The poor Seneschal met their eyes just as he closed the heavy doors and practically threw himself upon their mercy.

“He’s impossible!” Bran cried. Upon closer inspection they could see where a blotch of ink stained his forehead. Apparently Bran’s evasive maneuvers had been lacking. “I don’t know how you manage to do it, but please calm him down. We have a stack of correspondence growing larger by the moment and this is certainly not helping!”

They gave him a sympathetic smile, complete with a pat on his shoulder and a subtle gesture to his forehead and sent him on his way--hopefully to clean the ink off. No one else populated the upper floor; apparently no one wanted to encounter the Viscount’s wrath. ‘All the better for me,’ they thought, a wicked smile darting across their face.

They approached the heavy wooden door to the office and lingered outside for just a moment. Even through the thick wood they could hear the telltale sounds of frustrated pacing and smiled to themselves. Perhaps it was self-serving, but when the Viscount was this worked up it always ended up far more in their favor. The familiar thrill of anticipation slipped up their spine like a lover's caress, lighting every nerve on fire. Being such an open secret was interesting. Officially they were just a merchant of some means and one of the Viscount’s personal favorites, often requested to help with balancing numbers or bringing in specialized shipments. Unofficially…

They bit their lip in anticipation, soft lips quirking upwards as they knocked once on the heavy doors.

“The next person who walks through those blighted doors is meeting the business end of Bianca!”

His rough voice sent tingles up their spine, and the quiet fury beneath the words only added to the flame. His threats weren’t always unfounded, but even as agitated as he was he wouldn’t turn his trusty crossbow on one of his own. Still, when they cracked open the heavy door they made sure to let their voice reach him before presenting any potential targets.

“Even when it’s me?” Finally poking their head inside, they were greeted by the sight of Varric’s office in even more disarray than usual. A few of the heavy plush chairs had been overturned. The desk was littered with half-open correspondence, the stains of splashed wax and ink evident on more than one. Even the curtains had suffered a few minor wounds; apparently Bran had led Varric on a merry little chase around the office before making it out to safety.

And then there was the Viscount himself. Standing by the roaring fire with his shirt half open and a glass of what was surely poignant draught in his hand, he painted quite the image. Varric Tethras was a handsome man, of that there was no doubt. From the charming gleam in his eyes to the aged lines on his face, everything seemed to blend together into a visage so breathtaking most men and women would give their right arm for just a night with him. That’s how this merchant felt, at least. But now, with the dark cloud of anger shading his handsome features, he looked...somehow more enticing. A familiar heat began to rise in the pit of their stomach and as Varric threw back the glass to finish off the alcohol they licked their own lips, suddenly quite parched.

“Sorry for the mess, Mischief,” he began, and they didn’t bother to hide their smirk at the familiar nickname. “Today’s just...been a day.”

“I could tell. I think you’ve scarred poor Bran for life. Or at least the rest of the day if he can’t get that ink off his forehead.”

Despite his obvious frustration Varric chuckled, the soft grin breaking apart the dark clouds on his face. He stepped away from the fire and set his glass down to instead rummage around in the drawers of his desk. Soon enough he found another glass, filled both, and turned to pass one off to them with a familiar gleam in his eyes.

“Come on. You know I hate drinking alone. Besides,” he paused, letting his gaze roam over their form. They always felt a pleasant little shiver when under his scrutiny, and they didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened before he brought his own glass up, but he didn’t drink. Not yet. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

The promise in his eyes made their knees weak and the burn of good Ferelden brandy only stoked the fire growing on their stomach. Still they drank it down, hoping to stave off some of the thirst long enough to at least try and find the root of their Viscount’s frustration.

“To what do I owe the pleasure this time?” They finally asked, setting their half-emptied glass aside. “I haven’t seen you this worked up in a while.” It almost felt a shame to bring up business, especially when it made that delicious look fall from his face, replaced instead with an aching weariness out of place on a man so lively.

“It’s the Maker damn day that won’t end. I’ve got nobles squabling like toddlers--which isn’t anything fucking new--along with a whole heap of new laws to look over. Then there’s tying up the loose ends from the Inquisition which is a headache in and of itself. Shipments to look over, palms to grease, and enough signatures to pen that I can already feel my damn hand falling off.” He punctuated his tirade by dropping heavily into the chair behind his desk, glass still clutched in one hand and the other coming up to thumb at the space between his brows.

They pursed their lips, sympathetic expression at odds with the hunger from earlier. Perching themselves on the edge of his desk they brought a hand up to his head, their fingertips massaging into his scalp. As they predicted he leaned into their hand, his sigh rumbling through his chest. It wasn’t the first time a long day had left him more than a little frustrated, and it certainly wasn’t the first time they’d been called up to help him deal with the stress. There was no doubt how the night would end, but sometimes the moments before were just as important. Watching Varric’s shoulders lose their tension as he melted under their fingertips, they knew this was one of those times.

“Definitely sounds like a shitty day,” they agreed, smiling softly at his snort. His eyes had long since closed as he relaxed into their ministrations. There was something empowering about this, about having the Viscount of Kirkwall turn to putty in their fingers. Emboldened by the thought they slid off his desk and instead found themselves comfortably nestled on his lap, prompting him to finally peel his eyes open to observe them. Grinning down at him, they trailed the hand in his hair down, brushing over his temple until they found his jaw. “But I bet I can help you forget all about it.”

Varric’s lips curled and he turned his head, catching the tips of their fingers between his teeth. The subtle sting prompted them to chuckle as Varric moved to settle his broad hands on their hips. “You know I love to gamble, darlin’, but I don’t make stupid bets. We both know you’re going to turn my mood around.” The certainty in his tone was a stroke to their ego. It was hard to think this had all started from a single trip he’d made to the merchants quarters in Lowtown all those months ago.

“I’m at my lord’s service,” they purred, grinning when his expression morphed to one of minor irritation. His hands tightened on their hips in warning and they chuckled, bending forward to brush their lips over his ear. “Oh, let me have my fun.”

“By all means,” Varric replied, his voice husky. “But know it’s gonna cost ya.”

They smiled against his skin. “Mm, promises, promises…”

Promises that would be paid in full, it would seem. Varric finally moved, his mouth finding the skin of their throat and painting it with bruises. They tilted their head to allow him access, helping themselves to the expanse of skin his shirt exposed. The damn dwarf never covered his chest and it was honestly unfair just how distracting it was. Their fingers smoothed under the halves of his tunic, carding through the hair and feeling the muscle beneath their palms. Varric chuckled against their throat, his tongue and lips soothing another love bite.

“No one can resist,” he teased, earning a pinch when their fingers found his nipple. He grunted, the sound tapering into a low growl at the back of his throat. “Brat.”

“Only for you, your grace,” they replied. He glowered up at them, earning himself another wry smirk. “Going to bend me over your knee?”

There was a sudden gleam in Varric’s eyes that made them wonder if, perhaps, they’d made an error in judgement. They knew that look well. Just the sight of it had them tensing, a shot of arousal rushing through them. Varric tilted his head back, leaving their neck for now and instead settling his hands a little lower, spreading their thighs on either side of his own. Realization struck just as he dragged his hands back to their hips, rocking them forward gently. The friction drew a soft, shaky breath out of them that had Varric smirking.

“Well, we can certainly use my knee, but I think I’ve got better ideas than what you had in mind.”

His hands tugged, bringing them forward again, until he settled into a slow and steady rhythm. It was too slow and too light, but they had a feeling it was by design. They brought their hands to his shoulders, marveling quietly at the strength as he guided their motions. The slow build of pleasure promised to be worth it, but they weren’t a patient sort.

“I thought this was about you,” they huffed, their cheeks already blossoming with heat. “I don’t see how this is giving you what you want.”

“You’re right,” Varric shot back. “ This is about me and what I want. And what I want is to see you coming apart on my knee like a good little whore.”

The acidic words brought a small whimper out, the surprise on their face turning to pleasure when he roughly jerked them forward, picking up his pace. Varric chuckled as their fingers dug into his shoulders. “You like that, sweetheart? Like being the Viscount’s whore?”

They groaned aloud, dropping their head against his shoulder, hips rolling again as they ground against his thigh. “Now we’re using titles? I think you’re just being petty--fuck, Varric!” In the middle of their complaints the grinning dwarf had brought one hand up and then down just as swiftly, slapping against their ass with enough force to have them jolt.

“Hey now, you were the one that wanted to be bent over my knee, weren’t you?” he teased. “I think this is much better. Especially when I can see all those cute little faces you make. And speaking of that…”

With their face buried against him they couldn’t see what he had planned, but when strong fingers threaded into their hair it became abundantly clear. He tugged, pulling their head away from his shoulder and forcing them to arch back, throat exposed for his waiting teeth. He bit down roughly and they cried out, the sound ending on a gasp as he sucked at the abused skin. Satisfied, he broke away to look up into their face.

“Don’t hide from me. I wanna see all those little looks. I wanna see how good I make you feel, Mischief.” His hooded eyes sought their own, dark and wanting. They shuddered under the look, their hips moving of their own accord now, chasing their release desperately. Varric noticed and hummed, his fingers threading gently in their hair now. “That’s it. Take what you need from me, sweetheart.”

They didn’t last much longer after that. Rutting against his thigh like an animal and clinging to him, they broke apart just how Varric wanted, muffling their cry of pleasure by sinking their own teeth into his neck. Varric groaned at the sensation and would no doubt sport the bite proudly for the next few days. He took a ridiculous amount of pleasure from seeing all the nobles blush and look away, tittering and hiding their comments behind hands and ornamental fans.

It took a few moments for them to calm, the rush of pleasure leaving them momentarily light-headed. Varric carded his rough fingers through their hair gently, his voice soft and soothing in their ear.

“There’s my Mischief,” he murmured, the tone of his voice making them blush anew. “Good. Always so good for me.” It carried on that way for a few minutes until finally they straightened, standing from his lap only to drop to their knees. Varric blinked in surprise and they relished the thought; it took a lot to shock the blighted dwarf, after all.

“You know I’m not selfish, Varric,” they purred, all traces of the gasping and blushing from earlier gone. “Besides, I have to perform my civic duty, don’t I?” They were here on a mission, after all, and as nice as it was letting Varric have his way, they knew the best way to ease his stress was with a more hands on approach.

He’d appreciate the pun, they were sure.

Surprise turned to amusement and Varric answered by spreading his thighs invitingly. They settled between and smirked at the sight of the bulge straining against his breeches. A few deft tugs of the laces and he fell free, heavy and throbbing in their hand. Varric hissed above them, the light touch already wreaking havoc on his self-control. Humming in delight, they lifted their eyes to his, fingers closing as they began to slowly stroke his shaft.

“Don’t you have some correspondence to attend to?” they asked, a little too sweetly. “I promised Bran I would help you see reason, after all.”

Varric groaned, in pleasure or at the thought of more work they couldn’t tell, and dropped his head back. “The damn nobility can wait,” he insisted. “It’s a waste of time anyway.”

They clicked their tongue disapprovingly. That wouldn’t do.

Varric all but jerked when their hand left him suddenly cold and aching. Eyes wide with disbelief, he looked down at them. Oh, they’d treasure that sight for a long time to come. “Sweetheart, you can’t be serious--”

“I don’t hear a quill moving up there,” they cut him off, lips curling wickedly. “Better get to work, Master Tethras.”

For a long moment he stared at them, disbelieving. They saw the moment he began to appraise them, likely considering if it would be worth waiting out their stubborn streak. He could, and perhaps they would, break, but when the mood took hold they could be quite firm. He seemed to be weighing the odds. And they could see the moment he gave up, sighing heavily as he scooted his chair closer to his desk, casting his shadow over them.

They heard him pick up his quill, begin to write, and leaf through the documents above.

And they heard the moment he sucked in a breath as they took his cock in their hand once more, warm breath ghosting over the tip as they brought it to their lips. His hand stilled for a moment, and so did they. Then he cursed and began to write again, and they finally closed their mouth over him, jaw already burning at the stretch.

What Varric lacked in length was more than made up for in girth, and already they could feel their jaw settle into that familiar ache as they began to slowly work their way down him. The discomfort was worth every moment they could feel him twitch in their mouth, hear every curse and sucked in breath above them. Settling their hands against his calves they began to work in earnest, their head rocking back and forth. The familiar feeling of his hand in their hair had them pause just long enough to make sure they still heard the scratch of quill on parchment before resuming.

Above them, Varric cursed, his shaky signature being scrawled across shipment orders and premade letters alike. “Andraste’s fuckin’ ass, you’re an absolute menace. I’m--fuck, you feel so good.”

The praise only fueled their movements. Just when they thought Varric was beginning to catch his breath they paused, dragged their mouth all the way back to the head of his cock, and hollowed their cheeks to suck against the skin. Varric bucked, his knees slamming into the underside of the desk. It was only by a miracle that he didn’t snap the quill in his hand.

“Shit!” His frustrated grunt had them smiling against him and his hand tightened in their hair. Their scalp tingled from the force. Satisfied, they set to work again, eyes closing as they felt him begin to guide them. His hand tugged them back and forth, the pace increasing as he slowly began to fall apart. They could feel the way he throbbed in their mouth and paused just long enough to trace a vein on the underside of his cock.

“Maker,” he breathed above them, his hips bucking into their throat. By now his hand was faster and jerking them along his length in a way that made their eyes water. “Sweetheart, you feel like you were made for this. I’ve never felt anything--fuck--anything better in my damn life.”

They would answer if they could, but by now the grip on his shins was just as much to steady themself as much as him. He jerked them forward once more and they gagged around him, eyes nearly rolling into the back of their head. The noise set Varric groaning, and his cock throbbed once more in their mouth. They heard his brief warning then, right before he emptied into their throat, his grip on their hair holding them tight against him. Even as they coughed when he turned his grip loose they felt more than satisfied, with the taste of him lingering on their tongue.

Varric pushed his chair back the moment he caught his breath, quickly looking down to meet their gaze. They heard his hands shuffling on the desk before he finally produced what looked to be an embroidered handkerchief. Likely a gift from some Hightown aristocrat. They wondered how they would feel knowing just what it was being used for.

“You all right, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice softer than before. He reached to gently wipe their mouth. “Not too rough?”

They shook their head, still hazy from the pleasure. They thought their smile was answer enough, but Varric always insisted they use words. “Mm, perfect.”

Chuckling, Varric finished wiping their face. He then tugged them back to their feet to carefully guide them back into his lap. It was always this way. After they’d finished their business Varric would always insist on keeping them close by for a little while. They found it endearing, really; not many of their past partners had any sense of aftercare. When they’d told Varric, he’d scoffed.

‘Probably didn’t know how to actually satisfy a partner either, did they?’

They hadn’t disagreed.

“I think Bran owes me this time,” they finally said after a few moments of companionable silence. “I actually got you to do some work this time. Normally I’m distracting you.”

Varric laughed, the sound warm and vibrating through his bulky chest against them. They settled further into his lap.

“Just don’t tell him how you did it. I think he might die of embarrassment. But then again, without him around…” His conspiratorial look was met with a swat against his bared chest.

“Behave. You put the poor bastard through enough as it is,” they insisted. “If anything, I think he needs the vacation from you.”

Varric grinned and didn’t even have the audacity to look offended. With one arm still wrapped around them, he reached the free hand to straighten the letters he’d managed to sign into a neat pile, sighing at the sight of the rest. He’d made a dent, at least, but there was still a mountain to go. That, and the thought of them leaving threatened to kill what little optimism he had remaining. Of course that’s when a brilliant idea struck.

“Y’know, Mischief, I was thinking…”

“Dangerous thing, really.”

Varric smirked and shook his head fondly. “Always so rude to me, sweetness. Anyway, I was thinking. Instead of trotting out of here all rumpled like usual, how about...well. How about you stay the night? Make use of the bed this time instead of just my desk.”

They snorted. “You’re the one who always suggests the desk, Varric. I’m surprised my ass doesn’t have splinters at this point.”

“I mean, I could always check if you’re worried--”

“Don’t you have papers to sign?” they cut him off, their mockingly stern expression melting to laughter when he all but pouted at them. It wasn’t a bad idea, really. The thought had crossed their mind more than once. A night in Varric’s bed, of course, would likely have little to do with sleeping, but the idea was still...intimate. They’d always assumed the situation between them to be born of mutual attraction and necessity, but were they really opposed to something more?

Not in the least. But that didn’t mean they had to make it easy for him.

“Mmm, how about you make it through, say, half of this mountain on your desk,” they finally said, ignoring his sputtered indignation. “Do that, and I’m all yours for the whole night, serah.”

Varric paused, his eyes darting from the foreboding pile of correspondence back to the grinning mischief maker in his lap. It wasn’t even a contest, really. Varric had always been a weak man for a nice smile, and when they shot him one that promised nothing but trouble, he could never say no.

So instead he sighed, pressed a kiss to their forehead, and settled them properly in his lap as he picked up his quill.

“Only for you, Mischief. Only for you.”

[ajbwasntwriting]

Daughter!Reader X Negan, Reader x Daryl: Chapter 1. Darling Princess

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After the sneak peak tested well I decided to post the first chapter. I have many more already written and in the making but I’ll only post them if this gets a good reaction so please if you enjoy this please heart it, reblog it, and/or reply to it. Interaction inspires.

Sucking on another cigarette the stale tobacco burned your throat in a way you would’ve been disgusted by years ago. You looked out your window down at the gate, walkers pulling at it to try and get in. It had been a couple of years since Negan took power and more than long enough for you to feel trapped. You held the smoke in your lungs, a small part of your brain wishing it would ignite inside you and let you combust, before letting it out slow and smooth. Luxuries like this were meant to last. Another luxury was the leather loveseat you were sitting on, and the black and blue mosaic coffee table your feet and ashtray were on, and the acoustic gibson on your lap.

You placed the smoke between your lips to free your hand so you could strum the strings. You were playing an old rock balled your old man had taught you what felt like a life-time ago. He didn’t teach you to play guitar but when you came back from scouts playing campfire songs he insisted on teaching you some real music. You thought back on how many of his guitar strings you broke before that Christmas he bought you your own Washburn. The strings seemed to break less when the instrument was more your size. Those memories felt so distant now. As if they belonged to another person or were part of a movie you watched. The lyrics of the tune you were playing were on the cusp of coming back to you when your door opened violently somewhere behind you.

“My dearest daughter” Negan spoke as he entered your private room. You likened his new way of talking to that of a TV presenter. Always having to keep people on their toes. You used to think it funny when you were a kid but it wasn’t part of his personality then. “What are you doing here? Dinner was half an hour ago.”

“I’m not hungry” you shot back not even turning to face him, which would have been easy since the chair sat with its side to the window, but the walkers chewing on the fence were far more interesting.

“Y/N, don’t lie to me. You said the same at breakfast.” He sauntered over. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Lucille wasn’t with him.

“Food I didn’t earn doesn’t sate my appetite” you shot back, leaning forward to put out your smoke in the ashtray. That must have stirred something within him because the next thing you know you were grabbed by your arm and dragged out of your room, the guitar hitting the ground with a sorry sound. You let him drag you without protest, knowing better.

You were pulled into a plush dining room, immaculately furnished with white cushioned chair and a long oak table, set with silver cutlery. There were five sets in total for you, your father, and three of his ‘wives’. You figured this was some sort of ‘happy family’ play he’d act out but you didn’t know who the viewer was. You? The wives? The men? Or maybe knowing you didn’t want to be here was entertainment enough.

You were shoved into a chair next to the head of the table across from Frankie. She looked comfortable while nursing her drink but you reckoned that wasn’t her first. In front of her sat a bottle of vodka, distilled on-site by worker number 12. Fat Joey was filling the bowls with soup when your father shoved your chair in. He plopped himself into the chair next to you at the head of the table.

“Now isn’t this nice. A big happy family dinner before your old man takes off tomorrow.” You didn’t dignify him with a reply, instead motioning to the bottle of vodka in front of you. 

“May I have some, Frankie?” she looked at the bottle then smiled at you 

“Go ahead, Princess”. You picked up the bottle and filled your glass half-way to spite her for that nickname. 

“Thank you” you tried to be civil, as badly as you wanted to just walk off with the bottle, you sipped your glass instead.

You silently started the soup. The veggies were cut into large pieces. Perfect, chewing gave you a reason not to talk to the dickhead to your left. Your eyes were too buried in your soup to see the other two wives staring at you and your father who was boring holes into your head with his eyes.

“How was your day, Y/N?” Tanya perked up

“Same as yours” you replied with a mouth full of carrot and potato

Silence

“Where are you going tomorrow Negan?” Nicolle added.

“Ladies.” Your father spoke out, his tone showing his distinct lack of patience. “I’m not an idiot. I can tell that our darling daughter doesn’t want to share our company.”

“I made that obvious in my room.” Your spoon fell gracelessly into your bowl. “Why am I here?!” 

He reached over and rubbed your cheek affectionately. “Because I love you. And!” he punctuated the final word by raising a finger in front of your face, a silent cue to wait. He stood up from his chair and took off out of the room and down the hall. You took this moment to talk to his wives.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” you said before starting to shovel soup into your mouth.

“Like hell, we don't.” Frankie retorted, earning a short child from one of the others. You chuckled and swallowed the food in your mouth. You picked up your glass and gestured it at Frankie

“Take notes, Ladies. Frankie doesn’t try bullshit on me” Frankie gestured her glass back. You guessed she’d been in a similar situation, forced to get along with people because it was easier. She didn’t try to be your friend because you knew you wouldn’t appreciate it, which in a weird turn of events you appreciated.

Your father arrived back. It was now you noticed he was a lot cleaner than usual, even the signature leather jacket had left him. Now you were alarmed. In his hands was a pink box with a purple bow. He placed it in front of you and kissed the top of your head. “Happy Birthday, Y/N.”

“Is it my birthday?” you asked, not quite sure. Time had become a blur since the end of the world. You pushed your bowl away to bring the box in front of you.

“Give or take a few months. I know I’ve missed a couple what with...everything...so this will count for at least one of them.” He placed a hand on your shoulder giving it a little squeeze, your own hand finding its way on top “There’s a lot more gifts coming for my princess, don't you worry.” You couldn’t help the smile that came to you, giggling slightly. You looked up at him, seeing nothing but unconditional love being sent back your way 

“Dad, it’s alright.” You smiled and turned back to your gift. The wives were now watching, captivated by this little bit of humanity at the end of it all. You gingerly opened the bow and lifted the lid off.

Inside lay a military knife, clearly hand-made on-site with a beautiful leather handle and your name carved into the side in cursive. You released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. You picked it up, finding it fits in your hand perfectly. 

“It’s beautiful” you near-whispered, watching as the candle lights hit against the metal. In a moment it was lodged in the table a mere inch from Tanya’s hand. You kicked back your chair, making your father step back, and grabbed the vodka bottle in one motion. “Now if only I had a reason to fucking use it” you spat as you stormed out of the room.

Back in your room, you sat in the corner with your head against the cold-glass window, looking down at the dead, only illuminated by the moon. You had killed so many of them before arriving at Sanctuary. Hell, you’d say you saved your old man’s ass more than he saved you...but he was a people’s person. Ruthless. But a people’s person. ‘Let me do my thing and I’ll have these assholes sucking my dick in days’.

That was a different age. Back when your father was a teacher. Back when your mother was sick. Back when your father cheated on her with anything with a pulse and she took it out on you. Back when your mother’s treatment and your father’s lifestyle drained your college fund and you had to enlist. Back when she’d attack you, both emotionally and physically, and you took it cause you knew she was in pain.  Back when you had come home from a 16-month mission because her condition had worsened. Back when the world went to shit. Back when you had to put her down because your sleazeball of a father wasn’t man enough to do it. You looked down at the dead and thought, if you reached your hands through the wires...you could be back with your mom.

Your door opened slowly, heavy footsteps coming your way. There was no need to look. Only one person would enter your room without knocking. “You scared Tanya back there, Princess.” your father spoke in a low voice. 

“She can take it” you croaked, a clear sign you had been crying. He kneeled down beside you. In the reflection of the window, you could see him holding out the knife.

“Please take it.” You turned around, your back now pressed to the window.

“Why?”

“You need to be able to protect yourself”

“Give me a gun then”

“No.”

“Why? Scared I’d leave.” You took a swig of your drink. 

“I see you’re upset-”

“Do you?! Do you really?” you cut him short, stumbling to your feet using the window to push yourself up. “Why am I upset? Because I eat food I don’t deserve? Because you make people die for me? Because you have me trapped in a fucking tower like Repunzel or some shit!?” That earned a chuckle from him, which only served to piss you off. “I should be down there earning my bit just like everyone else.”

“Do we have to go over this again?” He sighed dramatically. He cupped your face, the knife now dangerously close to you. “You're my daughter Y/N. My darling baby girl. My precious princess”

“I was twenty-six when this shit hit, dad” you mumbled through your squished cheeks. He gave them a little loving slap.

“You're valuable to me, which means some people might want to hurt you. You eat to stay alive, people die because they’re stupid, and you live in this room on this floor so you can be kept safe.” you blew him off with a wave of your hand and an angry sigh. You pushed passed him to your bed, twirling to sit on it and start taking off your combat boots. He walked over and lodged the knife in your headboard before kneeling down to look up at you. “I have to go out for a while. Find this Rick Grimes asshole and get some payback for the fifteen men he killed at our outpost.”

A chill went up your spine “The one near the hilltop settlement” you whispered. 

“That’s right.” You looked him in the eye, not noticing how your lip quivered.

“You don’t have too.” you didn’t know if it was the booze or genuine worry for human life but you found yourself begging. “We have more than enough peo-” he shushed you soothingly, his hand coming up to your cheek, rubbing soothing circles. 

“Oh but you know I have too, and while I’m gone I don’t want anyone to get ideas on what they can do to you so” he nodded towards the knife. You pulled it out of the wall, looking it over before nodding, mouthing ‘okay’ and depositing it in your nightstand table. He kissed your forehead before leaving, wishing you a good night. Once again alone you took two large gulps of your drink and laid down.

Edit: For creative reasons Y/N is now 26 at the beginning of the apocalypse instead of the original 24

[write-ur-wrongs]

I can’t thank you enough for you kindness and patience with this request! I was nervous to write a HoH reader, but I truly hope I’ve done them justice. Please let me know what you think :) 

Hi could I request a Geralt x hard of hearing (HoH) reader? Could be hcs or maybe reader is nervous that they'll be a burden for geralt & jaskier to travel with? Ty!

The sun was about to set as you reached your destination, and while your feet throbbed angrily, you were glad to have powered on earlier in the day. You weren’t afraid of the woods at night, but you weren’t willing to fight for free. If you were going to kill, you were going to collect.

As you entered the town, you took note of its state. Multiple villagers were milling around the alleys, chatting under lanterns and clearing out their market stalls for the day. You were happy to see that this village was busy; villages with plenty of children and elders often had plenty of jobs needing to be done.

Your optimism was quickly dampened though, when you saw that there were only three signs on the notice board. Letting your bag drop to your feet with a huff, you massaged your shoulder as you scanned the board for anything worthwhile.

“Oh, thank god!” you muttered, upon seeing the first ad. It was posted by the town healer who was looking for an extensive collection of herbs – a collection you already had in your pack. Plus, they lived just off the town square, so you could drop off the herbs on your way to the inn.

The next ad was from someone begging for an exorcism for their child, who had apparently become possessed by a devil. You skipped it quickly, screwing your face up in disgust. You weren’t about to try that again.

The final post was from a local farmer requesting assistance in dealing with a banshee – this caught your attention. You felt like you’d struck gold here; there was no creature better suited to your abilities – or as some might say, lack thereof.

You were a little bitter that half the post had been torn off, so you had no idea who you were looking for, only where to look; the pub.

You hated a lot of things and many places, but if there was one thing you really couldn’t stand, it was small enclosed areas where hoards of people went to get drunk and shout. Between the collective shouting and slurring, you could never make heads or tails of what anyone was saying.

Sighing through your nose, you tore the rest of the ad off the board, picked up your bag and made way for the healer’s house before seeking out the pub.

Fortunately, the healer was beyond grateful for your herbs, and paid you handsomely for them. Weighing your bag of coin roughly in your hand, you contemplated whether or not a visit to the pub would be worth it.

While the healer paid you really well, that was no guarantee of long-term comfort. In the last village, you ended up paying more for a room at the inn than you’d made slaying two of their local terrors. You knew ridding someone of a banshee would pay well, but gods, you hated pubs.

It seemed fate made the decision on your behalf, however, as the pub and the inn were in the same building – you’d have to go into the pub to get yourself a room for the night.

Well, fuck, you thought, hiking your bag up higher on your shoulder, readying yourself for the dull and disorienting drone that awaited you inside. Here goes nothing. 

It was loud; so loud in fact, that you could feel it. You looked around hoping that the person you were looking for would somehow make themselves known, but all you saw were groups of rowdy men shouting and shoving one-another around the crowded space.

But just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, you spotted a bard. And he was really putting it on for the crowd.

Rolling your eyes, you pulled your bag up closer to yourself, conscious of the limited space, and plowed on. Once at the bar, you took a moment to lean up against it and tried to get your bearings. You’ve been living with your condition for most of your life now, having lost the majority of your hearing after an accident, but you didn’t think you’d ever get used to the overwhelming buzz that surrounded you in loud spaces. There was no discernable sound per say, it was all just noise.

You were lost in your discomfort when you felt someone grab at your elbow. You whipped your head around and found yourself face to face with a drunk woman.

“’e’s been askin’ ya a question!” she shouted at you, nodding to the bartender.

“Oh,” you exclaim, “thank you.” You say, pulling your arm out of her grasp and turning to face the bar, and impatient bartender.

“As I’ve been sayin’, ’ow can I ‘elp ya?” he says, leaning towards you to be heard above the noise.

“I need a room,” you said, leaning in yourself, “and I need to find the person who posted this.” You slam the torn ad on the bar and slide it towards him.

“Up the stairs, first door ‘o the left,” he says, sliding you a key, “and no need to worry ‘bout that lass, ‘e’s taken care o’ it, yeah?” As he said this though, he turned his face away from you to gesture towards the man in question.

Unable to read his lips, you looked to where he pointed in frustration, but all you saw was an over-confident bard strut around like a fool. You scoffed and turned back to the bartender to ask him to repeat himself, but he’d already walked off to serve someone else.

Scoffing, you grabbed the key to your room off the bar and stalked off in the direction he had pointed. You really hated pubs.

Seeing a new face, the bard danced his way over to you and blocked your path, clearly trying to make an impression. You pushed past him, rolling your eyes and muttering expletives. Despite his quick recovery, you could tell your dismissiveness stung him by the way his eyes fell, but you had no patience for bards.

With the flamboyant man behind you, you took another look around the space, meaning to head upstairs to your room, but that’s when you spotted it. A wolf-head medallion, glimmering under the low light of the pub.

And the man wearing it? The White Wolf himself.

You knew this is who the bartender was referring to. There was definitely no one else in your line of sight who could handle a banshee and then settle into a pub like it was nothing.

And the most frustrating thing? He looked bored. Bored! This man just robbed you of your livelihood then settled into the local pub like it was nothing?

The whole ‘hero’ narrative that was used when referring to the White Wolf definitely made sense now that you saw him. He was broad and brooding. Like, exceptionally broad. And extraordinarily brooding. Like nothing could phase him; but Gods, you were going to try.

Another slew of expletives left your lips as you charged up to him. The man didn’t even look up when you arrived at his table. It took you slamming the add down on his table for him to put down the tankard and look at you.

“You stole my job”, you said, putting your bag down and sitting across from him.

“Excuse me?” he said, he said in a low, gravely tone, fixing you with his intense stare. You’d never met a witcher before and his eyes caught you off guard.

You tapped your fingers against the torn piece of paper on the table and said, “Maybe next time, take the whole add down so others don’t get their hopes up?” You pushed the paper towards him with emphasis as you punctuated the last word.

He quirked up a brow, leaned back into his seat, and smirked a little as he sized you up.

“Tearing down posts to prevent competition,” he said, “is that your move?”

You tilted your head at him with furrowed brows. While you were relieved to that he spoke slowly and deliberately, so you could read his lips with ease, his devil-may-care air was pissing you off.

“It’s common curtesy,” you said, “if you’re taking care of it. You take it down.”

“Hm.” He said, behind his pint, not that you could hear him. He took a sip of his ale with curious, raised brows. “And if you fail to take care of their problem?”

“Wouldn’t be the end of the world,” you said, crossing your arms. “Besides, I always follow-through.”

“Always, hm?”

“Yes, witcher, always. And would you like to know why that is?”

The corner of his mouth curled up into another smirk as he gestured you to continue.

“I only take jobs,” you tap the piece of paper between the two of, holding his gaze, “I know I can do.”

You saw something in his face change as he considered your words. Slowly, he set his drink down and leaned forward, connecting the dots.

“So, you’ve been the reason every town I’ve passed has had nothing to offer,” he said, “no monsters anywhere for weeks – or so it seemed. I was beginning to think the world had sorted itself out.”

As he spoke, you looked from his mouth to his eyes quickly, following every word. He noticed this but said nothing, and for that you were grateful.

“Now witcher, please,” you said, feeling bold, “don’t tell me you’ve gone your long life having never encountered competition in your line of work?”

“None like you.”

You sat together in silence for a few moments, a strange comfort settling in.

You weren’t used to having such quick banter. Normally you missed half of what people said and got too frustrated to ask them to repeat themselves. It was nice to be fully engaged in the conversation for once. It was such a small thing, but you found yourself fighting back a wave of sadness as you realized how much you missed these moments of connection.

“Well,” you said, breaking the spell and moving to get up, “just, um, take down the posts in the future, alright witcher?”

“Geralt.”

“Yes, Geralt,” you smile, “of Rivia, the White Wolf, the butcher of Blaviken.” You count the names off your fingers one by one as you get up from the table, making Geralt fight back a smile himself.

“Wait – what’s your name?” he says a little too late, you already had you back turned. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out towards you and caught your hand in his, letting go the instant you turned back, looking down on him curiously.

“Sorry – I, hm, what is your name?”

“Y/N” you state simply.

Geralt quirks up a brow, waiting for you to go on. When you didn’t, he cleared his throat.

“Y/N… of?”

“Of nowhere of importance,” you say, “it’s just Y/N.”

“Hm.” He nods at you in an unspoken understanding, holding your gaze as you took a few steps backwards and away from him.

Just as you turn to make your way towards the stairs, you find yourself face to face with the bard. He’s looking from you to Geralt with eyes wide in confusion and curiosity. You smile to yourself as you push past him to the stairs.

You’re about to unlock the door to your room when you feel the floor vibrate beneath your feet. Someone of substantial weight was running up the wooden stairs behind you.

You turn quickly, your hand finding the hilt of your sword. But you release your grip when you see it was Geralt. Behind him you saw the bard craning his neck to stare through the bannisters, now looking positively concerned.

You thought you heard Geralt say something while you were looking down at the troubadour. Quickly, you brought your gaze back to him, looking from his mouth to his eyes. He was looking at you expectantly, so he was probably waiting for a reply. Fuck.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to your ear with your free hand, “I can’t, I mean, I didn’t hear you.”

Something seemed to click in his mind, because he took a step closer to you before repeating himself.

“What if there was no competition?” he said, thankfully at the same tone as he spoke to you downstairs. Once you registered his words however, you squinted at him playfully.

“Are you threatening me, Geralt?”

“Hm,” he bit back a smirk and shook his head, “No, Y/N. Travel with us, we will split the coin, double our workloads.”

“Us?” you had never heard of the White Wolf travelling with a group. Thinking you might have heard him wrong, and tired of needing to reply on lip reading; you unlock your door and push your way in, nodding for Geralt to follow you.

“Sorry, I don’t think I heard you right.” You say, dropping your bag on the bed with a thud.

“I’m asking you to join me on my travels, we can work together and split the coin.”

You took in his words slowly, drinking them in. Down in the in the pub, you could see his words, at times, feel them; but hearing them? That was something you truly weren’t expecting. Geralt had what might be the deepest voice you’ve ever heard.

“You said, ‘us’, before,” you said, sitting on the chair in the corner and removing your boots, “isn’t that what you said?”

“Hm,” he hummed, you watched him closely. Oh, the things you missed when you couldn’t hear, you thought sullenly. “You’re right, I did. The bard, Jaskier, he’s with me.”

“The bard?!” you laughed, finding it impossible to picture the broad brooding man before you with the man you saw downstairs. “And you tolerate him?”

“Hm,” he laughed through his nose, “I’ve learned to tune him out.”

“Hm?” you repeat, teasingly, picking up on his verbal tick, “Is that so?”

He squints at you in mock contempt, and makes a scene of standing up from the edge of the bed where he’d settled.

“I take back my offer,” he states, turning his head so you could see him say as well as hear him, as he makes his way for the door.

“Geralt, wait,” you exclaim through what was left of your laughter, “you really want me to join you? Despite my…” you gesture vaguely to your ears.

The witcher stopped in his tracks and looks down at you meaningfully.

“Y/N,” he says, “you said it yourself, you and I are currently fighting for the same work, and you’ve proven yourself to be an extraordinary fighter – villages up and down the continent has benefitted from your work.”

He takes another step closer to you before finishing his thought.

“Despite your…” he mimics your previous gesture with a small smile.

“I really don’t want to be a burden to you,” you say, in a small voice, “or Jaskier, the bard, or anyone.”

“Impossible.” He states firmly, leaving no room for argument, but his eyes betrayed a gentleness.  

You had to admit it was an amazing offer. To no longer be alone. To be with someone who spoke to you with respect, not yelling at you or mocking you for your condition. Working within a team would also allow you a sense of security you haven’t known for, well, far too long.

Geralt must have sensed that you were nearing a decision because he placed his hand on your shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, eyes never leaving yours.

“I was planning on leaving this village tomorrow…” you start, “and if you’re certain –”

“– I am.”

“Well, then I guess we leave tomorrow.” You say, putting your hand over his, and returning the comfort he had given you.

“Perfect.” He says, gentle eyes holding yours for another moment before he cast them downward and pull his hand away.

Once he was well out of your room and you had made your way to bed, you finally began accepting the reality of what you had agreed to.

After years of living in the shadows, ashamed of who you where and what you couldn’t do. You’d be a part of a team. One that would value you and lean on you for support as much as you did them.

You settled into your bed and closed your eyes, letting the welcomed silence wash over you. You supposed you’d have to learn to tune out the bard too. At least you had an advantage.

[volexis]

moral of the story; akaashi keiji x gn!reader

summary: you never thought falling out of love would be so painful

warning: angst, that’s it I think?

wc: 1.5k

note: general taglist is open, fill out this form if you’d like to be added!

a/n: why is it the first time I write a haikyuu fic it’s angst :,) This is loosely inspired by the song “Moral of the Story” by Ashe, hence the title. It popped into my playlist and here I am an hour later and very heartbroken 

"Is everything okay?" You peered over your phone to glance at your lover. He paused midturn, a page of his current novel between his fingers. He hummed absentmindedly after a short pause and continued his reading. It didn’t surprise you in the least. Akaashi Keiji was a blunt man of few, well-placed words. You took it in stride when his witty remarks began to be replaced with measured silences as he eased out of his loud, rambunctious high school years. On the contrary, you praised him for being mature enough to pick and chose his fights. Once this quietude bled into the comfort of your shared apartment, bright afternoons spent lounging together faded into the two of you on opposite sides of the room; awkward stillness punctuated by a lack of eye contact, of any sort of contact at all. He was now a specter, drifting monotonously through daily routines, unfettered in his tranquility. It seemed like he barely noticed your presence anymore.

Akaashi probably hadn’t realized himself but you know him well enough to see the small, subtle changes in the way he acts around you. The all but imperceptible flinching of his shoulders when you would rest your chin on the crown of his head. His fingers would falter at the keyboard but resume just as quickly as they’d stopped, hoping you wouldn’t notice. Praying you wouldn’t notice. No dice. For his sake, maybe more for your own, you’d smile down at him, as sweet as you could muster, and gingerly rest your arms on his shoulders, wrapping around him in an almost awkward embrace.

Before you could linger any longer he’d stand up, unraveling your arms from around him as gently as he could but his fingers felt like needles pricking your skin every time they made contact with you. He’d distract you by asking about day, opting to ramble about his own troubles when you’d say nothing.  He took your silence as compliance, disinterest even. There were days where you used to prefer his idle prattling to the dense lull that seemed to plague the time you spent together. Today was not one of them. Bitter words burned holes in your tongue but you wouldn’t send them out into the world, you couldn’t, lest they wound him too.

Even then you’d still look out for him. His passing out on the couch had become an increasingly common occurrence, more so in the last months of your relationship. When you’d ask him about it, he’d brush it off with a simple “I’m sorry, love, I fall asleep here sometimes when I’m working late”. Love. It probably tasted as acrid as it sounded coming from him but you chose not to dwell on it. You tucked the thought away for a sleepless night.

It started with him working late nights with his computer on his lap, furiously typing away at something he wouldn’t let you look at. You’d stay up as long as you could, staring at his side of the bed until you could no longer distinguish the darkness of the room from that behind your eyelids.

On the occasions you’d wake up at odd hours of the night, you’d find him resting calmly on the couch, spread-eagle under the worn blanket you’d gifted him early on in your relationship. You paused to smooth his hair back and kiss his forehead, but you hesitated. He’d taken off his glasses. His computer lay safely on the coffee table, charging and far out of reach from his wayward limbs. “Odd,” you’d mumble to yourself. Instead, you tucked him in, adjusting the cloth so it’d cover more of his body. Then back to bed, back to the darkness, back to an empty room chock full of unanswered questions.

“Does he still love me?” You clutched your phone tightly as you waited with bated breath. 

“Of course he does, what makes you think otherwise?” Bokuto was quick to respond, hasty even. His warm voice should’ve soothed your nerves, but it only amplified your worries. 

“(Y/N), did he do something?” His voice dramatically lowered in pitch, crawling through your speakers in a gravelly, almost menacing manner. The seriousness in his tone made you jump, this wasn’t something you expected from the usually light-hearted athlete. “If he’s hurt you—”

“Of course he hasn’t, I’m- I don’t even know how to say this, he’s- it’s,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s nothing, I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill.”

You could practically see him quirking his head to the side in confusion, further emulating the feathered creature he often reminded you of. “I don’t get it.”

You couldn’t hold back the raucous giggles that poured out, Bokuto joining in good-naturedly. You spoke up after your laughter had ceased and allowed you to breathe regularly once more. “Thanks for that, Bo, I really needed it.” A small smile rested on your features, a remnant of the few moments of mirth you’d been able to enjoy in the past few weeks. You hung up and ambled on, oblivious to the lingering presence by the front door. Maybe if you hadn’t called him, if you hadn’t been so distracted, you would’ve heard your boyfriend jostling the door handle that never seemed to want to turn properly. Maybe you would’ve seen the unreadable expression he donned, something akin to hurt mixed with something much more somber. 

You chose not to question him when he’d stay out late, later than he’d ever been, not even coming home on some days. If he came back the next morning, he’d be more disheveled than you’d last seen him, though you’d never tell him that you’d noticed. Turning a blind eye to the pain was easier than looking him in the eyes and accepting that the sparkle they once held when he looked at you was now gone. Replaced with something akin to a cautious indifference, perhaps thinly veiled pity.

When he asked you to lunch one day, you were hesitant to acquiesce. Even then, you loved him too much to ever say no. It hurt to think you were holding him back, grasping at threadbare strings that snapped the more you pulled; the more you ached for him to come back to you, to hold you like he used to. He had a certain way of molding himself around you, accommodating for any position you were in, wrapping his arms around your waist in a way that made you melt back into him. You missed it, you missed him, but maybe it was high time you realized he was no longer yours to claim.

He sat down in front of you at a nice café, somewhere breezy and local. You’d been there a couple of times before, it had strong, bracing coffee but you couldn’t quite recall the name of the shop. He was wearing a button-down with slacks. Comfortable, but not enough seeing as he fidgeted with the spring salad he had ordered, picking at the leaves of lettuce all the while glancing up at you and looking away just as quickly. He resembled a high schooler on a first date and you couldn’t fight the anxiousness gnawing at your stomach. The sandwich you had ordered no longer looked as appetizing.

“Kei—”

“Y/N—”

You both laughed out of a mix of awkwardness and relief. The silence had been broken, but at what cost?

“You go first, don’t worry,” you ushered. He nodded and reached for your hands over the table. He hesitated at the last minute, fingers hovering over yours, a queasy expression on his features. His brow crinkled in something akin to disgust, but you knew him well enough to know he was deep in thought. Did you really know him though? How much has changed since the last time the two of you were able to sit down on the couch and cuddle with a mindless show droning on on the tv in front of you? Did he still prefer tea to coffee? Did he still stop by the onigiri shop at corner on his way to work even though it’d make him late? Did he still fidget with his fingers when he was nervous or contemplating something?

You looked down to see his fingers trembling above yours. He was picking at his nails and the skin around them methodically. Something was bothering him and it made the pit in plaguing your stomach grow. One second passed. Then two. At the third, he gripped your fingers with resolve, something you hadn’t seen in him in a long time.

You squeezed back, offering a wary but encouraging smile. This only made him grimace deeply and you almost faltered.

“I have something important to tell you,” he started slowly, sounding out his words as if they were in a foreign language.

“Go ahead then.”

He carefully considered his next sentence but in the back of your mind, you had an aching feeling that you knew exactly what he was going to say. Five words left his mouth in a hushed whisper of decency, regret, or sympathy. You couldn’t tell which one hurt the most.

“I don’t love you anymore.”

“I know.”

[kyoupann]

Please do more of the writing head canons. It’s really interesting to see other people’s ideas on the topic, so if you can be bothered, I would highly appreciate more, thanks bye <3

Y’all don’t know how happy I am to talk about these headcanons, they are my babies and I love them so much :’) thanks for asking g <3

Handwriting Headcanons

Same dynamic as before, try to guess whose handwriting it is before reading and tell me how many you got right! <3

You can find the first post here (no need to check it tho)

Quick disclaimer: halfway through making my initial notes, I remembered I had one (1) single lesson of graphology in my applied linguistics class, but that was a year ago and some information might be off. I just thought it was neat to include.

Another quick disclaimer: I don’t know much about Hylian, but I like to think it has a similar stroke system to Japanese, so the pressure and accuracy of your strokes play a major role in your handwriting (among other things, ofc.) so there are some parts where I focus more on that

(First Row, from left to right)

Sky

Our first boy is mother hen! Believe it or not, he has the prettiest handwriting out of all of them! Sky: probably has nice, even elegant handwriting because Sun forced him to practice when they were little. In the end, that paid off because his handwriting is the prettiest one. There’s no pressure, but he is confident in what he writes that his lines aren’t thin. Mistakes? what is that? this boy has impeccable grammar and spelling. No mechanic errors to be found in his letters! I’d like to think that many of Hyrule’s classic/staple poems were originally written by the firt king aka sky child. Like, imagine, after a retiring from being a Person of Power (as the first ruler), Sky finds comfort in the arts: revisits his old woodcarvings and starts writing poetry about the world he still doesn’t fully understand. wowie. tldr: sky writes poetry and you can pry it from my cold dead hands.

This is what one of his letters would look like: 

Next one is the one and only, our Hero of Time

2. Time

I’ll die on the “Time didn’t know how to read and write” hill. His handwriting is simple, not pretty but not messy. It has some grammar and spelling mistakes here and there. Can become unreadable if writing in a hurry, he sorts of forgets spaces between words are a thing/letters have different sizes and lowercase letters end up the same size as capital letters. I’m not saying he sometimes forgets to write articles: he just doesn’t want to. Honestly, he just has this dad-neat handwriting. He is a gentle dad and writes like a dad, if he puts too much pressure onto the paper, his handwriting become too sharp/angle-ish and ends up looking ugly. And as much as he would like to not care about it, in the end he does (:

Malon taught him how to write and it was quite the experience. At first he didn’t want to because he was ‘too old’ to learn and it was torture at first, but now look at him devouring his cowboy novels. 

A chunk of his handwriting: 

*sniff* such a dad quote.

3. my mansss, your  4x1 deal at Target: Four

Look, my boy is patient! He could do some nice and fancy lettering if he wanted to. He was taught that handwriting and spelling said a whole lot about him as a person, you know, like a first impression kinda thing; so he always proof reads more than twice before sending ­a letter. Super rare grammar mistakes.

The faster he writes, the more slant his writing becomes. Under stress/ when not sure how to write things down, run-on sentences are everywhere and his handwriting is inconsistent in general (I don’t headcanon each part of him having completely different handwriting because handwriting becomes muscle memory over time. It’s just slightly different variations of the same, like idk  Vio’s handwriting is neater than Green’s and Red writes hearts instead of any dot/circle and no, I do not take constructive criticism on that, jk i do.) Adding on to each of the colours’ handwriting, I’d think Red and Green write with words slanted to the right( inclined), Vio is a mix of the opposite, so reclined and straight, and my mans blue a true neutral writes straight (kinda like Time’s).

The logic behind this is that inclined writing supposedly means honesty and need for giving (and getting) affection; reclined means, as you can probably imagine,  defensiveness and repression of true feelings, but also shows great concentration; straight handwriting means self-control, observation and reflection as well as distrust and indifference. But as complete being (tm), Four just writes as in the image example which is not too straight and not too inclined, and I believe that’s a good middle for him

HOWEVER, if I’m feeling in the mood for crack, I totally accept this boy to have the ugliest, chicken scratches-looking handwriting! :’D It’s just funny to think that someone like him, who has to be precise and careful in his work, can't write neatly to save his life. 

One of his letters would look like this: 

Also I just LOVE how his hero titles look in this font ksksks

and that’s

(Middle row, from left to right)

4.- Mister Bunny Boy - Legend

His uncle taught him how to write. I’d call his handwriting pretty and neat at a first glance, but he presses too hard on the paper, most of the time staining the back or the following page. Sometimes will retrace some words if he doesn’t like how it looks (which only makes it messier). According to my notes, a thick or strong handwriting represents determination/commitment.

As I also headcanon him to know many languages, mechanical errors are more present than grammar ones; that is, weird capitalisation of words. Punctuation is somewhere in between; uses too many commas when he should just cut the sentence. he mixes punctuation from two languages or more in writing when too distracted (or too focused, because, well, pressure.); when he writes for himself, he has almost no problem following said language’s punctuation rules. Also, this is just polyglot culture, and I’m projecting a bit, but when he forgets a word in the language he’s writing, he just replaces it with its equivalent in another language because we don’t care about fluency, but rather functionality. in this household (more on that in my language hc, ksksks).

An example of his writing:

so powerful

4.-  Mr. Wolfman, howl me a song - Twilight

I don’t have much for him because 1) I don’t think he writes a lot and 2) he is a hands-on/visual learner, I’ll die by that. He only learnt how to write because Ulli insisted it was important and he was not about to disrespect his momma; he IS That Guy, but doesn’t really write enough to have neat handwriting.

Many people seem to overlook the fact that his house is filled with books and write him as completely illiterate (which if not explored properly, ends up feeling a bit disrespectful and full of prejudice, but go off I guess; and that’s on my core Headcanons for Twi); however, he sticks to simple sentences. Knowing how to read and understanding a text is different from knowing how to write them. Like, when we would see a semicolon and understand its position in the text, but didn’t understand the nature of it. Is this clear? idk i’m sorry. So yeah, boy reads a lot, writes very little.

As for his Actual Handwriting, as opposed to Legend, his handwriting is thiccc but not because he presses into the paper; he is just that messy, he has no sense of ink-flow-control, he does what he can with what he has. To the untrained eye, his handwriting illegible letters like v, n, u are very similar; when he makes notes for himself he does it in the form of doodles or small ‘icons’. But! He reads a lot, so he rarely makes spelling mistakes (: he is your go-to guy when you don’t know how to write a word.

An example of his writing:

He keeps a journal, sue me.

3. My first born- Warrior

Okay, first off... I accept this is completely biased. I saw the idea and said “That’s True”. If you haven’t, please read Effective Communication; or The Lack of Thereof by htruona, a fic where the boys reflect on the language barriers between them. It’s incredibly funny and probably what made me start making these silly notes. So, if you’ve read that fic, you know where I’m going.

My man, Warrior, can’t fucking write. I mean, he physically can, but it’s very bad. Here’s the reason for it, tho, and it’s not his fault: Technically, he knew how to write alright but he joined the military and whatever note he had to write had to be concise or in the worst case coded. He mixes capital and lowercase letters. If we consider that he joined the military at around 15, his handwriting and grammar had yet to continue developing. Just think about how after summer break, your handwriting was always slightly worse than before because you didn’t write for an entire month. Now think what 2 years can do to that. Hmm, not cool, dude. He makes quick notes, when writing he’s all gotta go fast. he is the lighting mcqueen of writing; good for emergency messages, not ideal for love letters. His punctuation also suffered a lot, he only know full stops and commas and hardly uses them. A sentence for him is either one word or fifty without a single comma, no inbetween.

His hero title and an example of his writing.

(Bottom row, or what I like to call “fuck cursive” row)

7.- Magic man - Hyrule

I’m basic and I do agree with the popular headcanon of he not knowing how to write because well, y’all know his Hyrule. He only knows how to write his name because that’s important, same with numbers. I don’t see why would he write/read except checking the roadsigns. (he can even use this as an excuse for getting lost frequently; he thought it said something different.) But I do think that because his habitual reading consists of roadsigns, his ‘punctuation’ is weird af and places full stops/points/periods at the same level of his words and his commas/question/exclamation marks below them. Yk, creative license. Sadly, I don’t have much about my magic hands man so here’s what his writing would look like if he actually wrote a paragraph:

Man, I love Hyrule.

8.- Man, I don’t understand this boy -  Wild

Cursive? ain’t nobody have the time for that. He woke up and had to save the world in his underwear while not knowing how to read nor write.  He learnt during his journey and was taught by multiple people from different regions, that explains his inconsistent spelling of things and names for them. So Wild knows language variations for many items and uses them interchangeably (even if they aren’t exactly the same). Another headcanon related to writing/language skills that I’ve been thinking about is that if the shrine was able to cause amnesia, I’m sure there were other areas in the brain affected which leads us to language disorders such as agraphia and aphasia. But that’s a story for another day ksksksk

An example of his writing (after relearning)

9.- The best of sons - Wind

I don’t have much for him and that makes me sad. Look, he’s a kid, doing kid things like stabbing dudes on the head. This boy was taught cursive by his grandma, but could never do it and no one needs it anyway. His handwriting is good enough for his pirate life, Tetra is the one to handle Official stuff, he just gotta sign. Spelling and grammar mistakes abound. He is still relatively young and can correct his handwriting if he desires. But same as Wild, with how many times he’s been thrown out and hit his head, I’m starting to consider some language disorder for him as well.

An example of his writing:

aaand that’s it.

Thanks, y’all for showing interest in this silly thing uwu it was fun to finally talk about this. If you ever want to discuss ideas/headcanons(especially if they are related to language and culture), I’m your person (: I’m always happy to hear new headcanons. Feel free to add anything to this post either in a reply or in a reblog, I’d love to hear from y’all <3<3

[apiratewhopines]

Look at the mesmerizing artwork by @teamhook. Can you spot the villain of this little story?

In the Offing

Chapter 18 — The Stable Boy

Summary: In which our heroine misplaces something

Chapter 18 on AO3

“A guilty conscience means at least you’ve got one

Who will forgive you when I’m gone?”

-Here He Comes, The Wallflowers

“That went further than I intended,” Killian whispered against her throat. She could feel his smile against the sensitive skin and knew that while his words sounded like the beginning of an apology, it was really more of an observation on their current status. Their completely unclothed, totally sated status.

“Hmm, there is something about the motion of the water,” Emma said by way of agreement. She was lazily running her fingers through his mussed hair, appreciating the way the thick, short locks felt silky in her hands. His laughter rumbled through his chest and she gave in to the temptation to run her fingers through the hair there as well.

“I’ll make a pirate out of you yet, Swan.”

“Well, I need to do something special for a man who would trade a secluded afternoon with the most famous actress in the world to spend time with his unknown, magnet-for-trouble house guest.”

She should get up. Lord only knew if there were locks on the door or if they could be interrupted. However, she wasn’t lying about the sensation of being lulled to sleep by the waves. Although sleep was the furthest thing from her mind a few minutes ago.

“House guest? Is that the label we’re going with? How about girlfriend? Lover? Angel? Magnificent creature?” He punctuated each question with a nuzzle against a different section of exposed flesh. “Besides, I am a seafaring man and all sailors know that it’s bad luck to have a redhead on board. Thank goodness I didn’t have to take her out on the open seas. You may never have seen me again.”

“That would have been a shame. I do enjoy seeing you. The more of you, the better.” She allowed her hands to wander over the expanse of skin on display, thankful that the afternoon was warm since there was only one sheet and their picnic blanket from the other day to cover up with. Her eyes had drifted closed during their idle exchange but she cracked open her left to look at him as she felt the bed shift under his movements. He had propped himself up on his elbow and was resting on his side. She was surprised to see his expression had turned serious. “What’s on your mind?”

“I think it’s time we talk. I like the odds of you staying put since you’re naked,” he added with some of his usual swagger.

“If you’re ready,” she told him. Reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, she knew that nothing he said would make any difference to her. She was too far gone already. The only possible outcome was she would fall deeper under his spell. “No matter what, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know what those words mean to me, love.” He pressed a forceful kiss to her lips and returned to his earlier position. His eyes focused out the window and glazed over as he became lost in his memories. When he spoke, his voice had deepened with emotion. “Liam and I moved here a decade ago with one purpose and one purpose only: To find Frederick’s bloody treasure trove. There was nothing for us in England, hadn’t been in years really. I was graduating and Liam was finishing up his enlistment with the Navy. To my surprise, he didn’t doubt for a moment my claims that I could find our fortune on the rocky beaches of Maine. So off we went without a backward glance at the shores of our ancestors.”

She could imagine a younger Killian, full of life and confidence, pulling along his older, more seasoned brother. After all, no one was more jaded than her and she was already prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth.

“It took us more time to find the pub in Storybrooke than it did to find the first treasure hoard. Oh, Emma, I wish you could have been there.” His grin was something that belonged on a schoolboy’s face, not a man in his mid-thirties. Unable to help herself, she reached up and traced it with her fingertips. He captured her wayward digits and pressed a heartfelt kiss to the tips. “Most pirate treasure was in the form of goods like timber, cotton, sugar, or tobacco. But good old Frederick didn’t disappoint. There was enough silver to make us wealthy even by today’s standards. There were some interesting historical bits as well that will one day find their way into a museum but I won’t bore you with those details.”

“Such a gentleman,” she murmured with a chuckle. “What did you do with it? Aren’t you supposed to alert the authorities when you find stuff like that?”

“I want to be a better man for you, Swan, but I will never be a saint. We haven’t disclosed any of our findings. We simply dip in when we need something extra. Some day we’ll let it see the light of day but for now it rests in Davy Jones’ locker.”

“Wait, I know that one. You mean it’s hidden under the sea?”

“No, we put it in my grandfather’s old locker and buried it under the cottage. It’s the only thing my father left behind when he abandoned us all those years ago.” When she rolled her eyes at him, he simply chuckled. “But to answer your question, the laws vary by state and country. Maine is actually quite lenient with their buried treasure as long as it isn’t found on state property. Luckily, two of the piles we found were on my land at the cottage. Technically, I didn’t own the land when I found the first one but it was under contract. I quickly remedied that and it was all above board when I found the second stash a few days later. That one had more coins and a few loose gemstones.”

“Gemstones?” Visions of The Goonies filled Emma’s mind and she had to stop herself from asking about One-Eyed Willy. Because, as fantastical as it seemed, the man who held her heart in his hands also had a knack for finding buried treasure. A gift she hoped he would survive considering someone out there desperately wanted to get their hands on it.

“Yes, darling,” he answered. “I think several have your name on them.”

“No way,” she argued. “I don’t want any of it. What if it’s cursed?”

“Cursed, you say?” He looked thoughtful as the sunlight was momentarily blocked by an errant storm cloud outside. “Yes, I suppose that may be true. Shortly after I uncovered the third pile, I went to the Rabbit Hole to celebrate my victory. Liam had just met Elsa so I was on my own for the most part those days. Not that it mattered, you know how this town takes to new people so I never lacked companionship for a drink or...whatever.”

“Whatever, indeed,” Emma teased in her best impression of his accent. She sensed he was coming to the part of his story that was the most difficult to relay and tried to infuse some humor into the conversation.

With a rueful grin that acknowledged her effort, both with the accent and the humor, he continued. “I met Milah that night. She was a sight to behold in the dim light of the bar, vibrant in a way that seemed too much for this little town.” He narrowed his eyes as they made contact with hers. “I didn’t know at first that she was married. Lads of twenty-four aren’t known for pumping the brakes when a beautiful woman gives them nothing but green lights and I was no different. Honestly, I was probably worse. I was a rash young man far from home and high on my own cleverness. It never occurred to me to question my good fortune or wonder why no one else was vying for her attention.”

“How far gone were you when you found out the truth?”

“Completely,” he confessed with a shaky breath. “The fight we had when I found out, well, it would have melted paint off the walls. I was a dirty little secret, the younger man who captured her attention but not her affections. It was always like that with her. She was so restless. Always moving, always searching. Nothing was ever enough. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t enough either. She wanted someone to rescue her from a life of boredom, someone who would carry her away and show her the world and fill her days with adventures. I couldn’t be that for her but I nearly destroyed myself trying to be.”

He was lost in the past, his eyes distant and filled with pain. Reliving the end of the most meaningful relationship of your life wasn’t easy, Emma definitely understood that. Especially when you gave all you had to it and it still collapsed in pieces around you.

“Her husband came to visit me one night toward the end. Offered me money to break it off,” he scoffed as if the idea still insulted him. “I refused of course, convinced he was the villain in our little drama and that I would win the heart of the fair maiden in the end. At it turned out, I was wrong on both counts. The villain was the fair maiden. Mr. Gold and I were both pawns in her scheme to escape a life she hated. When she had the opportunity, she took the money and ran. In my kinder moments, I feel sorry for her knowing she must have felt trapped. But then I remember the way the whole town thought I killed her and any kindness I’m able to scare up disappears. Just like she did.”

“You’ve never heard from her? You have no idea what happened to her?”

“No. When it ended, it ended badly. She wanted me to take her husband’s money so we could leave town together, was angry when I refused to be chased off into the night. It was then that I realized she didn’t care who she was with, as long as she wasn’t in Storybrooke. It was a tough blow to stomach. I only saw her one time after that, a couple of nights before she disappeared. She showed up at the cottage to apologize. Told me she would never regret our relationship but it was time to move on. She left the map as a parting gift. I knew then that she meant to leave. Make no mistake, Emma, Milah is alive and well somewhere on this globe, living her life to the fullest and not sparing a thought for anyone in this town.”

“Then her absence is no great loss,” she observed.

He shook his head slowly as if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her assessment. “The day after she stopped by for the last time was when I pulled my idiotic stunt. I got drunk and tried to sail directly into a Nor’easter. Liam caught me at the docks and insisted on coming with me when he couldn’t talk me out of leaving. Our boat capsized about a mile up the coast. I’m only glad I was able to pull him to shore.”

“You saved his life? One-handed in a gale?”

With a bitter twist of his lips, he bit out, “Not sure you’ll allowed to claim such a thing when the only reason a person was in danger in the first place is because of you. He was trapped under the broken mast. I’m still not sure how I got him out but I crushed my hand in the process. Got a pretty nasty infection and the doctors told me the hand couldn’t be saved and if I wasn’t lucky, I’d lose the arm too. Seemed like a no-brainer.”

She felt the tension gripping him and trailed her hands down his left arm, running her fingers over the smooth scars she felt there. He didn’t pull away but he didn’t relax either. “We’re all scarred in one way or another, Killian. Yours are a bit more on display than the average person but this shows that you are a survivor. I’m beginning to think it might be a bad idea for me to find Milah. She has a lot to answer for.”

“You know, I’ve tried to track her down but I’m afraid I don’t have your abilities at finding those who don’t wish to be found. I thought I had tracked her to Paris a few years ago, there was a new artist there that had her style of sketching but I could never be sure and they disappeared before I could make contact. I still have a file on my desktop with the various artwork I found in the gallery catalogues. I always thought I’d pick up the search again later.”

A little afraid to hear his answer, she nevertheless asked, “Why do you want to find her?”

“At first, I missed her. I wanted to hear her voice. Pathetic, right?” When Emma simply gave him a look that clearly disagreed, he smiled at her. “Hmm, my secretly romantic Swan. You have a tender heart that I adore but don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know.” He looked at her with such fondness that she was tempted to go for round two right then. However, on some level, she knew this conversation was more important than their physical connection.

Unaware of her thoughts, he admitted, “Lately I’ve wanted closure. Not for the relationship. It’s been dead and gone for years. For the case, in order to clear my name. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not particularly proud of since I arrived here but I would like any doubt removed about this crime.”

“If you don’t mind sharing, perhaps we can find her together,” she offered shyly.

“Emma, everything I have is yours,” Killian told her. With a laugh he added, “Including the gold bars I found in the third treasure hoard I uncovered.” Taking her in his arms, he held her as they laid in the Captain’s Quarters in peaceful silence.

—

The rain that had threatened in the afternoon made good on its promise by the time they arrived back at the cottage with carryout from the pizza place. Fortunately, it was the kind of summer rain that moved through quickly and left the air feeling crisp and clean.

After her third slice of pepperoni, Emma leaned back in the patio chair and sighed. “I’m supposed to meet Graham tonight to search the woods. I guess I should head back to Mary Margaret’s place eventually anyway.”

With a quizzical look, Killian took a sip of his iced tea. “A date with another man and moving out? Have I done something to offend you?”

“Very funny,” she retorted. “I think we’ve gotten things a little out of order but there’s no reason to rush into this.”

“Darling, we have already fallen headfirst into the fast lane. There’s no reason to get scared now. Besides, I happen to know that David and Mary Margaret have reached the toothbrush phase of their relationship. You will be taking your sanity into your own hands if you head back there tonight. David is a loud...sleeper.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Emma said with a shiver of disgust. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to stay with you for the foreseeable future. If you don’t have any other plans, you can also join me on my date. We’re looking for bodies in the woods.”

With a grimace, Killian studied her profile. “Okay but only if I get to plan our next outing. A man likes some mystery in a relationship but dead bodies are a little overboard.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Jones.”

Forewarned about the activities for the evening consisting mainly of traversing hilly, overgrown terrain, Emma did a better job of dressing the part. Outfitted with flashlights from Killian’s emergency kit, she knew if the search lasted beyond the light of the midsummer sun they wouldn’t injure themselves in the dark at least.

Arriving at the Sheriff’s station shortly thereafter, Emma was surprised to find it empty and unlocked. Since another brief summer rain was moving through town, she texted Graham and they decided to wait it out at the station. Twenty minutes later, the rain was over but she still hadn’t heard from the sheriff. “That’s weird. He’s usually better about replying.”

“Text him a lot, do you?”

With a amused shake of her head, she admonished him. “Now is not the time to be jealous, Killian. He’s a friend and, unless I’m mistaken, he’s your friend too.”

“He’s not an enemy,” Killian conceded grudgingly. With a hint of teasing, he said, “But perhaps he is competition.” He moved around the station nonchalantly as if he might find the sheriff under a pile of papers or resting in one of the cells at the back of the open room.

With a deep breath, she walked over to him and linked her arms around his neck. “Not in my eyes. I’m not sure how to convince you that you’ve ruined me for other men.”

“I can think of some persuasive methods that will get your point across.” His roguish eyebrow was cocked in a way that she always found so endearing and sexy. “Why don’t we postpone this search party and you can give it your best shot? I promise to keep an open mind.”

“Keeping an open mind has never been your problem,” she laughed, playfully punching him in the arm. “I have a job to do so stop trying to distract me. We’ll have to go without Graham. We’re losing daylight and I’m running out of time before Henry comes home.”

What she didn’t add was the crossroads his arrival would bring. As much as she had fought against this thing with Killian, now that she was in, she was all in. While the four hour drive to Boston was not an insurmountable distance, she found the idea of being separated distasteful. She knew it was a conversation they needed to have and she wasn’t avoiding it exactly. Her rational mind kept reminding her that they had only met a month ago and people didn’t fall in love and move to different states after a few weeks of knowing someone. Especially single mothers who had children to think about.

Having officially given up on the sheriff, they headed toward the town line. Minutes later, they arrived to find the cruiser already parked on the narrow shoulder, driver side door open and cabin lights on. Jumping out of the truck, Emma exchanged a worried look with Killian and observed, “This looks like trouble.”

He followed her to the cruiser and placed his hand on the front seat. “It’s dry so he probably didn’t get here until after the rain moved through.”

“Graham!” Shouting his name repeatedly probably wasn’t an effective strategy but damn if she could think of anything else to do. Settling in the driver’s seat she found the keys still in the ignition and his walkie on the dashboard. Picking it up, she paged David. Within a minute, he answered, confusion evident in his tone.

“Emma? Why do you have Graham’s walkie?”

“We found his cruiser at the town line. No sign of him. We’re going out to the woods to search but you probably want to get here as quickly as possible. I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole scene.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me.”

True to his word, David’s battered old Ford pick-up pulled behind their truck in record time. Mary Margaret had made the journey with him and as soon as the car was in park, she rushed to Emma’s side. “Still no sign of him?”

“No,” Killian answered with his eyes scanning the thick woods.

“He headed this direction and he was in a hurry,” the brunette observed, her finger pointing toward an invisible trail as if it were obvious. At Emma’s silent question, she explained, “All-State Orienteering champion and the best tracker in town besides Ruby. Knowing your way around the forest is still a skill set that’s valued in Maine.”

“Sure. I mean, why not?” Emma said sarcastically. “Why don’t you lead the way then? We’ve already wasted time waiting around the station.”

Grabbing the flashlight that David handed her, Mary Margaret stepped off the shoulder and moved noiselessly into the woods. She would occasionally murmur an observation regarding a broken twig or boot print in the soft ground. Emma made a point to try to locate whatever signs the other woman noted on their pursuit but was only able to see the tracks occasionally. In no time at all, they had circled back up the hill to come out at the road not even a quarter of a mile from the cruiser. “Great. Back were we started.”

“No,” Mary Margaret disagreed. “Look here.” She squatted down and shined a beam of light on the asphalt.

Sure enough, Emma saw some kind of liquid that had dripped on the road. “What is that? Motor oil?” Reaching down, she lightly pressed her finger in one of the droplets and smeared it against her thumb. Looking at the bright red color, a chill ran through her. “Blood.”

“And tire tracks from an SUV if I had to guess,” David added, his light illuminating the wide tracks partially visible on the wet dirt of the shoulder. “Someone took him.” He immediately started back toward his truck, getting on his radio and calling the other deputy to round up some volunteers and meet them out at the woods.

—

Entering the cottage at four the following morning, Emma dropped on the couch in exhaustion. They hadn’t found any other clues as to the whereabouts of the sheriff or who grabbed him off the deserted road. Had he been followed out to the town line? Is that why he hadn’t responded to her text? Why would he have not reached out to her or David if he thought he was in trouble?

Settling next to her, Killian pushed her hair back behind her ear. “We won’t find him by staying up and worrying. You need to rest.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that this has to do with me.”

“With you? Why do you think so? Didn’t you say he found something in the woods? Something related to a disappearance that happened when you were a baby.”

“I know it’s crazy...”

“I didn’t say that, love. If you think this has something to do with you, I wouldn’t bet against your instincts.” Smiling at her with an expression of full support, he added, “You’ll figure it out. But it doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“He could be out there hurt, Killian, or worse. I think we need to regroup. Go through everything again. I must have missed something. And we’re going to need all hands on deck. The situation is escalating. When are Liam and Elsa supposed to come back?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you should convince him to come back sooner.”

“That will be a pleasant conversation,” Killian muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll call Elsa instead. She’s the more reasonable one.”

“Coward,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him softly. She would never get tired of this, having him within arm’s reach. His very presence made all her worries melt into the background.

“You have more than enough bravery for the both of us,” he complimented her. “But I’ll do as you ask. After all, he’s the one who brought you into this mess. Not that I’m complaining.”

“See that you don’t. I have ways of dealing with complainers,” she ordered tartly, forcing herself to get lost in this moment with him. As she got up to walk away, his fingers hooked into the pocket of her jeans and tugged her back into his lap.

“Saucy. I like that.”

“Behave, Dr. Jones.”

There weren’t any coherent words spoken as the early morning light started to break over the horizon. He had decided to disobey, misbehaving in the most delightful ways.

[spoondrifts]

long post ahead I'm sorry-

crack au where Jonah Magnus is a good guy but everything keeps going wrong and he spends all of his time running around trying to stop his employees from diving headfirst into their Fuck Up™ of the week

in this au Jonah is almost entirely incompetent but he's got the exasperated parent thing down enough to make up for his lack of braincells

he's also at least 7% dumber than he is in canon

s1 Jon: please call pest control there are so many worms

s1 Elias: I already did

Jon: and??

Elias: they ate them

Jon: the worms?

Elias: the pest control guys. the worms ate them

Elias spends the entirety of season 2 desperately trying to convince Jon that none of them killed Gertrude (in this au Gertrude just had a stroke or something in the tunnels). Elias stops Jon from destroying the table but a week later something heavy falls on it and the NotThem escapes anyway. Elias bashes in Leitner's head with a pipe after mistaking him for the monster and Jon gets framed.

now Elias has to convince this hunter that Jon is innocent while Jon runs around and harasses various fear avatars (who are all very amused with Elias' wayward Archivist). Jon assumes Elias knows nothing about all this bullshit because Elias is just his weird and uptight boss who accidentally killed someone, he can't possibly know that there are literally fear gods ruling over them

olive ⚰ has named the group 'Avatars ✨'

JMagnus 👀: Jude please don't hurt him. I'll explain everything when he gets back to the Institute.

🔥: too late

JMagnus 👀: What?

🔥: too late

🔥: burned him

[JMagnus 👀 is typing]

JMagnus 👀: Where is he now.

🔥: going to mike

JMagnus 👀: Mike Crew???

🔥: ya

Elias RACES to Mike's house but he. he fucking misses them. the Beholding helpfully tells him that they're all going back to the Institute so Basira and Daisy can interrogate him, which isn't ideal, he'd really like to not go to jail, so he drafts up an employment contract on the way back and barely manages to escape the whole thing with his life intact.

then he explains everything to Jon because if Jon is going to end up being the Archivist, being uninformed won't do. Jon becomes the Archivist completely on accident and Elias is desperately trying to make all of this work because, haha, the Unknowing is coming up, and Elias is not in the fucking mood to deal with clowns.

olive ⚰ has named the group 'all that is terror uwu'

spidey🕸: lmfaooo jonah how do you make an archivist on accident

JMagnus 👀: He stumbled into it. All I can do now is ensure he doesn't die.

JMagnus 👀: Or get further injured by the rest of you.

🔥: woops

🎭: hEy gUyS lOnG tiMe nO sEe

🎭: gEt iT eLiAs

🎭: sEe

JMagnus 👀: Beholding puns are not amusing from a manifestation of the Stranger.

🎭 has named the group 'eLiAs bE niCe tO niKoLa cHaLlEnGe'

🔥: haha

spidey🕸: I'm sure Nikola will be on her best behavior

🎭: yEaH i wOnT kiDnAp yOuR aRcHiViSt

[JMagnus 👀 is typing]

mike n ike: hey guys what'd I miss

🔥: arent you dead

mike n ike: yeh but I came back

JMagnus 👀: NIKOLA ORSINOV WHERE IS JONATHAN SIMS

🔥: can't you see haha

mike n ike: heh "see"

JMagnus 👀: NIKOLA

spidey🕸: wow he must be pissed

spidey🕸: he left out the punctuation

JMagnus 👀: I WILL BREAK ALL OF YOUR PLASTIC BONES WHERE'S MY ARCHIVIST

🎭 has left the chat.

JMagnus 👀: what the FUCK

since he's still a coward Elias sends Michael to go fetch Jon, only finding out after the fact that he very nearly almost signed Jon's death warrant. Elias is now speedrunning Jon's development because fuck the Unknowing is coming up really quickly and Tim is a self destructive mess and Melanie keeps trying to stab Elias and Martin is a pining idiot and goddammit he didn't sign up for this

Elias prepares Jon the best he can for the Unknowing, because even though he knows the ritual will fail, the Circus can still cause a considerable amount of damage and he needs them out of the way.

the Unknowing happens. Jon ends up in a wack ass coma, Tim is dead, Daisy's in the coffin, and Basira is starting to look like the better choice of Archivist because jesus christ Jon has no self preservation instinct. Elias doesn't get arrested this time around but his ex husband starts coming by the Institute and fucking with all his employees. and the Flesh is attacking. jesus. goddamn.

olive ⚰ has named the group 'bully elias'

JMagnus 👀: Why are you all so mean to me? I'm arguably the nicest one here.

🔥: ur joking right

Peter Lukas: you're not nice you didn't buy me an anniversary gift 😢😢😢

JMagnus 👀: I was busy.

Peter Lukas: doing what

JMagnus 👀: Stopping the Flesh from destroying my Institute. Besides, you didn't remember my birthday.

Peter Lukas: you're 200 years old how could I remember 😓

helen!!!!!: We All Know I'm The Nicest One Here!!

JMagnus 👀: How did you make your text that colorful?

helen!!!!!: IDK

JMagnus 👀: Liar.

helen!!!!!: That's Literally My Job

olive ⚰: hey eli your archivist just woke up I think

🔥: ew why

helen!!!!!: How Delightful!! Maybe I'll Throw Him A Glad You're Alive Party!!

olive ⚰: should we invite him to this chat since he's an avatar now

Peter Lukas: no 🙅 🚫❌

Peter Lukas: I hate archivists 😤😤

olive ⚰: still mad about gertrude huh

🔥: were all still mad about gertrude

🔥: but jons fine once you burn some manners into him

JMagnus 👀: Can you all please stop hurting Jon? Or talking about hurting him? I would like my Archivist to not acquire any more scars.

🔥: damn

Peter Lukas: damn 😔

Elias keeps trying to teach Jon how to pick certain victims to feed off of because personally he has no qualms about feeding from innocents but Jon!! actually trusts him!!! so Elias doesn't want to push Jon into making decisions that will offend his moral sensitivities.

things are actually going okay for a while. Elias starts going home at a reasonable time in the evenings and Jon is actually getting some sleep. and then-

Elias is having a nice dream about Peter trying to fish Simon Fairchild out of a sky filled with eyes when he abruptly sits up in bed, wide awake.

"Ah, fuck," he says to Peter, who is laying on the floor where it is Lonelier™. "Jon's doing something stupid. I Know it."

Peter's mumbled "isn't he always" goes unnoticed as Elias hurries to the Institute, where he finds a fucking rib on Jon's desk and the coffin in the middle of the room.

Peter Lukas has named the chat 'archivists ruin my sleep schedule and my sex life'

JMagnus 👀: What the fuck do I do?? I can't go into the Buried! Why is Jon so stupid? I didn't know he had zero braincells when I hired him!

🔥: ngl why havent you fired him yet

JMagnus 👀: Beholding won't let me. We're all bound to the Institute.

🔥: F

JMagnus 👀: Why are there no Buried avatars in here? Please someone help me.

mike n ike: lol the buried is gross why would anyone go down there

spidey🕸: does he have an anchor?

[JMagnus 👀 sent an image]

🔥: is that a fucking rib

spidey🕸: wow that's not a good anchor at all

spidey🕸: he needs someone he loves

JMagnus 👀: Thanks. Gtg.

spidey🕸: np

🔥: are we not going to talk about his rib

🔥: how the fuck did he get that out of his body

🔥: yall

🔥: YALL

it takes three days for Elias to find Martin.

"Please tell me why the fuck you're dabbling in the Lonely," Elias says as Martin steps sheepishly out of the fog.

"Ah. Well. Jon can't See into it very well and sometimes we like to spice up our se-"

"Stop before I have to gouge my eyes out again."

"A-Again-?"

Elias drags Martin back to the Institute. Martin starts setting tapes on the coffin because "Jon loves these" and Elias starts bashing his head into the wall.

Jon climbs out of the coffin with Daisy and Elias almost considers locking Jon in his office so the damn archivist can't do anything else ridiculous. instead, Elias very calmly takes Jon by the shoulders, and shakes him like a rag doll.

"Stop fucking with entities, you stupid, stupid man," Elias says, shaking Jon more viciously now.

after several hours of breathing exercises Elias returns to his house and doesn't take his Sight off of Jon for the rest of the night, which is a fun experience for Peter when he wakes up and finds Elias' bloodshot eyes staring directly at him in the morning.

JMagnus 👀 added Daisy to 'archivists ruin my sleep schedule and my sex life'

Peter Lukas has named the chat 'archivist hate club'

JMagnus 👀 has named the chat 'shut up peter'

Peter Lukas has named the chat 'you love jon more than me'

JMagnus 👀 has named the chat 'I don't love either of you I'm heartless'

Peter Lukas has named the chat 'I want a divorce'

spidey🕸: jeez take your marital dispute elsewhere

spidey🕸 has named the chat 'lonelyeyes dni'

Daisy: wtf is this

mike n ike: it's a chat for avatars

mike n ike: and ex avatars ig

Daisy: didn't I kill you

mike n ike: yea

JMagnus 👀: Hello, Daisy. Welcome to the group chat.

Daisy: why is Jon not in here

Peter Lukas: because I hate him 😁

spidey🕸: Elias talks mad shit in here and Jon would get offended

Daisy: if you talk bad about Jon I'll rip your throat out

Daisy: :)

JMagnus 👀: Noted.

mike n ike: he's kinda rude tho

Daisy: I've killed you once

Elias' only goal now is to keep Jon and his assistants from pulling any more wild stunts without his supervision. his renewed involvement with the archival staff results in a few things he'd hoped to avoid: drink invites, physical contact (Martin is surprisingly quick to start hugging Elias once he realizes Elias won't stop him), and- shudder -feelings. because Elias genuinely cares about his staff and doesn't want any harm to befall them. especially Jon. Jon is his Archivist, the only one to ever succeed like this, and Elias will be damned if he lets anything happen to him.

"Why do you care?" Jon asks, once, compulsion thrumming like static on his tongue. "About us, I mean. I would've assumed you'd want to perform the Beholding's ritual."

Jonah Magnus attempted the Watcher's Crown once, when he was young and new. he'd brought his patron close, but not all the way through, and the backlash of power killed all the inmates at Millbank and severely crippled Jonah's connection to the Eye for months afterward. he grew to assume that the Beholding simply preferred the world as it was--ripe with fear for watching. it didn't need a ritual.

he instead dedicated himself to growing stronger, cultivating his Institute of knowledge, his stronghold. if he tore out a few people's eyes when he got too old, then, well, collateral. but he doesn't want the world to end, and knows now that no ritual will ever succeed unless it brings in all the Powers at once. and he doesn't want that either.

it's concerning to him that Jon seems to be collecting marks regardless. the only ones he's missing are the Dark and the Lonely, and Elias is determined to keep it that way.

he explains all of this to Jon who, to his credit, takes it pretty well. Jon is fascinated with historic life and Elias spends some time simply recounting tales of his youth, when he still bore the name Magnus.

they bond. it's good.

and one day Basira does a little too much research and discovers the dark sun waiting in Ny Alesund. she insists they need to go and see what's left of the People's Church, they need to ensure everything is taken care of. Jon is rather insistent too. and Elias wouldn't have been inclined to let them go, except Peter was finally home after weeks at sea, and it wasn't like Jon was defenseless, he could call Elias if anything went wrong...

so, very reluctantly, Elias gives them the all clear. Basira, Jon, and Martin head north, and Elias almost forgets they've gone when he arrives home and Peter already has dinner prepared.

Jon comes back marked by the Dark.

Elias curses himself, over and over, for being foolish enough to let them go, for not keeping a closer eye on them. he knows the ritual won't work unless a certain incantation is spoken, so he'll just have to keep world-ending written chants away from Jon. easy. and it's not like Jon will even get marked by the Lonely. Peter wouldn't.

(but Martin doesn't have the same level of control, and sometimes...)

it's an accident. Martin and Jon are testing it, pushing the boundaries, when Martin pulls them both into the Lonely. Elias threatens divorce until Peter caves and fetches them, but it's too late. Jon has been marked by all fourteen Powers.

Elias tells him, and warns him to check everything he reads.

helen!!!!! has named the chat 'apocalypse babey'

JMagnus 👀: How are you doing that?

JMagnus 👀: And the apocalypse is not imminent. I have the situation under control.

olive ⚰: ha yeah

JMagnus 👀: What do you mean by that?

olive ⚰: nothing

JMagnus 👀: Well, now I certainly think it's something.

olive ⚰: it's just

olive ⚰: don't you think it's kinda weird that @spidey🕸 has been offline for so long

🔥: thats weird shes always online

JMagnus 👀: Oliver, what are you implying?

olive ⚰: idk

olive ⚰: just weird, that's all

🔥: never good when the spiders are quiet

olive ⚰: hear hear

Elias gets a sinking feeling in his stomach, and beside him, Peter looks alarmed. meanwhile, in his flat with Martin making tea in the other room, Jon has a statement clutched in his grasp.

Hello, Jon.

I would apologize for the deception, but I'm afraid that's quite what I'm good at. I'm not one to monologue, that's more Jonah's shtick, so shall we get on with things?

I admit I underestimated Jonah Magnus. He's still remarkably easy to manipulate, but when he abandoned the Watcher's Crown ritual I knew I would have to take a different approach. The Mother is not so satisfied with the world as she may have insinuated. It is our turn to rise, Jon.

At the age of eight, you were marked by us. We sent you to the Magnus Institute in the hopes that a new Archivist would rekindle Jonah's desire to end the world. Unfortunately, it seemed as though he grew fond of you, and so we brought in a new plan. We marked you. One fear at a time. Jonah gave an admirable attempt at protecting you, but ultimately, he is an incompetent old fool, and I am a Weaver. Even Jonah Magnus dances to invisible strings.

Everyone underestimates a spider until it bites. Poison is poison, Jon, regardless of the medium in which it is served.

You will be safe in this new world. Martin, too. Perhaps even Jonah and his Lukas, if the Mother deems them worthy.

Now, please repeat after me...

Jon reads the ink scratched words, eyes welling up with tears and hands trembling, as thunder crashes outside and a howling gale picks up beyond the windows. Martin is shouting something, there's the crawling press of Elias' gaze as it rests heavy behind Jon, a silent observer. He can feel Elias' soothing presence, cool and calm in the raging storm.

Elias is still watching out for him.

Strings are wrapped around his wrists, jerking his arms up in a poor mockery of religious regard, strange hysterical laughter clawing out from his throat.

Jon's tears run red. Somewhere, Elias is still watching.

The door opens.