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after-witch · 7 months ago

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Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?”

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words.

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting.

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again.

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all.

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes.

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances.

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly.

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him.

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug.

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you.

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book.

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach.

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter.

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.”

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own.

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant.

And you… you actually glare up at him.

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it.

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.”

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face.

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns.

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.”

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away.

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his.

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact.

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

#yandere mahito #yandere jjk #mahito x reader #smiling man #look two obsessions in one!#afterwitch writes

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muniimyg · 1 year ago

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1: the confession // series m.list

note: been daydreaming abt this jk... enj <3

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “aao” // DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @defzcl @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @boraength @era-genius @4ksj @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns @jeonqkooks-main @ellesalazar @jkslvsnella @thekookiecorner @parkinglot-nights @seagulljk

fic taglist: @peterstarkchrishiddleston

The library is your favourite place.

At least, that is until your predictable love for it comes to a disadvantage. May your tranquil moments alone rest in peace as your friends corner and gaslight you to leaving your sanctuary. Sometimes, it’s for parties. Other times, it’s for something stupid like driving to the next town to watch a movie at their theatre because their theatre chairs recline better.

You won’t have it this time.

No way. You have so much work to do!

"Oh, come on! Please, ___?” Hobi begs. “Come tonight! It'll be fun!" Suddenly, he’s clinging to your arm, making it harder for you to ignore him. You try shaking him off, but he pouts at you and clings on even tighter.

“Hobi,” you whine. “Go to the party if you wanna go. Jimin said he’d meet you there! And Nam Joon, and Taehyung, Jin, and even Yoongi!”

“But I want you to come!” He cries. “I need someone to keep count of my drinks—”

“Use a marker and tally it on your arm.”

“But then what if I need to throw up—”

“Then throw up.”

“... Jungkook will be there!”

You blink at him.

“So?”

Hobi lets go of your arm and raises a brow at you. “What do you mean so? Isn't he your boyfriend?”

His accusation has you tongue-tied. This is the first time you’ve ever heard such an absurd thing! Jungkook became a part of the friendgroup after you. He’s the newbie. Actually, he has a whole other set of friends aside from you guys. Why? Because he’s cool. That’s it. Everyone on campus knows him and truth be told; he deserves his hype. He’s good-looking, kind, and a little weird (in a good way). He’s funny and smart (but not in an obnoxious way)... He’s just… Kind of good at everything? It intimidates you and often leaves you daydreaming.

Come to think of it, everything happens by coincidence. Yours and his lectures usually start and end around the same time. Not to mention that he also loves the library! He usually walks you home after your study sessions. But, yeah… Aside from these things—you and Jungkook aren’t actually that close.

“W-what? I’m not dating Jungkook! Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” you ask, careful not to sound too noisy.

Hobi shakes his head. “Girlfriend? Yeah… You.”

Your eyes widen.

In a panic, you hiss at Hobi. “Don’t start rumours! That’s embarrassing for him to be associated with me—”

“Oh shut up,” Hobi laughs. “Do not get all insecure and pick me when the campus crush has literally been drooling over the past few weeks. Everybody knows. Everybody talks about it! Besides, they talk about him being all lovestruck—not you! So, spill it. What did you do, huh? Did you manifest it or some shit—”

“With all the time I spend in class, work, and the library… You think I have time to manifest?” you chuckle at him, ultimately trying to dismiss his suspicion.

Hobi rolls his eyes at you.

“For someone who reads fanfics and book loads of romance stories… You’re dense as fuck.”

Tilting your head at him, you try to find the words to defend yourself and fail.

He’s right.

You are dense.

But that never hurt anyone before… So why does it matter?

“Earth to ___?” Hobi waves his hands to your face. You blink, brushing your thoughts away. Offering him a tired smile, he looks at you weirdly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Why?”

“You’re blushing like crazy,” he teases, poking your cheek. Your hands fly to your cheeks. He’s right. They feel warm and the sudden embarrassment just made you feel even more flustered. Then, he nudges you.

“Get it together!” Hobi mutters, “Your boyfriend is coming!"

Turning your head, you see Jungkook making his way through the doors. He has his backpack on one shoulder and his eyes glued to his phone. Like muscle memory, he turns his heels and walks toward your direction.

“Oh my god,” you hit Hobi’s arm. “Why did you plant these thoughts when he’s literally—”

“Plant thoughts? Babes, it’s reality. Helllooooo?” Hobi sings, tauntingly.

You pout at him, unable to take this lighthearted.

Then, before you know it, Jungkook approaches you.

He pulls the seat next to you out and settles in. After offering a fist bump to Hobi, he quickly leans his body over and places his hand on your knee. He’s always done this but why was it suddenly so different now? Was it always like this and you never noticed until now? Until Hobi…

Wow…

“Hey, you.” Jungkook greets you warmly.

“... H-hi.”

He gives you a weird look. You avoid his eyes in return. Clearing his throat, he asks, “Why aren’t you packed up yet? Aren't we going to the party?”

Jungkook eyes your spread of notes on the table. You clunch your iPad closer to you and shrug. “We? It’s you. Aren’t you going to the party?”

Jungkook returns your question with a grin. “No. Us. You, specifically. You, especially.”

“Yeah, ___!” Hobi chimes cheekily. “Aren’t you going to the party?”

Hesitantly, you shake your head.

“N-no… I have too much work to do. Here! I’ll just—” you pause your sentence and reach for Hobi’s arm. Pushing his sleeve up, you take the sharpie from your pencil case and write on his arm.

If piss drunk, please return to ___.

(xxx) xxx-xxxx <3

Hobi reads it sideways and yanks his arm back.

“I hate you,” he utters. With laser eyes, he glares at Jungkook. “Tell her you’re coming to the party. Drag her to come! She’s always here! Homework can wait for tomorrow!”

Jungkook exchanges looks with you. With a soft gaze, he shrugs and turns to Hobi.

“She doesn’t wanna go.”

Hobi groans.

“Fine. Let’s go. Let’s leave—”

“I’m staying,” Jungkook says calmly. "She's not going... Neither am I."

He picks his backpack up from the ground and begins to unzip it. Taking out his notes and laptop, he looks up and smiles at Hobi. “Can I see your arm?”

Huffing, Hobi shows Jungkook your note. As Hobi rambles on and on about how you and Jungkook are party poopers, Jungkook takes your Sharpie and crosses your number out.

If piss drunk, please return to ___. Jungkook

(xxx) xxx-xxxx <3

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

For the second time tonight, Hobi reads his arm sideways and yanks it back. He squints at the unfamiliar number.

“Why’d you cross her number out? Whose number is this?” Hobi asks.

“Mine,” Jungkook states, smiling at the correction. “Call me if you need anything.”

“What? Why?”

Jungkook blinks. “I’m not really crazy about ___’s number being on your arm for other guys to have and call her with.”

Hobi’s mouth drops. He slowly turns to you and gulps. Blinking at you slowly, he gives you crazy eyes. “You can not be this dense, ___. Jungkook is literally ripping me into shreds in his head right now—”

You laugh.

“Go. Have fun! Call me if you need anything.”

Hobi turns to Jungkook.

Jungkook smiles at him sweetly with his eyes closed. He shakes his head slowly and wiggles his finger at him. “Don’t call her.”

With that, Hobi grumbles a few exchanges before packing his stuff up. He waves goodbye and tells you that you’re lame one last time. You agree with him and wave him goodbye. As he leaves, Jungkook moves his chair closer to you.

“So… Same schedule? Study until 9PM and then I walk you home? Or are you hungry tonight? Maybe we can wrap this up by 7:30PM and grab a bite to eat? I know a really good burger spot just up campus—why’d you do that?”

Your body stiffens.

“Do what?”

Jungkook eyes your chair distance.

“You moved away.”

What the heck… How did he even notice? It’s not like you moved across the table! You just moved like… Half an inch.

“No, I didn’t,” you deny. “But yeah… Sure! I’ve been craving a good burger with extra cheese—what are you doing?”

“I’m moving closer to you.”

“Why?”

“Because you lied to my face and moved away.”

“N-no!”

Jungkook inches his face closer to yours. He boops your nose and scrunches his. “You sniff whenever you lie. Did you know that?”

“N-no…”

“Now you do.”

For the first time ever… You lose your breath. It’s like you forgot how to breathe. He’s so close to you. His eyes are so doey, you’re literally getting lost in them. The scar he has on his left cheek… You can see it so clearly—the detail of how his skin healed and all. His hair is brushing above his eyebrows and you can’t help but realize how much you like the way it falls on his face. He’s… Cute?

Oh god.

“D-dont do that—uhh—” You move away from him. This time, there’s an obvious space between you two. Jungkook straightens his posture, completely confused by your burst of emotion. It’s… Conflicting? He swears you two were about to kiss… Now, what’s going on?

“___? What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks with a gentle tone.

You turn away and shove your notes to your face. Mumbling into the paper, you tell him what’s on your mind. “Everyone thinks you have a crush on me and it’s embarrassing.”

Jungkook doesn’t hear you well.

“Say that again,” he requests. Without warning, he takes the paper from your hands, leaving you to face him. “Don’t act all cute. What is it?”

You stay silent and contemplate.

Was this worth saying? Was this worth addressing? Would it change anything between you two after? What about the burgers? You’ve been craving a cheesy burger like crazy—

“It’s fine if you don’t feel comfortable. You can tell me later or never. I don’t mean to be pushy—”

Then, you blurt it out.

“Everyone thinks you have a crush on me… Or something.”

Jungkook doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t hold his breath.

He doesn’t deny it.

“I do have a crush on you.”

Your throat feels dry. What?! Has he lost his mind?

“W-what? You can’t j-just—”

Jungkook tilts his head and pouts.

“I don’t really understand why I should deny it. Why should I lie? Why should I make an excuse? This is how I feel. You just found out earlier than the confession… I guess this is it though, right?” He laughs.

You hit his chest.

“This isn’t funny!”

“Why can’t it be funny?” Jungkook laughs even harder. He catches your wrist and holds you still. “Doesn’t it make you laugh? That everybody on campus watched me wait outside your classes every day for almost 3 months… That everybody waits on me to go to parties but I don’t show up because I rather walk you home and stay home… That everybody on campus watched me enter this goddamn library of a snoozefest—”

“Hey! I like it here.”

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes at you. “I like you. That’s why I’m here.”

“I… I thought you wanted to study.”

Jungkook laughs even louder, earning a few hushes from others nearby. He groans, throwing his head back. “I can’t even fucking laugh in here without getting in trouble. Why the hell would I like this place?”

“... To study!”

“To be with you.”

You shut up.

No words, no thoughts, no feelings.

Okay…

Feelings. Lots of them.

“I don’t understand why you’re so overwhelmed,” Jungkook murmurs, leaning his head against your shoulders. “I thought you knew. I thought you figured it out by now. I wasn't exactly discrete."

You sit still, not knowing if you should move or let him settle in. Before you can decide, he sits himself up and grabs your hand. He squeezes it tightly and brings it to his lips. Kissing your hand, he looks at you.

“Doesn’t matter if you’re dense. Doesn’t matter if you don’t know how you feel right now. I’ll win you over… You’ll fold."

You yank your hand away from him. In response, he leans over and kisses the side of your head instead. You gasp, but your cheeks blush. Quickly, you cover your face with your hands. He laughs heartily, tugging you close to him. You bury your face in his chest and groan at the sinking feeling of wanting to be anywhere but here. This was humiliating!

And just when you think it can't get any worse, Jungkook wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight. As he pats your back, he murmurs—

"You're falling for me already, aren't you?"

#bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook x yn #jungkook uni au #jungkook fanfic #jungkook one shot #jungkook drabble series #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts x yn

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asunflowerana · 3 months ago

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will you go to prom with me?

summary: prom is near, and your sweet, popular friend will do anything to have you as his date.

with: Gojo Satoru.

warnings: yandere behavior, blackmailing (not from satoru), slight blood mentions.

words: 1448.

a/n: i'm just gonna sit back and pretend this didn't give me chills. thinking of turning this into a series, but i'll hold myself from now haha

"Go to prom with me." It's not what you'd expect to hear on a Tuesday morning, right after a wearing History class. Even more so coming from the mouth of no other than Gojo Satoru, the coolest, most desired boy in school.

Yes, you've been friends with him for almost a year. And yes, you get on very well together, crack some side-jokes at classes, sometimes go out to grab some food, do homework at the library, and even stay up at night until sunrise on the phone, freaking out while studying for a math exam that none of you knew about it — or not paying attention, to be more honest.

So yeah, you're friends. But it's Gojo Satoru we're talking about. And Gojo Satoru is just way out of anyone's league.

You're simply dumbfounded.

"I—" You swallow hard, feeling like you just lost your memory and no longer know how to complete sentences. You're feeling a lot of things, honestly, the guy you've had so many daydreams with saying he wants to have you as his partner, and there you are, a pile of nerves trying to hide the hard, loud way your heart beats inside.

And it's not that you don't want to accept it. Heck, you want to say yes so badly, how many times did you catch yourself watching those sappy rom coms and wondering if you and the white-haired boy would make a fine couple like that. He's the whole package, and if those gorgeous blue eyes and jaw-dropping looks weren't enough, he's also so kind to you, that you can't help but develop a crush.

But as expected, he didn't catch only your attention, but the whole school as well. Kaya Nami, one of the troublemaker cheerleaders, is in the line and does everything she can to make sure nothing gets in her way.

"If I were you, I'd stay away from Satoru Gojo. You won't like having me as an enemy, believe me." She threatened you last Friday, right during PE class. Confused wasn't enough to describe how you felt, but you didn't say anything back to not cause drama, only nodding and watching her head off like nothing happened.

"...I'm sorry, Satoru, but I can't." And unfortunately, that warning was enough to hinder you from making the choice you wanted.

It goes without saying how astounded Gojo was by your answer, that probably being his first time ever being rejected. "What do you mean 'you can't'?" And then his tone dropped an octave, changing to something more seething. "Did someone ask you? You said yesterday to me that you didn't get invited."

"And you're right, I didn't get it." You try to reason, not liking the way he's bothered by your rejection. " it's just... I didn't think you wanted to go with me!" And you didn't lie, even though you said it more as an excuse.

"Well, now you know." He gets closer, almost making you hit your back at the locker behind you. His eyes say he didn't buy any of your excuses. "So, why can't you go? I mean, I know how overwhelming my beauty can be, but you're just as pretty, sweetheart."

His mood suddenly changes to the usual Gojo Satoru, the cheeky guy who enjoys flustering you for fun. Grazing your chin between his index and thumb, he looks deep at you. "I'll give you the best time you ever had. Just be my date."

It takes everything on you to not jump in his arms and let yourself get swept off your feet. Why does he have to make this so difficult? Taking a deep breath, you remember the headache you're gonna get if you don't make the right choice. "Satoru, I'd love to be your date, really. It's just, I think there's someone else that would make a better date than me."

He stares at you with an unreadable expression. You don't know if he got angrier or had enough of your pitiful answers, but you wish you could be able to read only a fraction of Satoru's mind, cause he's staring for too long at you, and you don't know what else to say other than stare back at him.

Finally, he steps back, diverting his gaze to a random spot for a moment before moving to look at you again. Sliding his hands inside his pants pockets, he seems to accept the situation, but you're still not sure of what you see. "I guess you're not changing your mind, huh? Then tell me, who's this 'perfect match' that you think would be better for me?" He questions with a hint of disdain, but he tries to hide it with a small side smile.

The girl appears in the scene before you can mention her name as if she was waiting for the right opportunity to pounce and make her move on him. By the way your shoulders slump and your eyes lower to the ground, he quickly assumes that she's the person you were talking about earlier and that for some reason, she's making you very uncomfortable. Not you nor Nami noticed the way Gojo glares at a blank spot. Thinking, he mindlessly accepts the blond girl's invitation to lunch, giving you a brief hug before going away. "If that's what you want." He whispers unexpectedly in your ear, offering you a final smile before letting himself be guided to the cafeteria.

You spend the rest of the day wanting to beat yourself for wasting the chance you had to go out with Satoru. You don't talk to him as much during the week, since Nami was making sure to grab every second of his free time at break. It didn't take too long to figure out that both of them would go to prom together, and even though you were the one who made that happen, it still stings to imagine them having a good time.

Prom day arrives, and in the end, no one invites you. It wasn't something completely unexpected, but to be honest, you were hoping that at least one of your friends would be kind enough to want you as a company just so you could all enjoy the "night to remember". Honestly, you didn't want to miss such an important event, and even though there was a chance that you'd make a fool of yourself, it's still your prom, and you have the right to make the most of it, with or without someone.

Kicking away the self-pity, you dressed up and got ready for the special night, wearing that beautiful gown that you remember once showing on Pinterest to Satoru, months before the event. Checking your purse one more time, you catch your phone to ask for a cab, when you hear three familiar knocks on your front door.

Opening your house, you come face to face with someone you never would've imagined seeing at that moment. There stood Gojo Satoru, with a black tuxedo that perfectly accentuates his body, a bouquet of pink camellias in his left hand, glasses off, and a beautiful lopsided smile.

"...Wow." The combo of his honest compliment, his lingering, fond gaze in your direction, and the fact that you made him momentarily speechless, makes your whole self overwhelmed with endearing sensations, especially your warm cheeks.

But that passes too quickly since you don't understand the sudden visit.

"S-Satoru? What are you doing here?" You didn't want this to be the first thing to say to him, but you're so confused, that you don't know what else to say. "I thought you were going out with Nami. Where is she?"

Awakening from the brief trance you provoked in him, the white-haired boy only increases his smile in a rather strange way. " Didn't you know? Mina got in an accident yesterday, she fell from the stairs and ended up breaking her leg."

One more time, you were taken by surprise. As for your friend, he doesn't sound as worried as you imagined he would be after giving this message, but he still makes a respectful pause after saying it.

Satoru also notices your reaction, observing the way you empathetic self got sad for that girl's situation. Little did you know that she got exactly what deserved. And if you looked more closely at your gift, instead of worrying yourself, you'd notice the blood stains around the wrapping paper, the remains of what your future partner did to prove his love.

To his luck, you're just too pure to realize what you don't need to. And for that, Satoru smiles, gazing at you with sparks again.

"So now, will you go to prom with me?"

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated 🦋

#{ w.jjk }#jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere gojo #yandere x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo #satoru x you #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n

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kiachiako · 1 year ago

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september nct recs

my library of favorites from SEPTEMBER <3 all creds to authors

[ sorted by word count ]

series

[m] HAECHAN | settle down pt. 1 | pt. 2 | @hyuckmov — rockstar!hyuck, genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff

oneshots

[m] MARK | sweet cream, cold brew | @lucyandthepen 26.4k — something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

[m] MARK | my little doll | @haechansdoll 20k — Humans have hormones, you understand that much. But does that explain why you can't stop the filthy daydreams that fill your head whenever you see a specific redhead? Does it excuse you for getting turned on by him simply breathing in your direction? And to make matters worse, he is off-limits, if your father found out you were messing with his prized boxer? You would be chained to a tower and your red-haired crush would be used as mincemeat.

HAECHAN | one, two, three | @cherryeoniis 19k — In which you devise three different ways to get your best friend to fall in love with you, but things never really go quite as planned.

[m] JENO | summer hair = forever young | @setsugekka 18.1k — Only three weeks after being broken up with by your long time partner, you’re dragged along for your friends summer vacation plans despite your best attempts at staying home to do little more than feel sorry for yourself. Day one? Dinner and a movie. Day two? The bar down the street that smells like old socks. Day three? Well, that’s the waterpark, and the cute, blonde lifeguard that seems to make the lazy river his mainstay is a bit of a sight for sore eyes.

JAEMIN | written in ink | @cherryeoniis 15.3k — professor!jaemin, historical au (early 19th century), fluff, angst, strangers to lovers

[m] MARK | watch me | @sluttyten 14.6k — you pick up the voyeuristic habit of watching your neighbor that never closes his curtains and whose face you never see. on an unrelated note, you start dating the cute barista from down the street that also happens to live in the building across from yours. what could happen?

TAEIL | in earnest | @neonun-au 12k — a letter written in haste when you were fifteen and in love with your best friend gets sent out in the dawn of your engagement. when a reply is sent, revealing feelings you had long thought forgotten, you are left with a choice to make amidst a rather awkward visit.

[m] JENO | fight club | @tyonfs 11.9k — after park jisung introduces you to his shady after-school activity, you realize it’s far too dangerous to be involved with the underground fight club in any way. their members are rough around the edges—except for lee jeno, who keeps you coming back for more.

MARK | a series of white lies | @tyonfs 10.5k — in which it takes you six years to accept that you’re in love with mark lee. (it takes him one.)

HAECHAN | wicked games | @cherryeoniis 10.1k — angst, fluff, suggestive, university! au, friends with benefits, fuckboy! haechan

MARK | baseball (& other disasters) | @tqmies 10k — Everyone admired Mark Lee, starting pitcher of your school’s baseball team and famed ladies man. You, on the other hand, only know him as the boy who broke your dorm lobbies microwave the first time you met.

[m] JAEHYUN | dive | @yougotthatbilly 9.2k — frat boy!Jaehyun: Jaehyun calls shotgun.

[m] RENJUN | high-waisted shorts | @tyonfs 7.8k — huang renjun might be the least committed to all this “bitch hunting” bullshit, and he doesn’t want to stoop to the level of stupidity his friends are at. that’s why he’s pissed when you’re strutting around in those high waisted shorts wherever you go, making renjun lose all sense of reason.

[m] JAEMIN | blur | @jaeminvore 7.5k — Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face and hungover was one thing. Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face, hungover and in a bed that wasn’t your own in nothing but a pair of sweatpants that were obviously not yours, was another and a punishment specifically made for you—your own personal hell.

[m] JAEHYUN | racer | @smileysuh 6.7k — street racer!Jaehyun, star-crossed lovers, secret relationship, step-brother!Johnny

[m] HAECHAN | tattoos together | @cherryeoniis 5.4k — rockstar!haechan x reader

[m] DOYOUNG | hungry for you | @sluttyten 4.9k — doyoung is your best friend’s older brother, and you hate each other until one evening you’re alone together and the tension finally breaks

HAECHAN | dance to this | @cherryeoniis 3.8k — dancer! haechan x dancer! reader, university au, slight enemies to lovers

. . .

drowning in college rn :((

xoxo <3

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makingqueerhistory · 1 year ago

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Queer Books Challenged in Florida Schools and Libraries

There are some affiliate links below in case you want to support MQH.

Gender Queer: A Memoir, Maia Kobabe: Now, Gender Queer is here. Maia's intensely cathartic autobiography charts eir journey of self-identity, which includes the mortification and confusion of adolescent crushes, grappling with how to come out to family and society, bonding with friends over erotic gay fanfiction, and facing the trauma and fundamental violation of pap smears.

The Color Purple, Alice Walker: Separated as girls, sisters Celie and Nettie sustain their loyalty to and hope in each other across time, distance and silence. Through a series of letters spanning nearly thirty years, first from Celie to God, then the sisters to each other despite the unknown, the novel draws readers into its rich and memorable portrayals of Celie, Nettie, Shug Avery and Sofia and their experience. The Color Purple broke the silence around domestic and sexual abuse, narrating the lives of women through their pain and struggle, companionship and growth, resilience and bravery.

Julián Is a Mermaid, Jessica Love: While riding the subway home from the pool with his abuela one day, Julián notices three women spectacularly dressed up. Their hair billows in brilliant hues, their dresses end in fishtails, and their joy fills the train car. When Julián gets home, daydreaming of the magic he's seen, all he can think about is dressing up just like the ladies in his own fabulous mermaid costume: a butter-yellow curtain for his tail, the fronds of a potted fern for his headdress. But what will Abuela think about the mess he makes -- and even more importantly, what will she think about how Julián sees himself? Mesmerizing and full of heart, Jessica Love's author-illustrator debut is a jubilant picture of self-love and a radiant celebration of individuality.

Drama: A Graphic Novel, Raina Telgemeier: Callie loves theater. And while she would totally try out for her middle school's production of Moon over Mississippi, she can't really sing. Instead she's the set designer for the drama department's stage crew, and this year she's determined to create a set worthy of Broadway on a middle-school budget. But how can she, when she doesn't know much about carpentry, ticket sales are down, and the crew members are having trouble working together? Not to mention the onstage AND offstage drama that occurs once the actors are chosen. And when two cute brothers enter the picture, things get even crazier!

Cemetery Boys, Aiden Thomas: Yadriel has summoned a ghost, and now he can't get rid of him. When his traditional Latinx family has problems accepting his true gender, Yadriel becomes determined to prove himself a real brujo. With the help of his cousin and best friend Maritza, he performs the ritual himself, and then sets out to find the ghost of his murdered cousin and set it free. However, the ghost he summons is actually Julian Diaz, the school's resident bad boy, and Julian is not about to go quietly into death. He's determined to find out what happened and tie off some loose ends before he leaves. Left with no choice, Yadriel agrees to help Julian, so that they can both get what they want. But the longer Yadriel spends with Julian, the less he wants to let him leave.

I Am Billie Jean King, Brad Meltzer: This friendly, fun biography series focuses on the traits that made our heroes great--the traits that kids can aspire to in order to live heroically themselves. Each book tells the story of one of America's icons in a lively, conversational way that works well for the youngest nonfiction readers and that always includes the hero's childhood influences. At the back are an excellent timeline and photos. This volume features Billie Jean King, the world champion tennis player who fought successfully for women's rights. From a young age, Billie Jean King loved sports--especially tennis! But as she got older, she realized that plenty of people, even respected male athletes, didn't take women athletes seriously. She set to prove them wrong and show girls everywhere that sports are for everyone, regardless of gender.

This One Summer, Mariko Tamaki: Every summer, Rose goes with her mom and dad to a lake house in Awago Beach. It's their getaway, their refuge. Rosie's friend Windy is always there, too, like the little sister she never had. But this summer is different. Rose's mom and dad won't stop fighting, and when Rose and Windy seek a distraction from the drama, they find themselves with a whole new set of problems. One of the local teens - just a couple of years older than Rose and Windy - is caught up in something bad... Something life threatening. It's a summer of secrets, and sorrow, and growing up, and it's a good thing Rose and Windy have each other.

Marriage of a Thousand Lies, Sj Sindu: Lucky and her husband, Krishna, are gay. They present an illusion of marital bliss to their conservative Sri Lankan-American families, while each dates on the side. It's not ideal, but for Lucky, it seems to be working. She goes out dancing, she drinks a bit, she makes ends meet by doing digital art on commission. But when Lucky's grandmother has a nasty fall, Lucky returns to her childhood home and unexpectedly reconnects with her former best friend and first lover, Nisha, who is preparing for her own arranged wedding with a man she's never met.

And Tango Makes Three, Peter Parnell: At the penguin house at the Central Park Zoo, two penguins named Roy and Silo were a little bit different from the others. But their desire for a family was the same. And with the help of a kindly zookeeper, Roy and Silo got the chance to welcome a baby penguin of their very own.

More Happy Than Not, Adam Silvera: In the months following his father's suicide, sixteen-year-old Aaron Soto can't seem to find happiness again, despite the support of his girlfriend, Genevieve, and his overworked mom. Grief and the smile-shaped scar on his wrist won't let him forget the pain. But when Aaron meets Thomas, a new kid in the neighborhood, something starts to shift inside him. Aaron can't deny his unexpected feelings for Thomas despite the tensions their friendship has created with Genevieve and his tight-knit crew. Since Aaron can't stay away from Thomas or turn off his newfound happiness, he considers taking drastic actions. The Leteo Institute's revolutionary memory-altering procedure will straighten him out, even if it means forgetting who he truly is.

Melissa, Alex Gino: When people look at Melissa, they think they see a boy named George. But she knows she's not a boy. She knows she's a girl.

Melissa thinks she'll have to keep this a secret forever. Then her teacher announces that their class play is going to be Charlotte's Web. Melissa really, really, REALLY wants to play Charlotte. But the teacher says she can't even try out for the part... because she's a boy.

With the help of her best friend, Kelly, Melissa comes up with a plan. Not just so she can be Charlotte -- but so everyone can know who she is, once and for all.

A Quick & Easy Guide to Queer & Trans Identities, Mady G, Jules Zuckerberg: In this quick and easy guide to queer and trans identities, cartoonists Mady G and Jules Zuckerberg guide you through the basics of the LGBT+ world! Covering essential topics like sexuality, gender identity, coming out, and navigating relationships, this guide explains the spectrum of human experience through informative comics, interviews, worksheets, and imaginative examples. A great starting point for anyone curious about queer and trans life, and helpful for those already on their own journeys!

This Book Is Gay, Juno Dawson: This candid, funny, and uncensored exploration of sexuality and what it's like to grow up LGBTQ also includes real stories from people across the gender and sexual spectrums, not to mention hilarious illustrations.

Little & Lion, Brandy Colbert: When Suzette comes home to Los Angeles from her boarding school in New England, she's isn't sure if she'll ever want to go back. L.A. is where her friends and family are (as well as her crush, Emil). And her stepbrother, Lionel, who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, needs her emotional support. But as she settles into her old life, Suzette finds herself falling for someone new...the same girl her brother is in love with. When Lionel's disorder spirals out of control, Suzette is forced to confront her past mistakes and find a way to help her brother before he hurts himself--or worse.

King and the Dragonflies, Kacen Callender: Twelve-year-old Kingston James is sure his brother Khalid has turned into a dragonfly. When Khalid unexpectedly passed away, he shed what was his first skin for another to live down by the bayou in their small Louisiana town. Khalid still visits in dreams, and King must keep these secrets to himself as he watches grief transform his family.

It would be easier if King could talk with his best friend, Sandy Sanders. But just days before he died, Khalid told King to end their friendship, after overhearing a secret about Sandy-that he thinks he might be gay. "You don't want anyone to think you're gay too, do you?"

Sorted: Growing Up, Coming Out, and Finding My Place: A Transgender Memoir, Jackson Bird: An unflinching and endearing memoir from LGBTQ+ advocate Jackson Bird about how he finally sorted things out and came out as a transgender man.When Jackson Bird was twenty-five, he came out as transgender to his friends, family, and anyone in the world with an internet connection. Assigned female at birth and raised as a girl, he often wondered if he should have been born a boy. Jackson didn't share this thought with anyone because he didn't think he could share it with anyone.

The Black Flamingo, Dean Atta: Michael is a mixed-race gay teen growing up in London. All his life, he's navigated what it means to be Greek-Cypriot and Jamaican--but never quite feeling Greek or Black enough.

As he gets older, Michael's coming out is only the start of learning who he is and where he fits in. When he discovers the Drag Society, he finally finds where he belongs--and the Black Flamingo is born

Explore the full list here.

#queer history #queer #lgbt #lgbt history #gay history #lesbian history #transgender history #transgender #making queer history

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painted-flag · 3 months ago

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BEAUTY AND THE BEAST - aemond targaryen, (Part 1/3)

Story 3 in Between the Pages: a HOTD x Fairytale Series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader (no use of y/n) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wordcount: 5.3k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: is this releasing a month after the cregan story? yes, sorry for the delay.

The sound of running water acted as a backdrop to the environment of a small and quaint village. A stream ran through the village, with little bridges allowing people to cross. Each cottage looked like the other, with shingled roofs and white walls outlined with wood beams. At the centre of the town lay its well, surrounded by small vendor stalls. Travellers passed by the town often as it was situated on a main road, but they seldom stayed longer than two days. The populace was little, as low as a hundred. Everyone knew one another, giving you very little privacy.

If you had a say, you would be living somewhere else. However, this was the place your father had chosen to settle when he met your mother. His dream was to be a well-known inventor, but so far his biggest success was modifying some farming equipment for some of the villagers. You believed in him, truly, but had hoped he would try and land a more stable job to help support the house. The only spare money you had been able to make was on account of your sewing skills by mending dresses. Customers were few, as not many people lived in your area. However, the occasional wandering traveller was far more generous in compensation for your work.

Despite the suffocation, you had no idea of where else to live. You were caught in a sort of purgatory; incredibly willing to leave your current circumstances but incapable of imagining another life. It was not a life you thought you would lead as a child. Dreams of adventure - of finding more in the world - clouded your memories. More often than not you would be caught daydreaming. Your mind would be lost in the fantasies you would conjure to distract from anything else but your reality.

Fantasies, eventually, can drown someone.

You continued in your routine, with your hands brushing the familiar spines of books in the quaint library. There were only a few shelves full and you had read each volume no less than three times, some more than others. It was the only supply of reading for what you expected was a few hundred miles. Nobody in your town shared an interest in reading except for the kind old lady who lends out her collection.

One of the spines, a blue clothbound tome, caught your attention. You had obviously read it before, but it had been a while since your last go-through. You plucked it from the shelf and added it to your wicker basket full of food from the market. You waved goodbye to the lady and exited her home. The warm breeze brushed through your linen clothes and carried further in the air. It was part of the last vestige of summer, with autumn approaching steadily. Leaves had just a wisp of darkening on their edges, growing gradually daily.

You made your way down the paths, passing each cottage and waving to the residents. You had just stepped onto the street towards your home when a presence came up behind you. The figure snatched the book from your basket and let out a sigh of disappointment. It startled you for a moment. You turned and were not surprised to see Jason Lannister holding the tome in his hands.

“Reading again? What a waste of time…” His voice, a tone which sparked a tense annoyance in your body, drolled on. You crossed your arms and gave him an unimpressed look.

Jason was a man who did not fit the status of a ‘man’. Foul is the one word you are sure perfectly encapsulates his personality. He was a hunter, though you doubted any of his kills were done with honour. He carried around a gaudy-looking spear with an oversized tassel on the end and claimed to be a fierce warrior, yet would never go against any of the strong travellers that passed through. He would pick fights with the men, but devise a surprising excuse as to why he could not fight.

‘I have honour.’

‘It would be unkind to kill a man.’

‘My skills far surpass yours, a fight is not necessary.’

‘It is not appropriate for the women in this village to see such bloodshed.’

To you, it was all a load of horseshit.

“Give it back, Jason.” You were in no mood to converse with him. For years now, he had tried tirelessly to get your attention. Time after time you had said no, yet it has all fallen on deaf ears.

“Come to the tavern with me,” he did not ask, but demanded, “My recent hunt has been added to the other trophies. I can tell you all about it.”

There was no better way to ruin your day than to be trapped in a stuffy tavern with countless mounted heads of hunted animals. You reached out and snatched your book back from his grip. The market stall next to you displayed various shiny pots and pans. An idea of escape came to mind.

“Could I finish looking at these pans, Jason?” You reached out and grabbed one, flipping it over to the flat side. You saw your reflection in the polished silver metal and you moved it to face him.

“Does this look good?” You questioned. Jason took the pot in his hands but did not seem to register your words. He held it in one hand and used to other to tousle his hair.

If there was one trait of Jason’s that could be depended upon, it is his vanity. He got caught up in adjusting his appearance and you used that distraction to quickly move away. You jogged across a small stone bridge and down a dirt path to your home.

It was only in the safety of your home, with the door shut and locked, that you felt the tension leave your shoulders. You could not keep betting on momentary distractions to continue working. Jason was relentless in his pursuit of your hand. You had lost count of the number of times you had to come up with a plan to get away from his presence, and it was beginning to weigh down on you.

The sound of falling items, clanking and clashing, startled you from your thinking. You placed your basket on the kitchen table and rushed down the stairs to the basement to see your father picking up miscellaneous fallen items. He was on his knees on the ground, mumbling with frustration.

“Father?” You questioned.

He was startled and moved with a frantic nature to turn to you, “Ah! Do not worry, everything is alright. I just knocked over some things…” He rubbed his forehead and observed the mess around him.

“Well,” You began while you reached out to help him stand up, “You seem to be in far better happiness than I today.”

“What happened, dear?” He gave you his full attention. When he read your face, he could tell it was the same expression you had made many times in the past, “It’s that Jason lad again? Oh, if only I could kick that man in the-”

“Father,” You scolded, but secretly would not mind for him to continue, “We are above that.”

“I only wish for you to be safe in my absence.” He spoke while he fiddled with one of his newer inventions. A weird wooden and metal box that served some function you were not entirely sure of.

You leaned against one of the wooden tables and raised a single eyebrow, “Absence?”

He sighed and set down a tool he was using. You could see that he closed his eyes and waited patiently for an answer. He turned around and cleaned some grease off of his hands with a discarded rag.

“There is a fair a few towns over. I will be going over to see what I can sell.” He informed you. You nodded and looked at the ground. While you were proud of his work and encouraged him as much as you could, there was still a big burden on your shoulders. The majority of the financials fell on you, as your meagre funds raised through sewing still surpassed his. Money had never mattered to you, but its burden has.

“How long will you be gone?” You asked him.

“A few days at most,” He approached and patted you on the shoulder. You returned a tired smile and dismissed yourself from the room to begin making dinner.

That night was quieter than usual. Your father and you ate in relative silence, only occasionally muttering short topics between one another. It was awkward and undercut by tension. Your father was largely oblivious to it, his mind too focused on the upcoming fair. You pushed the meat around on your plate with your fork while your other hand was propped up and holding your chin.

After the two of you ate, you cleaned up while he packed his things onto his wagon and prepped his horse. You exited your home and walked down the steps to your father. In your hands was a basket of food of some baked goods that would keep him fed during his short travel. You placed it up on the bench at the front of the wagon, making sure the cover was on tight.

Your father had hugged you goodbye and cheerfully gotten on his horse. He waved to you before pulling on the reins to get the horse to move. You stood outside for a while, watching as his figure slowly disappeared in the distance. When he was out of sight and the sun had begun to set, you made your way back inside and got ready for bed.

Despite the frustration of your father's abrupt leaving, you had managed to go to bed with little strife.

⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅

Sunlight streamed in from the windows and hit you as you sat perched in a plush chair in your living space. The morning had been uneventful as you worked on some recent sewing projects and returned fixed clothes to some customers. It earned you a meagre amount of coins, but you supposed it was better than nothing.

You had taken a break and curled up on the chair with some tea and biscuits. Truthfully, these moments were your only moments of reprieve before you would go back to scouring for more sewing projects from those in the village. You had just reached a pivotal moment in the book, one which you knew well because you had read every book there at least once. It was your favourite moment, yet you had to resist slamming it closed after the echoes of someone pounding on your doors shook through the space.

The book had been placed on the small table next to you and you shrugged off the blanket you had been under. You got up from the seat and walked across the creaking floorboards. The iron hand on your front door was cool as you gripped it. When you opened the door, the grating presence of Jason greeted you.

Immediately, you wondered if it was too late to close the door and ignore him, however now he knew you were home and would not stop knocking until he got your attention. You kept the door only slightly open, enough so that you could see him.

“What is it, Jason?” You did not attempt to disguise your displeasure. A few years ago, when he began making his advances, you had tried to be civil. Yet his relentless pursuit had soured you over the years. Even when being foul, it was as if he did not notice or had some weird case of selective hearing.

He wore a sleazy smile, “You know, I was up all night thinking.”

“You were thinking?” You did not know he could do that. Jason did not indicate picking up on your casual insult.

“Of my future. I picture a house, with children running around and my wife taking care of them. I would come home from hunting to dinner and watch the children as they played in front of the hearth. My wife would be there to aid me after a long day.” Jason went on his tangent. You did not look at him and chose to peek past him. It was a wonder how he never noticed how little you cared. Perhaps he did but chose to ignore it. Either way, there was no possible scenario where he was a good hunter with observational skills like that.

“Sounds like quite the picture.” You spoke with a tone of disbelief.

“Yes, that is why I am here.” Jason stepped forward and you moved to close the door more but his hand reached up and stopped you. You grunted slightly as your strength was not enough to rival his.

He left no time to respond, “You are to be my wife.”

Those words, those dreaded words cut through your ears like a sharp knife. You winced and took a step back. Jason took that as an invitation to come in, so he opened the door more and stepped just past the threshold. You were stuck in a moment of frozen horror. That fear soon melted into anger, largely posed by his sheer audacity.

“Jason, in what bloody realm does that make sense?” You scolded him. He then finally caught on to your attitude and put a hand up to his chest as if he were the one offended in this situation.

“Well, obviously, you will be my wife.” He reiterated.

“Well, obviously you have misread this situation. I mean, for years I have insulted you endlessly, yet I am ceaselessly tormented by your presence.” You were exasperated but also had an inkling of fear. Your father was not here to defend you. This house was positioned further from the other in the village and you worried that nobody would hear and come to your aid.

“What do you mean?” Jason was still clueless. You did not know if it was intentional, but regardless it managed to anger you further.

“What do I mean?” You begin to push on his chest, moving his body across the threshold and back outside. “I mean that you are a foul, uncharismatic, and downright vile being with enough patience and perception to fill a thimble!” You grabbed the door and went to slam it, but stopped it to leave a sliver of space.

“And by the way, there is no force in this realm to ever get me to consider your offer. I’d sooner jump into a boiling cauldron. Now leave me alone before I get the town guard!” You slammed the door in his face and locked it quickly; both the bolt of the handle and a wooden plank to block it.

Yet Jason did not seem done and yelled through the door, “You worked today and I assume your womanly mind is overwhelmed. I’ll let this slide.” He then stomped away. His words angered you further. If it was not an egregious crime, you would surely open the door, grab the nearest solid metal object, and give his head a good thwack.

For a long time after he left, you ruminated on your words. You were so caught up in the moment, that you had no control over your speach. You wished you had been harsher, perhaps thrown in a few curses to drive home your points. Nevertheless, you had managed to get him off of your trail for the day.

This home felt too stifling and you needed to leave. A hill just outside of the village boundaries, with a tree on top, was calling to you. It had been a particularly favourite spot of yours, as most people did not wander there. So you grabbed the book you had been reading, donned a cloak to protect from the approaching cool of the late day, and marched out of your house.

Through the village, past the baker's house, over a hill and across the stones of a shallow stream was the place you always gravitated towards. It was calm. The light breeze shook the willow branches. The leaves brushed against one another, providing a relaxing soundscape for you to read with.

You had begun to settle down when the crushing of hooves over grass disrupted your moment of peace. There was underlying worry that it was perhaps Jason, but the horse in the distance had no rider. When it got closer, you realized it was your fathers. A sinking feeling made its way into your stomach.

The horse was grunting with distress. His head swung back and forth and you had to grab the cheekpiece of the bridle and start humming gently to calm him down. You looked around the expanse of the field for any sight of your father but saw none. There was nothing but worry that coursed through you.

“What is, bud?” You questioned the horse. You decided to climb onto the saddle and get comfortable. You leaned down to his ears and whispered, “Take me to him.”

Your father's horse did not wait a second longer before immediately running off in the direction he came from. By the time you made it to the treeline, the sun had begun to set. You hugged the cloak tighter around your form. The horse did not show any signs of fatigue as he trotted carefully and skillfully through the woods.

Time passed very slowly as worry for your father grew. You were scared that something grave had happened to him. Surely this was a misunderstanding. Perhaps he had set up camp for the night and his horse got free and decided to go home. You had begun to become weary and tired. The horse had eventually slowed down and now you were riding through the woods slowly.

It was late, incredibly late, and you regret not having stopped at home to pick up food. Your stomach rumbled every few minutes and the exhaustion in your body had picked up. The trees stopped and you entered an open space at the bottom of sharp jagged mountains. You had ridden to a large wrought iron gate that had vines, mostly dead, crawling up the spokes. The ground had turned to a stone brick path that was overgrown with grass and weeds.

Just a while down the path was a large mansion that looked like a castle. It was built from the same stone as the path and appeared derelict. There was no way people lived here, as it looked as though it had been abandoned for a long time. You hopped off the horse and grabbed the reins to guide him. You walked to the gate and saw that there was no lock on it. You pushed it open and with a horrifying creak, the gate doors moved.

You walked down the path and towards the castle doors. They were large double wooden doors reinforced by the same style of iron as the gate. A knocker was located on both of the doors where a handle would be. It was iron cast and shaped like the head of a dragon. In its closed jaw sat a ring that you would use to bang against the wood. You grabbed it gingerly and banged it against the wood. The thumping sound reverberated through the door. You wanted to make sure that no person was living here in case you happened to be intruding.

“Hello? Does anybody live here?” You waited a moment, but no response came. You looked back at your horse that was tied off to a tree before braving it and pushing on the door. Surprisingly, like the iron gate, it opened.

Like prey falling into a trap, you walked into the dark corridors of the castle.

There was no source of light save the moon as it fluttered in through the stained glass windows. The faint colours of the glass cast a gossamer veil of light over the thick antique rugs that ran the length of the entryway. It was a vast entry space that had two staircases that wrapped around the outer edge of the circle room. The stairs led up to a platform and joined into one and led to the upper levels of the castle. Ahead of you, between the two stairs, was another set of double wooden doors. To the left and right were large archways leading to more areas of the castle.

“Hello?” You asked again but achieved no response. There was, by the door you had entered, a standing storage desk. You walked to it and saw the thick coat of dust that covered the top. To your luck, there was a bronze chamberstick candle holder with a candle. You looked around for anything to light it with and found two pieces of flint and steel. There was no hearth around to transfer the flame, so you struggled for a moment to light the candle with the flint and steel.

With a few nicks, you were able to light the candle. You put the tools down and picked up the handle. You felt just a little better knowing you had a source of light with you. There was no reason behind where you chose to walk other than a gut feeling. You ascended the stairwell and to the next floor, wandering through corridor after corridor. The entire castle was still decorated with elaborate furniture and interesting paintings and tapestries.

Your trip had gone across an expanse of the castle and you wondered just how large it was. You reached a tower area and decided to go up the stone steps. The dark was occasionally broken up by a stained glass window; reds, blues, greens, and yellows of all shades would be cast against the stone of the centre winding wall.

At the top of the stairs was a door. You grabbed the iron handle and pushed it open. Inside was a caged area, but it was too dark to see past it. You inched in and held the candle out in front of you. At the far wall was a figure hunched down and shaking in the cold. They moved their cloak away from their face and you instantly recognized it.

“Father?”

He looked at you for a moment before moving to the bars of the cell, “Darling, what are you doing here? You must go!” You approached where he was and knelt. The candle was placed beside you. Your hands grasped his that were on the bars. His face was pale and hair sweaty; sickness had taken hold of him.

“What do you mean? Father, why are you here?” You questioned. Your father opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden sound of the door slamming shut disrupted you two. The force from the slam blew the candle out and the room was shrouded in darkness. A small window cast a single ray of white light that hit the centre of the room. You turned around and looked into the shadows, but were unable to find anything except the sound of shuffled movements.

A voice, deep and imposing, boomed from the shadows, “Who are you? How dare you trespass on these grounds?” It sent a shiver up your spine and swirled at the base of your neck where some sweat had begun to form. You sucked in a breath for a moment and steeled yourself to answer.

You spoke your name, then hardened your voice, “Why is my father locked up?” In the darkness, you could barely see a wisp of movement, but the figure appeared tall. Their voice came out rough and did not entirely sound human.

“He trespassed on these grounds.” The figure moved about the darkness and you could hear the sounds they made on the stones.

“Surely that warrants something other than being locked up? Don't you see that he is sick?” You tried to reason. Your heart rate had shot up and you could feel the fear and adrenaline course through your veins.

“Then he should not have stepped foot on land that is not his.” The deep tones of the voice could be felt in your bones.

“But he’ll die. Please, I’ll do anything.” You turned your body away from your father to face the direction of the voice.

“There is nothing you can do to change his status as my prisoner.” It was a cold response, laced with malice. You know you should not say it, but an idea had come to your head; one that just may grant your father freedom to leave and get help for whatever sickness he contracted.

“Take me.” You were almost hesitant, but there was an underlying strength in the way you carried yourself.

The figure did not respond for a moment, letting a lull insert itself into your conversation, “...You would take his place?” They sounded almost surprised at your declaration; caught off guard by the unfettered love and loyalty displayed towards your father.

“Will you let him go?” You punctuated every word to get the point across. If there was a guarantee for your father’s freedom, you would make the deal in a heartbeat.

“You must stay here.” The figure affirmed.

“Come into the light.” You would not swear until you saw who you were speaking to; who would ultimately be your captor. The dark figure moved swiftly, lumbering into the stream of white moonlight.

The whole time, with the monstrous voice and lurking shadow, you believed it would be a gnarly creature, but became surprised. He was tall and had a lithe but built form shrouded in black and dark greys. His features were as sharp as the cut frames of the stained glass you saw while wandering the castle. He had high cheekbones and a sharp jaw that came down to a point. His lips were pursed into a sort of snarl.

What frightened you most of all was the jagged scar that cut through the left side of his face. His eye was covered with an eyepatch that sat on the crown of his head and brushed over the long silver hair that glowed in the moonlight. The animosity that reflected in his one eye, strangely violet, made your breath hitch.

He was not a monster, just a man.

Though, you supposed there may not have been much of a difference in those two things.

Now that you have seen your captor, you relinquished your freedom, “I’ll stay here.” At your words, your father began to protest, but you paid no mind. All you were trying to do was memorize what little of your father's face you could see and stop the tears that came running down your face, leaving the skin red and raw.

The man moved forward and pulled out a metal circle filled with countless different-sized keys. He unlocked the cage with a harsh shudder. Your father surged forward and wrapped you in a hug, both of your bodies sitting on the cold stone floor.

“Why did you do that? Darling, why?” He held your face between his hands. The man reached forth and seized the collar of your father's shirt and pulled him along. You were subsequently pushed into the cell and forced to hear the door lock.

“Wait, can’t I say goodbye?” You yelled from behind the bars. Your fingers wrapped around the cool metal and you could do nothing but watch on helplessly as you heard your father be dragged down the steps. At this point, your gentle cries had been reduced to sobs.

You did not know how much time had passed until the man came back again. You sat in the centre of the cell, barely able to move. That was the last time you would ever see your father, the last time you would be a free woman. The silver haired man came forward with a large candle, though his hand made the holder look small.

When he approached the cell, you instantly backed away. In your eyes was both apprehension and fear. You did not know what he would do next. Would he hurt you? Mock you in your permanent isolation? Or simply come to the conclusion that it was not worth keeping you and throw you from the top of the tower?

He unlocked the door and gave you an expectant look, “Are you coming or not?”

“So you could hurt me?” Your voiced was laced with venom. He rolled his eye at your attitude and moved forward to grab your upper arm. His grip was tight as he pulled you out of the cell. His back was to you and you hit it multiple times to try and get him to let you go, but his strength far surpassed yours. You gave up quickly after recognizing there would be no way out.

He led you back down a familiar path to the front entrance to the castle, but went across the landing of the stairs and to another wing. You looked around and spotted the same decor as the other wing. This time, the wing was lit with candles and looked lived in. The light provided some warmth as well since the rest of the castle retained all the cold air from outside.

“You will have your own room. You may go wherever you please, but the west wing is strictly off limits.” He informed you. This whole time you had yet to learn his name. Would you ever? He seems too elusive to offer answers to anything and in the short time you had known him, he only ever answered questions with as little words as possible. He forced them out like socializing was a heavy burden or deeply hurt.

“Why is the west wing off limits?” You asked. He stopped in his tracks and turned to you. His hold squeezed for a moment and he looked to be holding back rage. You shrinked in your spot. The two of you had stopped in front of some doors and he used his free arm to open it. He all but shoved you in.

The room was large. A four poster bed, carved from dark wood, had a canopy of sheer black silk curtains. The floor was covered in layered antique rugs, all mostly red and black; a colour theme that you had noticed littered the entire castle. A fire was roaring in the hearth, intricate stone carvings decorated the arch of it. The whole room was luxurious, but it was your prison.

“Dinner will be ready shortly.” He informed you as you stood there. Your gaze then went back to him. He stood by the door and had his forearm resting on the wood of the door and leaned against it. He was regarding you with an inquisitive gaze; analyzing your every move. He seemed content in the information he shared and went to leave.

“Wait,” You called out and he returned to watching you, “I’ve told you my name.”

“That you have,” He spoke. You nearly huffed, but it was difficult to speak or moved the muscles in your face as the crying you had done no longer hurt, but left a numb tingling feeling behind that was awkward to deal with.

“What’s yours?” You questioned. Your hands joined behind your back and you did not know why a sudden feeling of bashfullness washed over you. He judged you for a moment, as if contemplating his words.

With a tone of reluctance, he answered, “Aemond.”

He swiftly left the room and closed the door behind him. Here was where you were left and forced to stomach the reality of your situation. You looked around the room, a place you will likely be in until the moment you died. The place all looked warm and inviting, but you were full of constant fear.

This room had become the hallowed shell of your new life, but you would not sit and cry anymore; many things can grow strong in darkness. A newfound determination built within you. You would not let Aemond crush your spirit.

⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ if you want to be added to any taglist, click here.

series taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @dracaryxzs @beebeechaos @libdarkheart @aisselasstuff @whodis? @void21 @l-uminescent @idontlikelizards @poppinspops @nixtape-foryou @bluryar14 @mynameisjxlia @asteria33 @ganymede-princess @poppinspops @arriettys-song @ggukiespace @scrumptiousloser @gcdofchaos @collectivefae

#hotd imagine #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #fairy tale au #fairy tale retelling

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thejoyofviolentmovement · 3 months ago

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New Audio: Schande Shares Driving and Noisy "Gregor MacGregor"

New Audio: Schande Shares Driving and Noisy "Gregor MacGregor" @jenchochinov @schandetheband @ecstaticpeace @girlieaction @delkin03

California-born, London -based singer/songwriter and guitarist Jen Chochinov has been crafting catchy, propulsive rock in DIY circles since the 1990s as a solo artist and in a variety of bands. Solo and full adventures throughout her career have included a split 7″ with The Cribs and James Murphy’s pre-LCD Soundsystem band Speedking, playing the UK’s Indie Tracks Festival, playing Happy Birthday…

#alt rock #Ecstatic Peace Library/The Daydream Library Series #Gregor MacGregor #indie rock #Jen Chochinov #noise rock #Schande Gregor MacGregor #Schande Once Around #Schande Palimpsest #Single Review: Gregor MacGregor #Thurston Moore #Thurston Moore&039;s Guitar Ensemble

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sweetreveriee · 6 months ago

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MONA KASTEN IS THE DEVIL HERSELF

#I finished save you #I’m physically and mentally broken #My heart has been ripped out then put back in too many times #THIS DAMN SERIES IS DRIVING ME INSANE #¡! ❞ venus yaps #in the library ── 🗞️ ˎˊ˗#maxton hall #save me by mona kasten #save you by mona kasten #reverie’s daydreams ── ☁️ ˎˊ˗

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weasleyreidstyles · 1 year ago

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Serendipity

chapter one

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): none

series masterlist; next part

The atmosphere surrounding the students on the Hogwarts Express differed massively in comparison to your fifth year last year, when everyone was wholly against Harry. Now, however, people whispered in their compartments about how he was right, the Dark Lord had returned. How everything was changing, especially with the rising death toll, wizard and muggle combined.

You were walking to the designated Prefect's compartment, which sat in the middle of the train, with Hermione at your side, your blue and bronze tie clashing with her burgundy and gold one. Your presence at the Ministry that summer prompted the two of you to be topics of few conversations, you sent glares their way.

"What do you think will happen this year?" the Gryffindor girl asked as you both made your way through the throngs of students in the hallway.

"Considering we almost died in June?" you say, a frown painting your face as your mind brings you back to your traumatic time in the Department of Mysteries to aid Harry in saving (and failing to do so) his Godfather. "We'll probably face certain death this year, Mione."

Hermione swatted your arm in feined annoyance at your attempt of a joke. "Don't put that thought into existence Meadow."

You only shrugged as you held the compartment door open for her. Ron was already waiting inside, glaring at Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson, who were sat diagonally across from him.

Unlike your Gryffindor companions, you had no issues with the two snakes, in fact they were two people you would consider your closest friends, if it wasn't for the prejudice that went both ways – from your friends and some of their's.

"Stop glaring holes into the sides of their heads, Ron." you scold. "I've told you before, they're my friends. They won't do anything to you."

He said nothing, but he did stop his glaring in favour of greeting the two of you.

The Prefect meeting went on for over an hour and you found yourself zoning out multiple times.

You're going to miss out on important information if you keep daydreaming, tesoro. Theodore. You admired that he was as talented as he was, but it was annoying when he would invade your thoughts. You narrowed your eyes at him.

Stay out of my head, Teddy.

But it's so fun, and so easy. He smirked and turned his attention back to the Head Boy, who was busy assigning roles to the new fifth year prefects. Pansy nudged Theo's arm, breaking his concentration, as she was obviously using her own legillimens ability to berate him. She offered you a smile in apology, which you returned with one of your own.

You'd taken to learning legillimens at the start of fifth year, having read about it in a book you'd taken from the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. You also wanted to protect your mind, especially with the knowledge that Voldemort was back after Harry had returned with Cedric Diggory's dead body at the end of your fourth year.

"Now onto you sixth years." the Head Girl announced. "Like last year, you're going to be paired off for nightly patrols."

She began pairing you off one by one. Hermione was with Ernie Macmillan; Ron was paired with Hannah Abbot; Pansy with your Ravenclaw counterpart and Theodore was paired with you. She then paired off the seventh year prefects before the Head Boy dismissed you all.

~∞~

Ron yawned as he stepped into the corridor. "Thank Merlin that's over. I'm starving."

"You're always hungry, Ronald." Hermione muttered as she walked out behind him, rolling her eyes at his usual ramblings, causing you to laugh at his expense.

"My my, it's a wonder why Dumbledore chose you to be a prefect with that attitude, Weasley." Theodore spoke up from behind you, Pansy at his side, once again shooting you an apologetic smile.

"Piss off, Nott." Ron snarked, turning to face your snickering Slytherin friend, about to take a step towards him when you put a hand on his chest.

"Leave it Ron. He's only trying to get a rise out of you. I'll meet you both in the compartment in a bit." you say, turning to face a smirking Theo with a berating glare.

"Wanted to get me alone, tesoro? Finally. I've waited all these years." he said with a grin, stepping towards you as your Gryffindor friends reluctantly left.

"Don't flatter yourself, Teddy." you say with an eye roll before you turned to Pansy and brought her into a hug. "I've missed you Pans. Good summer?"

"Abysmal." she muttered, sharing a not-so-subtle look with Theo. You looked between them questioningly.

"What happened?" you ask.

Exchanging glancing, they seemed to come to an agreement and Pansy grabbed your hand, dragging you into the closest empty compartment. Theo followed behind the two of you, closing the door and spelling it from unwanted listeners.

"What's with the secrecy? Guys?" you look between them growing more confused by the second.

"Before I tell you, you have to understand, I didn't have a choice, none of us did." Theo emphasises. "I consider you one of my best friends, tesoro. But what I'm about to reveal....it cannot under any circumstances leave this room."

You look at him confused, but the nagging thought that had haunted you all summer suddenly creeped up on your subconscious. Your eyes widened.

"No. Theo don't tell me-" you stutter and he looks away ashamed.

His son is my best friend. My father wants to get into his good graces, I had no choice. Even his voice in your head sounds despondent.

"Oh Teddy." you mumble, wrapping your arms around his waist, hugging him tight.

"I'm to receive the mark during the Christmas holidays." he mumbles dejectively into your hair. "Hell of a Christmas present."

"How good is your legillimens ability?" Pansy asks you. "Can you block people out."

"I have my thoughts locked away into a little mental box, but I'm still working on fully blocking people out." you say, pointedly looking up at Theo, who smiles innocently at you.

"You'll need to practice it then." she says resolutely, but the look on her face indicates nothing pleasant. "Mattheo can help you."

You scoffed. "There is no way Riddle will willingly help me. His father's biggest threat is one of my best friends."

"And you're one of our best friends, Meadow." Pansy says. "Our loyalty to eachother goes both ways. He'll help you, he's the most advanced at it, besides Snape and Dumbledore of course. Trust me."

"What about Harry?" I ask. "And Ron and Hermione, the Order. What am I meant to tell them. They won't be thrilled that I'm taking lessons from you-know-who's son."

"You'll tell them that you're tutoring Mattheo. It's a believable lie. He's shite at Ancient Runes, no matter how much I try to help him." Theo says, nodding his head as a plan forms in his mind. That was true. You don't know how Riddle was still enrolled in that class. "We've already discussed this becoming a possibility. He's more than willing."

"Why are you trusting me with this?" you question, staring between your two friends.

"Like it or not, you're our one way ticket to the right side of this war, tesoro. You know as well as I do that Potter needs as much help as he can get. And you need to protect your mind so that the Dark Lord can't get into your head." Theo says.

"So are you in?" Pansy asks as she heads towards the door. "Because there's no backing out from here, and I really don't want to obliviate one of my dearest friends."

You know the risks. You don't know what this will mean for your current friendships. But you know that Theodore is right. To help Harry, he'll need as much help as possible. Having Theo and Pansy on your side could be a turning point in this brewing war.

"I'm in." you say, nodding your head in agreement. "Just keep the snarky comments to a minimum about Ron, Mione and Harry, please. And relay that message to the rest of your friends too."

"Already done, tesoro." Theo says, ruffling your hair, grinning when you swat his hand away.

You question what he means for a moment when the back of your skull begins to burn with a dull ache. You cradle the back of your neck with your hand, wincing at the sting as Mattheo's deep, raspy voice fills every corner of your mind.

Lessons start tomorrow night, Princess. Don't be late.

He was already in your head, you sighed. It was going to be a long year.

~∞~

You reached the compartment that your other friends occupied at the same time that Harry and Neville seemed to be leaving it.

"Where are you two off to?" you ask as the two boys move away from the open doorway.

"To meet Professor Slughorn." Neville said, although he looked a mixure of nervous and confused.

"Who the hell is that?" you look at Hermione as you go inside, leaving Harry and Neville on their venture.

"New Professor, apparently." she replied. "What took you so long?"

You knew that your friends, minus maybe Harry, had little to no legillimens skills, but nevertheless, you cleared your mind of the conversation you'd had with Theo and Pansy.

"Well Pansy likes a gossip." you said flipantly as you pulled out a book from your never ending bag. "How else are we to know everything that goes on outside of our little circle, now that Lee Jordan is no longer in school?"

Ron and Hermione smile at that, before Ron's face drops.

"Listen, be careful around them this year, yeah." he said, his voice low. "We went to see Fred and George's new shop and watched Malfoy go into Borgin and Burke's with a bunch of known Death Eaters."

Your heart dropped. Theo would be participating in those meeting come Christmas time. That must mean that Draco was already involved.

"Well you know what sort of things they sell there." you say hesitantly. "It probably doesn't mean anything."

Hermione scoffed. "Try telling that to Harry. I think he's convinced that Draco and Riddle have been inducted."

You fall silent shortly after that. The conversation only picking up again when Neville came back to the compartment, Ginny following behind him.

Harry was nowhere in sight.

~∞~

Harry was awol for the rest of the trainride.

When the Hogwarts Express pulled to a stop in Hogsmeade station and you all found a carriage to settle in, he still wasn't there.

"Where on Earth is he?" Mione muttered as the thestrals, that were no longer invisible to you all after Sirius' death, pulled onto the winding road up to the castle.

"He's probably already in a carriage and didn't wait for us. Wouldn't be the first time." Ron assured, although his face betrayed his words as he looked as worried as you and Hermione.

You were unconvinced, and more so when you split off towards the Ravenclaw table when the three of you arrived to the Great Hall and saw, not to your surprise, Mattheo Riddle with bloody and bruised knuckles. As you sat beside Luna Lovegood you felt that same prickling sensation that you did on the train. He was watching you, and he continued to watch you with his cold, unbothered stare through the sorting ceremony and Dumbledore's speech.

Your attention was brought to the doors of the Great Hall where Harry seemed to materialise, Snape's looming figure behind him. But what you noticed the most in the bright glow of floating candles that bothered you more than his lack of punctuality, was the bloody tissue he was dabbing at his recently-fixed broken nose, which he did not have when you last saw him hours earlier.

People stared and whispered as he made his way to where Ron and Hermione were sitting. But your attention was pulled to where Crabbe and Goyle were sat snickering from their seats beside Draco. You narrowed your eyes at Riddle, who was still looking at you.

Got a staring problem, Princess?

Merlin he infuriated you. You focused on him as you thought of your response.

Did you do that to his face?

He smirked. Did I do what?

You didn't give him a response, instead turning your attention to Theo, who was chatting to Lorenzo Berkshire. Did Riddle do that to Harry? You asked and you watched as Theo startled before maintaining the same facade of conversation.

No. It was Draco. Harry was eavesdropping his conversation with Blaise. Matt was with me and Enzo.

Your question was answered, but you were still left unsatisfied. And Riddle's stare had not faltered, which added to your growing bad mood.

Stop fucking staring at me, Riddle. And stay out of my head.

He smirked wickedly and finally looked away, taking the prickling sensation along with him.

~∞~

first post on tumblr after lurking for a year 🫢

i've been a little hyperfixated on the slytherin boys (particularly theo and mattheo) so i thought i'd try out writing a short(ish) fic, but i couldn't be bothered with wattpad (i'm procrastinating finishing a fic on there lol)

i'm also writing this instead of finishing uni assignments that are literally due at the end of the week whoops

#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #pansy parkinson #theo nott #mattheoxreader #mattheo x you #theodore nott x reader #harry potter #mattheo riddle smut #ravenclaw x slytherin #serendipity series

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newworldwritings · 10 months ago

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NewWorldWritings Recs! (ATEEZ)

gif by @graphicstorage

these are some writings that i have read that i would love to share with the rest of atiny/readers. some of these quite literally made me cry, laugh, and relate.

let me know if any of the links don’t work!

more will be added too #newworldwritingsreblogs !

some of these do contain smut, dark themes, & lots more. so please remember to read the warnings that each author put in their works.

❕= SMUT/DARKTHEMES

OT8 x reader

❕player 1117 @peachesyeo

(series -> ongoing) obessive!gamecharacters!ateez x villainess!reader

❕morning mist @mint-yooxgi

(series -> ongoing) Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader

❕The Library of Illusion @kwanisms

(series -> completed) ateez ot8 × fem!reader

Want You Back @whimsicalwritingsandmore

(series -> completed) werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

❕Circus @lani-heart

(series -> ongoing) ateez ot8 x reader

❕trope @bro-atz

(series -> completed) ateez member/gn!reader or ateez member/afab!reader

❕Black Ocean @bvidzsoo

(completed) Ateez members x female readers

❕room for three @honeyhotteoks

(56k series -> completed) nonidol!yunho x nonidol!seonghwa x reader

❕splish splash @atozfic

(20k) nonidol!san x nonidol!seonghwa x nonidol!wooyoung x nonidol!yunho x fem!reader

undying bonds @edenesth

(series -> completed) Hongjoong x fem!reader, Seonghwa x fem!reader

❕whichever way @igbylicious

(series -> ongoing) woosan x fem!reader

Hongjoong

you’re hongjoongs bias @jnginlov

(8.6k) idol!hongjoong x idol!reader

captains favorite @edenesth

(1.1k) captain!Hongjoong x doctor!reader

Black and White @atinystraynstay

(2k) Kim Hongjoong x fem!reader

Seonghwa

❕The Way to His Heart @edenesth

(series -> ongoing) general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

Cold Snap @ennysbookstore

(4 part series -> completed) nonidol!Seonghwa x Reader

❕Dancing With the Devil pt.2 @bro-atz

(2 part series -> completed) assassin!seonghwa x afab!reader

❕the trouble with hating you. @baekhvuns

(33k) badboy!seonghwa x reader.

Bingo @gummygowon

(1.8k) single dad!seonghwa x reader

❕you’re the one that i want @ateezmakemeweep

(series -> completed) bad boy!seonghwa x fem!reader

Yunho

❕Guerrilla @sorryimananti-romantic

(27k) serialkiller!dr.yunho x writer!reader

What Builds a Home @cosmicdumpling

(7.2k) husband!yunho x fem!reader

��Memoir @baekhvuns

(16k) nonidol!yunho x reader

all i want for christmas is you @starrysvn

(11k) yunho x gn!reader

Yeosang

❕lessons in intimacy @honeyhotteoks

(14.5k) camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader

Siren. @sorryimananti-romantic

(27.8k) siren!yeosang x sirenhunter!reader

San

❕ceilings pt.2 @yoongiseesawmp3

(2 part series -> completed) pe teacher!san x single mom!reader

❕The Art of Climbing the Corporate Tower @ennysbookstore

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the-apocrypha · 5 months ago

Text

Cottagecore Series DVD Bonus Features

By popular request: the deleted scenes of how Dream and Hob ended up confessing their respective Big Secrets to one another. Below the cut are a series of conversations that take place a few days after Dream announces his pregnancy with Orpheus, and they are incredibly angsty. They also heavily feature abortion as a conversation topic. These were originally written to intercut with at least two miracles but didn't end up working out due to tone issues, and also don't really work as a standalone fic, so. If you're interested--enjoy!

The possibility of a child—their child, their own, of them—had occasionally crossed Hob’s mind, in the same way that other fantastical things like dragons and public libraries did. Fleeting. Unformed. Simple, wonderful little daydreams.

The reality of it was both impossibly more exciting and terrifying than he could have ever imagined.

Hob thought of a beautiful child with tiny pointed ears and glowing amber eyes. He thought of a babe born to the world still and pale, never to draw a single breath of life. He thought of all the stories his mother used to tell him, the skipping games and the toy swords and songs that lived inside of him, waiting to be passed down to someone small and new. He thought of a fae child, enamored of the forest and magic and books of learning, with little use for its mortal father.

Once, when Hob was young, his mother had been called to help an ewe who had been laboring for the better part of the day. Twin lambs, both trying to emerge at the same time.

They’d had mutton for dinner, that night. And for many nights after that.

Hob could not stop thinking about it. About everything.

What if the child came out completely human.

What if the child came out completely fae.

“You told me once,” Hob said, the words leaving his mouth even as lead weights sank pits into his stomach, even as his heart said don’t ask this don’t ask this don’t do it, but he had to, he had to know. “You told me once. That it took you a very long time to grow up.”

Dream paused. “Yes,” he said, at length. “But time in the realm of the fae is not so… linear as it is here. It is—it was subject to neither law nor order. Time was fickle. Changeable.”

“You said that it was almost a hundred years.”

“That was… a guess,” Dream said.

Hob stared.

“It was unusual,” Dream added. He did not meet Hob’s eyes. “It. It was a choice I made. The rest of my siblings came of age much faster than I.”

“How fast?” Hob asked, heart in his throat.

Dream swallowed.

“How fast?”

“The child is half mortal, Hob it should not—it will not age as a fae child would. It cannot, it—it will not have the same power, the same gifts, and moreover, the laws of this universe would not allow—”

“Oh, you know that, do you?” Hob asked, eyebrows raised. “Like you knew that a mortal man couldn’t get you pregnant in the first place?”

Dream flinched.

Hob sighed, and scrubbed at his face. “I’m just. I’m just thinking. We don’t know what we’re going to get, eight months from now—” If they were going to get anything at all. “—and we’ve got zero precedent to go off of, here. It. It could be anything. It could grow like a human and take sixteen years and be done. But, it could also…”

“It will not,” Dream said, but there was a traitorous wobble in his voice.

“It could,” Hob insisted. “It could, Dream, and we just. I just want to be prepared for that. I want you to be prepared for that.”

Dream stared, like the whole world was crashing down around him. As if he had not considered this at all. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Hob—”

“But, listen—listen, it’ll be okay,” Hob said hurriedly, and took Dream’s hands into his own. Put on the bravest face he could muster. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay. I promise. I’ll be with you every step of the way, for. For as long as I can be. Even if it means being stuck in the terrible twos for an entire decade. You just might have to do the teenage years on your own, that’s all. And. You know. The thousand years that come after that.”

Dream closed his eyes.

Hob tried desperately to rally. “And, hey! The good news is, at least I won’t be around to give any dodgy sex talks when it comes time for that, since I obviously—”

“Hob,” Dream said.

“Though clearly pregnancy prevention isn’t your strong suit either,” Hob allowed.

“Hob.”

Dream’s eyes were open again, and they were full of tears.

“Hob,” Dream said again, and it caught in his throat. “Hob, I—I am not going to live for another thousand years.”

Hob frowned. “But—”

“I made,” Dream said, and with the next blink the tears spilled over, “a bargain.”

The reason that Hob had kept it a secret for so long (was because he was a coward) was because, in his opinion, there had been no good that would come of the truth.

Dream had assumed that the people of Eskham had turned against Hob for being a hedgewitch. He’d assumed in turn that mortals were prejudiced against any being with magic, which was a category that happened to include the fae but more importantly included Hob, who did not have the ability to summon tornadoes or fell ancient oaks. Dream still sweetly seethed about the injustices Hob’s own people had done upon him. He had yet to even once seem concerned for his own safety.

This was fair.

Dream had, after all, taken out an entire village of mortals in one wrothful fell swoop.

Now, Dream had confessed what had happened in the aftermath of that massacre—what he had so readily sacrificed, to save Hob’s life—and it had been devastating in its own right. It had left Hob awake at night, imagining what it would be like to grow older and older and older, while his child did not.

But it had also pulled on the string that unraveled whatever remained of their tapestried joy at the possibility of impending parenthood. The happiness was gone. The happiness should never have existed in the first place, because the ache of its absence was far worse than to have never known it at all. Hob could not believe he ever felt such simple, mindless elation at what had quickly become a question to which every answer was more horrifying than the last.

Hob thought of a babe with perfectly pointed ears, stolen away in the night, drowned in the river.

Hob thought of a child with huge, phosphorescent eyes, tied to a stake above a pile of dried tinder. Screaming.

Hob thought of black-nailed teenager who had had forty-odd years of childhood with its parents before they succumbed to old age, and left their child alone in a world it did not belong in. Orphaned. Ostracized. Hunted.

It filled Hob’s stomach and left him unable to eat. It pressed down on his chest at night, and he could not sleep.

And he knew what he needed to do.

At the same table where Dream had confessed not three days ago, Hob sat himself heavily on the bench.

Dream stared back wanly. He’d spent most of the morning vomiting copiously, which perhaps made this timing even worse, but Hob knew if he did not say it now he might never say it at all.

“Dream,” Hob said carefully. The words stuck in his throat like glass, and they tore him open one by one as he forced them out. “There’s. The other day, when you told me about the bargain you made. I—there’s something that I should. Something I should have told you, before—something. Something.” He swallowed. “Something I. Something.” His nails dug into his palms. His heart was pounding in his ears. “Something—”

“Hob.”

Dream’s hand splayed across his chest is like ice on fire. Hob sucked in a breath, and relished the burn.

He seized Dream’s hand in his own. Looked Dream in the eyes. Prepared to pull this one last thread of sanity for the person he loved more than anything in this world.

“Something,” Hob said unevenly, holding onto Dream like a lifeline, “that I should have told you a long time ago. About. About Eskham.”

Dream tilted his head, brows drawing together. “Eskham?”

Hob nodded.

“What about it?” Dream asked.

He had no idea. He had no clue.

“That day,” Hob said, and he was gripping Dream’s hand hard as if he could prevent the inevitable withdrawal. “When they came for me.”

And Dream nodded. He reached out with his other hand to rest it on Hob’s forearm—a gesture meant as supportive that only served to make Hob’s stomach drop to new depths.

But this was not about him. This was not even about Dream. It was about their child, carried one day into a town square with pitchforks at its throat and devil spawn in its ears. It was about deserved truths.

“That day,” Hob said again. He swallowed against a dry tongue. Against the heart that was trying to escape through his throat. “That day. The mob. They weren’t looking for me.”

Dream stared.

Hob’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might be sick.

He watched, as Dream’s face went from confusion, to realization, to—

Bloodless.

Grey. Dead eyes and parted lips. Staring, but not seeing.

“I—defended you,” Hob made himself say. “I wouldn’t tell them. Where you were. I told them that I loved you, that you were just as natural as any other creature in this realm and that I would rather die before I let any of them hurt you, and—”

Dream yanked his hands back.

Hob tried to hold on, but he wasn’t quick enough. Not strong enough.

“You,” Dream whispered.

“I don’t regret it,” Hob said frantically, almost angrily. He was losing control, the tidal wave of panic and horror sweeping him out to a roiling sea he could not swim in, and he barely knew which words would leave his mouth when he opened it again. “I haven’t regretted it for a single second, Dream, not once, not ever, I’d have burned on that stake a thousand times over before I let them touch you, I’d—”

And Dream bolted.

Hob leapt to his feet to follow—but his calf muscle seized, and he careened to the side and just barely managed to grab the table at the last second. Stood there, panting, gripping the table as his calf cramped hard enough to render the entire leg useless. Staring at the empty doorway.

He deserved this, he supposed.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

The summer air was thick and sweet beneath the canopy of the forest. The trees mostly blocked the breeze, but so also the warmth of the sun, which made it about as pleasant as any place was during the midday heat. They were sat at the base of an ancient yew tree that Dream favored, not far from the cottage, and had been for some time. Ravens chattered and rustled softly overhead. A large halo of bird shit was slowly accumulating around them.

Dream inhaled as if to speak, for the third time in about as many minutes. This time, though, the words came.

“I do not want. Our child. To be hunted.”

Hob closed his eyes. “I know.”

“We do not know what powers it will be born to. What features it will be born to.”

Unspoken—the slimmest chance, the highest hope, that it would somehow be born wholly mortal.

A mortal body. A mortal magic. A mortal lifespan.

“We’ll do whatever we have to, to protect them. Whatever it takes. You know we will,” Hob said, and even as anxiety turned his stomach over, rage flared through him hot and fast. “Anyone that tries to lay a finger on our child, I’ll—I’ll kill ‘em. I would. Anyone. Everyone. And if they think I’m terrifying just wait until they meet the thirty-foot forest nightmare right behind me that can summon hail and rent the earth.”

Dream swallowed. “Hail and earth. Did not save you.”

Hob tightened his grip around Dream’s waist. “Yes it did.”

“You—”

“Yes it bloody well did. You saved my life that day, you fought, and if you hadn’t been there I—”

“If I had not been there,” Dream interrupted darkly. He barked one harsh, bitter laugh. “If I had never inflicted myself upon you in the first place, then no mob would have ever come for you at all. You would be—”

“Lonely,” Hob said. He tried desperately to keep the frustration from rising. “I told you. I would have been lonely, and bored, Dream, and I would have died in that house feeling as if I’d never truly lived at all. You are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“I nearly killed you,” Dream said.

“You saved—”

“And now,” Dream continued, staring into the depths of the forest, “I have attempted to thrust a child upon you, without your consent. I have tried to sentence you to spending the rest of your meager years consumed in the care of a creature that will only suffer as a result of my own hubris—my own selfishness—and it will resent us. It will hate us. It will hate me, and it will be right to do so for—”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Hob said, scrambling around in front of Dream, and cupping his face.

Dream stared determinedly to the side, with eyes that were red-rimmed and shiny. His breaths came uneven and jagged.

“You and I both know that you didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” Hob said fiercely. “You didn’t know better. I didn’t know better. Right?”

“Hob—”

“This isn’t something that you’ve done to me. To us. Neither one of us is to blame here. Not one little bit. And it wouldn’t matter anyway if it was, because whatever happens, you know that we’re in this together. We’re going to do what we always do, and make it work. Figure it out. Pregnancy, childbirth, parenthood, all of it. Together. Yeah?”

Dream set his jaw, and at last met Hob’s eyes. Slowly, he reached up, and pulled Hob’s hands away from his face.

“You argue. That we are absolved of any guilt, for what strife our child may face in life. Because we held no intention of conception, in our couplings,” Dream said.

“...Yes?” Hob said, eyebrows raising. “I don’t think we can be blamed for bringing a child into the world when we didn’t know it was possible in the first place.”

“Incorrect,” Dream disagreed.

Hob opened his mouth, but Dream continued too quickly.

“Ignorance acquits us from blame in the conception of this child, yes.” Dream’s hand moved, in the periphery of Hob’s vision, delving into the folds of his robe. “But we are not without agency, in these early months of pregnancy.”

Dread swung sudden and hard into Hob’s chest, like a fist.

“...What do you mean?”

Dream held out his hand between them, and uncurled his fingers. A cluster of flowers rested there.

Tansy.

“It sings to me of… release,” Dream said. His thumb brushed over golden petals like spikes. “Of choice. Liberty. Of the harmonization of poison and medicine, as one.”

Hob took in a deep breath, because he was, for the first time in days, hopeful.

Hob was also terrified.

Hob was sick, sick, sick, sick.

“I believe,” Dream whispered, eyes boring in Hob’s, “that it would be enough. To—take care of it.”

There was a cup of water on the table, steaming and yellow with tansy.

Choice, Dream said it sang. Release. Liberty. The harmonization of poison and medicine, as one.

But to Hob, it was silent as a grave.

Dream was holding the cup so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The steam had long disappeared from the cup, leaving only a stagnant yellow tonic. Hob had offered to leave the cottage twice and allow Dream some privacy, and on the second time Dream had grabbed his hand, hard, and he hadn’t let go since.

Hob’s fingers ached where they were threaded through Dream’s, but he did not complain.

He sat in silence, and watched Dream raise the cup to his mouth.

Watched him inhale.

Watched him close his eyes.

Watched him press the rim of the cup to his lips.

Watched as Dream froze, and was perfectly still for an eternity save for the tremble of the cup in his grasp—

And the cup slammed down onto the table, sloshing poison everywhere, and Dream gasped, “I cannot. I cannot, forgive me, Hob, I—”

Hob grabbed him and pulled him in hard. “It’s okay—”

“—I cannot do it, I cannot—”

“—you don’t have to—”

“I should,” Dream snarled, gripping the fabric of Hob’s tunic and pushing back. There were tears streaming down his face. “I should end it, I should be rid of it. It is. It is the only humane option, the only option that guarantees that—that—”

“I know, love,” Hob said miserably, his own throat going tight and hot. “I know that. But—”

“Hob,” Dream choked out. He tried to inhale, but could not. “Hob, I can—hear it.”

Hob’s heart skipped a beat, and his mouth went numb. “Y-you—”

“I can—” Dream slapped his hands over his mouth. He stared at Hob in horror.

Dream, who could hear the songs of river stones and the herbs in the garden. Who communed with foxes and ancient oak trees alike. Who had come to Hob with news of this pregnancy but without explanation as to how he knew.

“You can hear it,” Hob repeated blankly.

“I should not have told you,” Dream said, shaking his head. His eyes were blank and unseeing and wet with tears. “I. I should not have told you, I told myself I would not, I—it should not matter. It does not matter.”

“What does it sound like?” Hob asked.

Dream looked up at him. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Dream, what does it sound like?”

He shouldn’t ask.

He couldn’t not know.

“Like. A songbird,” Dream whispered.

A songbird.

“The most beautiful—” Dream choked on a sob. “The most beautiful songbird, Hob, the most wonderful songbird in the world.”

And Hob. Hob, quite abruptly, could not imagine a world where he did not one day get to hear that song. He could not imagine a world in which he did not get to hold their child in his arms this winter and instantly fall in love with whatever features the world had seen fit to give them, mortal or fae or some splendid combination of both.

He could not imagine what it would be like, for Dream to sit at this table and drink down poison and then listen to the song of their child go silent.

Dream sobbed in his arms. He begged for forgiveness—from Hob. Their future child. The universe. I have failed, he said, over and over again. Selfish, and weak, and worthless, he named himself, and he would not be consoled with any combination or repetition of words Hob had to offer.

But still, the tansy sat untouched.

Eventually, it went out the window.

And the songbird lived another day.

#ask and ye shall receive #this is sooooo close to actually working as a standalone fic #but not quite #alas #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #mpreg #abortion #sandman #cottagecore verse #my writing

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