#this was my first piece! wanted to do a small one to get the feel for it before going with my bigger project ideas

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! I wanted to request a story where doctor!Remus and you are dating. You're out with James and Sirius whilst he's at work and you pass out/are sick/whatever you think fits the story and they freak out and take you to the hospital, where Remus sees you and loses his mind. He takes care of you and the guys are there for moral support. Also, reader is afraid of doctors in general but specially needles so putting that IV on is a hassle in itself hehe.

Thanks in advance!!!!

Hi, thanks for requesting!

cw: fear of hospitals and needles, somewhat angsty, mention of vomit (in the past tense, if that helps), this was sort of weird to write because I don't usually write reader arguing with their love interest like this but I hope it came out okay

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re alerted to Remus’ arrival by Sirius’ shrill voice. 

“Finally! I’ve been texting you.” 

“We’re not really encouraged to be checking our phones during busy shifts,” says Remus. He sounds sharp and tired, and you look up from where your head rests on James’ shoulder just as he comes to a stop in front of your chair. A creased brow and gentle hands feeling at your forehead. “Hi, darling. Seems like that flu’s gotten a bit worse, hm?”

“You told us to check in on her,” Sirius goes on, “and we did, and we found her basically in a puddle of her own sick.” 

“She’d been sick in the toilet, and then fell asleep on the bathmat,” James clarifies. “But she seemed really very ill.” 

“Let’s go back,” Remus slides an arm around your waist, hoisting you up against his side and helping you walk towards the double doors that lead out of the waiting area. “What was her temp at when you found her?” 

“We don’t know.” Sirius trails behind, exasperated. “We couldn’t figure out where you kept your thermometer, and she was hardly in a state to say.” 

Remus makes a worried humming sound. “How are you feeling, dovey?”

“Tired,” you sigh, hoping you’re not leaning too hard against him but having a difficult time recalling what walking normally feels like, “‘nd my head hurts.” 

“She seems a bit better than when we first found her,” James says. You think you detect some worry in his tone as well. “She was just waking up then, and Sirius got her to drink some water in the car.” 

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve been taking very good care of yourself,” Remus murmurs, just for you. He kisses your head. “Poor love, I knew I shouldn’t have come to work today.” 

“M’alright,” you say, letting him help you onto a small cot in a curtained-off room. Sirius and James file in behind you, and Remus shuts the curtain once they’re inside. 

You look at him, and your surroundings, the machines and tools and the overwhelming harshness of it all, start to sink in for you. 

“Can you take me home?”

Remus’ expression is gentle. “Not yet, sweetheart. You should be feeling much better once I do, though, yeah?” He brushes a piece of hair away from your face, encouraging you to lie back on the pillow. “Would one of you want to hop up here with her?” he asks the other boys, then to you: “You don’t mind sharing your bed, do you?”

“No,” you say, somewhat bemusedly. Sirius grins at you, climbing over you to lie down by your side. 

“Thanks. I’m just gonna get your vitals now, dove.” 

You feel a bit silly, but your nerves worsen as Remus checks you over, sticking plasticy things in your ear and cold metal on your back and making his various concerned faces. He must notice something when he takes your pulse, because he thumbs over the skin of your forearm comfortingly. Sirius, noticing, works an arm under your shoulders and pulls you close to his side. 

“Alright,” Remus says in what you recognize to be his most soothing voice, “look at Sirius for me, please.” 

You, of course, look in the opposite direction of where he wants you, and he’s taking your arm, pushing up your sleeve. 

“Remus.” Betrayal sounds in your voice as you pull away from him, holding your arm close to your side. 

He sighs. “You need fluids and medicine to get better. You want to go home, yeah?” 

“I don’t want an IV,” you say in a tight voice. 

Remus softens. He rubs your leg through your pajama pants. “I know, babydove, but you need to have one. I’ll get it over with as quickly as I can.” 

“I had to have one last summer, when I got dehydrated,” James pipes up. He’s stolen a small stool likely meant for the doctor and is swiveling back and forth restlessly. “It wasn’t as bad as you might think. I hardly remembered it was there most of the time.” 

“I just don’t want to,” you say again, voice going quiet and frail. Your vision starts to blur. 

“Take a deep breath,” Remus coaches in that lulling voice. It’s half working, a familiar sort of comfort wrapping like a blanket around your frazzled nerves. You feel torn between your trust in your boyfriend and your absolute terror of everything that happens in a hospital. “You’re alright, yeah? This is the last thing you have to do for me. After, you can rest or have a nap, and when you’re well enough you can go home, okay? I might even be able to go with you.” 

You shake your head wordlessly, feeling ridiculous and childish but altogether petrified as you wipe tears from underneath your eyes. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” His brows pinch, and he leans over, kissing your temple. “You’ll be okay, I promise. Look over at Sirius, yeah?” 

You cry but don’t resist as Sirius uses the arm around your shoulders to turn your face away, feeling Remus take your arm in his grasp. His fingers press gently into the crook of your elbow. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sirius says quietly. He touches his lips to your forehead. “You’ve got this, babe, it’ll be over before you know it.” 

Remus is obviously doing his best to make good on this promise. He ties the tourniquet quickly, and something cold and wet swipes over your skin. The bite of the needle doesn’t come as a surprise, but you take in a tiny, petrified breath anyway. It rasps wetly in your throat. 

“You’re alright,” Remus murmurs, undoing the tourniquet as he speaks. “You’re doing so well, almost done now.” 

You’re not in pain, necessarily, but the sensation of a foreign object in your arm is distinctly unsettling, and Sirius makes a soft sound of distress when your weeping worsens. None of this is helping your headache, either. Your sinuses throb. 

“There.” You hear tape ripping, and then Remus is pressing it carefully over the spot in your arm. “There, done.” 

Sirius lets go of your face. The moment you turn around Remus’ is on you, brushing away your tears and kissing your hairline apologetically. 

“That’s it, darling, you can relax now. You did so well. Do you feel alright?” 

“He means are you cross with him,” James translates helpfully. 

Remus gives his friend an exasperated look, but his smile is sheepish. “That too, I suppose.” 

“Honestly?” Your voice is pitchy. It scratches against your flu-torn throat. “A little, but not really. I’ll get past it.” 

Remus gives a little laugh. “Oh, my love.” He bends forward, wrapping you up in a hug. “Thank you. I can live with that.” He holds the back of your head, rubbing between your shoulder blades firmly. When he lets you go, it’s with a kiss to your brow. “Sirius, get out of her bed. She needs to rest.” 

“Excuse me?” Sirius is affronted. “I think I’ve just proven I make an excellent pillow. And where am I supposed to sit? James has taken the only stool.” 

“He can stay,” you tell Remus. 

“Thank you, gorgeous. See? Jamie, come over here so we can watch a film on your phone.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, stepping aside to let James scoot by on his stool. “Fine, but try to get some actual sleep. I want your temperature down when I come back to check on you, yeah?” 

“You’re the doctor,” Sirius points out, getting cozy on his side of the bed as you and James scroll through films. “What’s she supposed to do, will it down? Sod off.” 

Remus heaves a long-suffering sigh, pulling off his gloves and dropping them in the trash can. “So glad you’re here.” 

“And where would your girl be if we weren’t, Rem?” asks James, looking up from his phone to raise his brows. “She’s lucky to have us.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, leaving the room. “Aren’t we all.”

[nicksolemnlyswears]

STAY WITH US

this oneshot can be read as a standalone.

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME (PT. 2 HELAENA'S TURN)

pairing: aegon targaryen x targaryen! reader x helaena targaryen

word count: ~2.7k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of death of a child, mentions of blood, light cursing

a/n: so i lied, so sorry, my apologies, remember how i said i wanted this part to be smut? well it didn't happen. in the end it didn't seem right because these oneshots originated form a place of care and comfort [not horniness like usual]

that being said i am open to doing a series of small oneshots based on their relationship that are more spicy because regardless it lives rent free on my brain and i'd love to share the pervertedness they'd get up to. also i've never written a threesome and that seems like a good writing exercise.

hope you like this oneshot. it's really sweet and when i was thinking of what else to do with them it simply clicked. my only wish is for it to have the same comfort provoking feeling as the other two. while this little series was written as a way for me to feel better about these characters it makes me happy to know it served the same purpose for a lot of you guys. also this was my first time writing for HoTD and you're all so nice ;) THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE.

enjoy!

Without Jaehaerys by her side, his twin sister Jaehaera must adjust to being alone. Her lifelong playmate is gone, and now she ought to find her place as an only child.

The silver-haired girl restlessly jumps through different activities, searching for the one that will entertain her long enough without company. It is difficult because each time she successfully gets distracted, she turns to catch her brother's attention, only to find he's no longer there.

Queen Helaena watches her as she stitches together a new embroidery piece for a dress. The Queen spent her days with both her children, but now that one of them is gone, she spends nearly every waking moment with her daughter. Observing. Protecting. Alert.

"The three-headed dragon shall rise once more," Helaena mumbles under her breath. The maids ignore her mumblings. The Queen's words don't make sense half the time.

A squeal of delight from her daughter prompts the needle to pierce Helaena's finger and a bead of blood forms at the pad of it. Looking up, she finds you picking up Jaehaera and kissing her chubby cheeks. The girl is enamored by her cousin and the attention you provide.

"Good morrow, 'Laena," you brightly greet her, setting down Jaehaera and sitting by her on the floor. "Have you broken fast yet?"

Helaena places a hand in yours as a greeting and nods kindly, assuring you she's been eating all her meals. At times, her appetite turns into nausea as glimpses of her dead son invade her senses, but she tries fighting through it.

She closes her eyes and thinks of anything else—primarily you. You who distract her and treat her with such care without judgment of her eccentricities. It's odd how she's caught herself multiple times seeking your approval.

As Helaena returns to her stitching, Jaehaera bounces over and falls into your arms. "I wish for my hair to be like yours."

"Allow me, Princess," Jaehaera's nursemaid intervenes. She does not wish to be seen as lazy and incapable of her job to care for the children.

The small Princess holds tightly onto you, hiding her face on your chest as she settles on your lap. "No, I want my cousin to do it. She's a Princess, and I want Princess's hair."

You giggle at her words and gesture to the nursemaid that it's alright. "Come on, sweet girl, sit," you coo, positioning her in front of you.

One of the maids hands you a hairbrush, and you begin your work. As a Princess, your hair is mostly styled by your maids, but every lady should know how to style it appropriately.

"You're such a pretty girl, Jaehaera. Did you know that?" You talk to distract her from squirming too much. She's an impatient little thing, like her father.

Jaehaera giggles sound throughout the room. She hasn't laughed like that since her brother died. It brings a sad smile to Helaena's lips.

"You're prettier," Jaehaera whispers bashfully, her cheeks a healthy hue of pink.

"Oh, I don't know about that. You're much more beautiful. Do you know why?"

Jaehaera shakes her head, causing you to hold tightly onto the intricate plaits you're weaving in her hair. You inadvertently smile at her benightedness.

"Because you look just like your mummy, and she's very beautiful, and she's a Queen," you gasp lightly, creating a tone of excitement in your voice.

Although she's kept her nose down while stitching, Helaena's cheeks burn just as brightly as her daughters. Your words continue to flatter her. You have a way with words that can make even the most ordinary of townsfolk feel special.

With a small, excited gasp, Jaehaera asks, "Will I be Queen one day?"

"There's always a possibility," you hum, pining the remaining plait into her hair. It is hard to explain the complexities of succession and legacy to a child when there is a current war debating that same subject. "All done, go over to the mirror."

"She adores you," Helaena sighs as she watches her daughter fawn over her new hairstyle.

"And I, her. She's the sweetest girl ever."

Helaena turns to look at you and sees the soft smile gracing your lips. Your eyes then catch hers, and your smile broadens. It makes her wonder what her life would be like if you were not around. How would she have dealt with her emotions?

"I must go, but can you come to my bedchambers tonight? There is a matter I must discuss with you," Helaena says timidly, casting aside her embroidery.

"As you wish, my Queen." You can't fault her for preferring to speak in the depth of the night when the castle sleeps, and there are no wandering eyes to pass judgment.

It gives Helaena whiplash when you effortlessly switch from calling her name to calling her 'my Queen.' She rather enjoys both terms, especially when you call her yours.

Helaena bids you farewell with a kiss on the cheek, blissfully unaware of its effect on you. Such displays of affection are not rare in court, but lately, their significance has changed for you, as Helaena has never been one to indulge in court etiquette when it involves physical touch.

When the sun has disappeared over the horizon, and the castle has quieted down, you make your way to the Queen's bed chambers.

You have always been inclined to stay in the shadows, where it's safe. You are a sheep amongst a den of wolves, and if you draw too much attention to yourself, danger will follow.

You have failed so far, considering you enjoy the company of the King and Queen. Grief unexpectedly brought you together and made your bond steadfast, but wherever Aegon and Helaena go, watchful gazes follow, thus making you part of the spectacle as well.

Otto and Alicent Hightower are taking the reins of this unnecessary war, but you feel safe under Aegon's and Helaena's careful watch. You believe they will protect you from any danger coming from within the castle walls, at the very least.

You're doing your mother a great disservice as you strengthen the bond of the King and Queen. The ache of losing a child will forever remain in their hearts, and waves of pain continue to crash, but that thick fog of grief that was cast upon them has slowly started to lift, thanks to you.

Pushing open the door to Helaena's bedchambers, you step into the room. It's well into the night, and the candlelight illuminates the room. You stumble over your steps when you notice Aegon and Helaena standing close together as if they were about to kiss.

"My apologies, your graces. I believed the Queen to be alone," you bow your head, red painting your cheeks. It's a gesture that originates from embarrassment rather than submissiveness.

"Do not apologize. We wished to speak to you," Aegon speaks, beckoning you deeper into the room.

He offers you a goblet of wine, which you accept gracefully to alleviate the dizzying wave of nerves you're feeling. You've never been alone with Aegon and Helaena. People have always been around, and up to a fortnight ago, they barely spoke to one another.

The ruling couple sought your counsel regarding their marriage, recognizing you as an intermediary. You offered your advice to the best of your abilities, considering you have yet to marry.

With time and encouragement, they reached out to each other for comfort. Piece by piece, they were able to speak and share the emotions that troubled them. Nonetheless, they kept you closer than ever.

You're the calm amidst the storm.

You take a drink of the sweet wine to busy yourself. Helaena and Aegon stand side by side, his hand on the small of her back as Helaena plays with her fingers. They're backlit by the fire burning by the fireplace. It casts a warm glow over their figures, making the situation seem much more intimate. You're certainly intruding.

"We wish to thank you for everything you've done for us recently," Helaena breaks the creeping silence. She's just as nervous as you are, if not more.

"Helaena and I have been thinking about how to repay you for your generosity," Aegon continues, staring intently back at you to gauge your reaction to his words. He's afraid of reading you wrong and fucking things up—like he usually does.

You instantly shake your head, "As I said before, there is no need-"

Helaena's following words cause silence to befall as you stare back at them in surprise. A sort of surprise they cannot read. "We wish to wed you," Helaena blurts nervously, her fingers twisting together.

This is not a moment to speak in riddles. Helaena is fully aware of the situation before her and wishes nothing more than for you to stay by their side, no matter the cost.

For once in her life, she hasn't felt lonely in the castle. She has an ally she can trust and confide in.

You've been the subject of Aegon and Helaena's conversations for numerous nights. At first, it was difficult to understand that they both held deep affection towards you while caring for each other. They debated for a long time about what to do about it and they agreed on one thing wholeheartedly—you only deserved the best.

Then, it came to Aegon.

He's named after Aegon' The Conqueror' Targaryen. The King took over the seven kingdoms with his sister wives by his side.

A simple Valyrian tradition would solve their dilemma while strengthening his claim to the throne. It's poetic, a part of history being re-enacted.

"Pardon?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. You stare back at them with wide eyes as they jump from Aegon to Helaena and back to Aegon.

The goblet in your hand lightly shakes along with your hand. You place it on a nearby table, afraid of spilling it. Surely, you misheard.

"Our affection grows greater day by day. More than we ever thought possible," Helaena confesses, desperately reaching for your hand.

Your gaze falls on Aegon to seek his opinion, and he nods in agreement. There is not much to say. You have proved yourself valuable to them in a way that is much too important. You serve to keep them sane and emotionally stable. A feat no one has cared to accomplish before.

You do not use Aegon as a puppet or manipulate him to achieve sinister goals on behalf of his name, much like the rest of the court does. Those people only care for power, even if they break Aegon piece by piece. They destroy him while you take the time to pick up the pieces and put him back together.

"Such drastic actions must not be taken. I merely offered you comfort when you needed it because I care for you both," you stutter, pressing a hand to your forehead. All of a sudden, the room is warm, and a layer of perspiration forms on the back of your neck.

Aegon grunts and approaches you, cupping your face in his palms, "That is precisely why we wish to do this. You have cared for us like no one has before, including ourselves. You planted yourself in our souls, and now we cannot let you go lest we go insane. If you do not feel the same, say it, but do not lie to us."

His tone is firm, yet he cannot disguise the pleading behind it. He's never wanted something as much as he wants you.

"I-" Your palms ghost over the top of his.

It is all too much. The prospect of being wed looms over your head like a threat. Otto Hightower will have no qualms about using your lack of a husband as a war strategy. It should not be his decision in the first place, but it is out of your hands as you're considered a prisoner to him.

You would be a liar if you said you did not reciprocate their feelings. They've been present for a while now, it is why comforting them comes so easily to you. Seeing them hurt only pains you.

With this new opportunity, you will no longer be used. You will not be sold to some old lord in the countryside for the gain of a few hundred men. You would be protected.

Most importantly, you will marry a man and a woman who love you. Yes, they are broken, but with you by their side, they will thrive and rise to the occasion.

Aegon's lilac eyes beg you to accept their proposal. "I feel emotions I thought impossible. They are confusing and overwhelming, but they are real," you admit.

Relief floods over Aegon, and he can't help but release a sigh of relief. He presses his forehead against yours, whispering a silent thank you to the old gods and the new.

"Will you become our wife? Our lifelong companion?" Helaena asks, coming up behind you. You feel her breath on your neck as she leans her head on your shoulder.

One word is enough to respond. One simple word will change your life. For good or bad is to be determined.

"Yes," you breathe, reaching for her hand. The smile on Aegon's lips and Helaena's giggles in your ear make it all worth it.

Aegon needed to do things right so no one could argue against your union. He contacted the Septon himself, and only a day later, after his proposal, the Valyrian ceremony took place.

He clearly instructed his guard and the Septon that they must not tell anyone, or there would be consequences.

The ceremony is quick and private amongst the gardens of the Red Keep. You wear the traditional red and gold robes and headpieces that match Aegon's.

A red dragon decorates the front of your garb, matching Helaena's golden one on her dress. She stands to the side with a faint smile, Jaehaera clinging to her dress.

Aegon carefully cuts your lip with the dragon glass. As blood surges to the surface, he presses his thumb to the cut and later spreads it across your skin. You repeat the same on his lips, staring apologetically back at him, yet the burning pain does not compare to the pain he's felt before. It's almost pleasurable as he takes in the symbolism of the gesture.

Cutting your palms, you let the blood that will bind you together for eternity fall onto the goblet. You lock eyes with Aegon as you take a drink from it, passing it to him a moment later.

He was not raised surrounded by Targaryen customs, but he has a new deep appreciation for them. The ceremony is deeply intimate as they share the blood that will mark them as one.

With a couple of final words, the Septon concludes the ceremony and with the knowledge that you are entirely theirs, Aegon crashes his lips against yours.

Aegon stayed firm in his words. He did not wish to sully your name, so he waited until the moment was right. The reward is much too sweet.

It is the first time you've shared a kiss with Aegon, and it is unlike anything you've felt before. In the past, you've snuck kisses in dark corners of the Red Keep, but none have ever kissed you with the intensity Aegon has to offer.

Helaena approaches your tangled embrace, and as you resurface for a breath, she presses her much more delicate lips on yours. The kiss is so different yet the same simultaneously. The intent behind it is identical while the pace is slower and sultrier.

Yours and Aegon’s blood coats her lips and it’s as if she also partook on the ceremony. Your heart beats intensely inside your chest but you’re happy.

Finally, you three are bonded, destined to stay together for eternity.

Jaehaerys will forever be missed. His life has become a mystery; Aegon and Helaena will never see it fulfilled. But in this tragedy, the gods were kind to Aegon and Helaena and provided a new person to love, cherish, and join their family.

were you expecting a good old throuple situation? eh, eh (pretend i'm wiggling my eyebrows and nudging your side with my elbow). im just saying she's perfect for their little dysfunctional family and the drama it will create with the Hightowers and Targaryens? immaculate.

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept keyboard smashes, emojis, words of encouragement, praise, virtual hugs and gushing about hel and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

[ofstarsandvibranium]

The Stranger in My Doorway

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x GN!Reader

Summary: You run an apothecary and, for the most part, your usual clients come in looking for pain relievers, salves, bacta sprays, etc. But in walks in a new client looking for something that does quite the opposite.

A/N: something short as i try out writing for qimir. lmk what yall think!

You hear the door open at the front while you're rearranging some products in the back room.

"I'll be with you in a moment!" you hear no reply and quickly move around a few bottles and salves before rushing to the front.

In the doorway of your shop stands a man looking rather disheveled. His hair covers part of his face as he looks around your shop. His clothing sags around his body from the rain.

You clear your throat, "Can I help you?"

"I heard you're the person we go to if someone needs a remedy made," the man states as he continues to take in your shop.

You nod, "Yes, sir. I own and run the best on Batuu. I can make anything you need."

The man looks back at you and with a tilt of his head he asks, "Anything?"

You feel a little uneasy as he stares at you, but you try to cover it with a cough, "Um, I use the term lightly. But I can try my best."

The man slowly walks up to your counter, eyes staring directly at you as he approaches, "Even if it is something that could harm someone rather than heal?"

Your eyes dart to the windows of your shop and the door, to ensure no one is watching or listening. You lean in, "For the right price, maybe."

The man smirks, "A thousand spira for an undetectable poison."

Your brows shoot up to your forehead in excitement, "Done. When do you need it?"

"Tonight. I will come by and retrieve it," the man pulls out a small sack and opens it. You hear the clinking of the spira as he grabs them. He sets five pieces onto your counter, "Five hundred spira now. You get the rest after I have ensured your poison works."

You quickly grab the money, "It will. I can assure you, this isn't my first time doing this, sir."

The man smirks, "We'll see." Without another word, he turns on his heal and heads for the door. Over his shoulder he says, "See you tonight," and then exits.

___________________

You closed your shop early to work on the poison. You wanted to make sure you weren't bothered and no one could catch you making something deadly.

Once it was finished, you waited for the stranger to appear in your doorway again.

When night fell, he returned. The rain had stopped but the ground was still damp. The man stood in your doorway again, clothes and hair no longer clinging to him. You get a better look at him now and you register that he's quite handsome.

As if hearing your thoughts, he cocks a brow at you and you shake your head, letting him into your store.

You lock the door behind you and watch as he picks up the vial from your counter. He holds it up, looking at its color, "What kind of poison did you use?"

You point to the vial in his hand, "That one contains chronamite. Used for a quick death." You dig out a second vial from your pocket, "This one is made from charon venom. Causes a slow and painful death as the venom infiltrates the person's nervous system."

The man fully faces you, leaning back against your counter, arms crossing over his chest, "Why did you make two?"

You shrug, "You never specified how you wanted to use the poison. So I made two. Take your pick."

The man smirks again, looking down at the vial in his hand and the one in yours, "I'll take both."

He takes out his pouch again, pulling out more spiras and setting them on your counter. You look at him with wide eyes, "You don't even know if they'll work!"

"I have a feeling they will," he slowly walks up to you, looking into your eyes and then at the vial. He leans in, lips close to your ear as he whispers, "I think this partnership will be very beneficial to the both of us." He then plucks the second vial out of your hands and heads for the door.

You take a glance at the spiras on your counter and then call out, "Wait." You and he turn to each other, "You gave me an extra thousand?"

He waves the vials, "For the extra vial." You nod in understanding and he says, "See you next time." He gives you a mischievous look and leaves.

You let out a deep breath that you didn't know you were holding. There's something about this man that makes you curious. And now you're hoping you will see him again soon.

[talktonytome]

“Honey, I’m home!” Buck shouts, as he walks through Tommy’s door. He tries to inject the energy he’s definitely not feeling. He and Tommy had planned a night out, since they both finally had a free night for the first time in weeks. Buck was looking forward to it all week, and of course his leg had to act up today, of all days. Bobby even sent him home early, giving him a knowing look and telling him to rest. Stupid weather changes.

“In here!” Tommy replies from the living room. Buck drops his duffel by the stairs and toes off his shoes before walking over. When he gets there, Tommy’s sitting in a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor. The lights are down low and there are snacks and drinks on the coffee table.

“W-what’s all this?” Buck was expecting to find Tommy getting ready for their date. Instead, he looks incredibly cozy in sweats and a worn t-shirt. He holds out his arms, beckoning Buck to join him. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

Buck walks the rest of the way there, stopping in front of Tommy, trying to figure out the best way to kneel down without wincing in pain. “Here,” Tommy sits up on his knees, wraps his arms around Buck’s torso and under his legs, before scooping him up and settling him on his lap in one fell swoop. “Welcome home,” he smiles, dropping a soft kiss to Buck’s birthmark.

“Hi,” Buck whispers back, nudging his nose agains Tommy’s. “Not that I’m complaining, but I figured you’d be in a suit by now?”

“Hm,” Tommy hums, “but the atmospheric pressure change today told me otherwise,” he shrugs, nosing along Buck’s jaw.

“Huh?” Buck doesn’t know how that explains the lack of suit. Tommy huffs fondly, shaking his head. “Tell me your leg’s not killing you?”

Buck ducks his head, definitely caught out. “Uh..”

“That’s what I thought,” Tommy says, tilting his head. “And I know how stubborn you are, baby. You were going to try to power through our date and knowing you’d be in pain kills me. So, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he gently sets Buck beside him on their blanket fort. “You’re gonna choose a movie,” he hands Buck the remote, “while I make some popcorn.”

Buck’s eyes follow Tommy, as he walks to the kitchen and he swallows back the sob threatening to escape his throat, busying himself with choosing a movie.

Soon enough, the smell of popcorn fills the air. Tommy’s back with a big bowl in one hand, and a small bottle and something that looks like a towel in the other. He hands Buck the bowl. “Eat,” he orders gently. He reaches for the remote and starts the movie Buck picked- When Harry Met Sally. “Great choice,” Tommy grins.

“What about you, aren’t you having some?” Buck shakes the bowl of popcorn at him.

“In a minute,” Tommy reaches for his bad leg and props it on top of his own lap. He rolls Buck’s pantleg up to just above his knee and uncaps the bottle he’d brought over. “Picked this ointment up earlier,” he explains. “It’s supposed to help relieve this kinda pain.” He squirts some in his hands, rubbing his palms together to warm it up, then starts massaging the smooth gel all over his leg, only using enough pressure to soothe and rub the ointment into his skin and around the aching joints.

Buck pauses the movie. Tears finally fall from lashes, both from the pain relief and Tommy’s depth of love and care. Tommy immediately stops what he’s doing, looking up at him with concern.

“Hey, hey what’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”

You’re actually putting me back together, mending all my broken, jagged pieces, he wants to say.

“Just the opposite,” he shakes his head instead. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“Now that’s just not true,” Tommy says, with a small laugh. “Taking care of you is no hardship,” Evan.

“You’re perfect for me,” Buck counters, “and I have been, a hardship,” he swallows. “My parents-”

“- Were so, so wrong! Oh, let me count the ways,” Tommy interjects, frowning. “Seriously, Evan, I love you and I love taking care of you. It means so much to me that I get to be the person you feel safe with,” he says so earnestly. Buck believes him.

“Thank you for being so good to me,” he says softly.

“Of course.” Tommy sets the ointment down and unrolls what Buck now realizes is a heating pad. He watches Tommy plug it in and set the temperature just right, before covering Buck’s knee and shin with it. Oh, that feels amazing. He breathes a deep sigh and sags against Tommy, burrowing his head on his shoulder. “Perfect, I tell you,” he breathes contentedly.

“Yes you are,” Tommy tells him, eyes crinkling at the corners with Buck’s favorite smile. He reaches for one of the thicker blankets and covers them with it, then, restarts the movie.

“Best date ever,” he whispers against Buck’s hair, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Mhm,” Buck agrees wholeheartedly. “I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you, too.”

[loveandleases]

This is all your fault! How would the ROs react to the MC sleeping with Chris after all they put them through? Crushing stage.

I will take the blame! Just gonna break our sweet babe's hearts over here. We getting angsty~ (Below the cut, because it's about 2k words.)

❤️ Cam - Why? After all that, why? What hold does Chris have on you? Do you still love them, do you miss them, did you just need someone? I thought things were finally fucking working with us. What does Chris give you that I can't?

The first thing Cam notices is how numb he feels, but that's not all there is. He feels like he's close to boiling over like he's about to lose it. Lose you, all over again. He wants to think it was a slip-up, an old habit or it was done to get closure. He can't bear the thought it's more, he can't, fuck that he won't. You two have been closer lately, in a different way, a way he's always hoped for.

"Please, just tell me why? That's all I'm askin'." his breath hitched between words. He tried to steady himself, but his words came out in a shaky whisper, lips trembling.

"I didn't," you try to collect your thoughts, try not to look at the redness of his eyes, the rising of his chest, the clenching of his fist. You try to swallow around the lump in your throat. "we were drinking. Then we were arguing, and then it just, it just happened." Cam squats down in front of you, his hand reaches for your own. His grip tightens around your hand, fingers entwining firmly with yours in a way that felt both protective and unyielding. His thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand, a subtle yet possessive gesture. His eyes lock onto your own, a mix of intensity and determination in his gaze.

The idea of the MC and Chris together tore at him, a visceral pain that made his stomach churn. "After everything?" he asked, his voice cracked, the raw vulnerability breaking through his anger.

His gaze bore into yours, a desperate plea hidden beneath the hurt. "You can't still want them," he says it more to himself than to you. "Please, please for fucks sake don't let this mean you want Chris." he's shaking. It takes everything in you not to grab him to comfort him, as you reach out he steps back, a mixture of pain in his eyes, pain and something else. "You're mine." he whispers, not breaking eye contact. "Not Chris's."

He searches your face, Cam has always claimed you in some way. His family, his best friend, is that what he means now? "Tell me it didn't mean anything," he whispers his voice barely audible. "Tell me you don't want them, because I can't stand the thought of losing you to Chris again. I can't."

💙 G - "Say it again." their voice is cold, as soon as you told them you slept with Chris you could see their wall go back up. So stoic, so detached, as if what has happened between the two of you over the past few months hadn't begun to thaw them out. Remind them of what you two had shared.

You begin again, meeting their hard gaze. "I said-" Before you're able to finish G turns and begins to walk out, but they stop. They stop, and they turn and they study you. Your face, your body, the way your breathing picked up.

"Where are they?" if you hadn't known G previously, you never would have noticed the change in their voice. The slightest change, that tells you they're angry. They're pissed, and they're going to do something about it. "Who?" "Chris." "At my...their.. their apartment. G what are you doing?"

They don their coat, and before exiting they turn to look at you over their shoulder. "Wait here for me, I'm settling this one way or another." They don't wait for an answer, because they know after everything that's happened, you'll wait. Just like they did.

💚 Kara - "What? No. No way, Chris wouldn't-"

"I wanted to tell you, I thought. Fuck, I don't know what I thought, but you needed to know."

She's pacing, curling a piece of hair around her finger, and mumbling to herself. "But Chris, why? It doesn't make sense alright, why after everything?"

"It just, I don't know alright. We were talking and I don't know, okay? It's like I felt all these emotions and I was angry and I just I don't know. In some fucked up way I wanted to do it to get back at Jade."

"Is that it? That's all there is, you don't still care about-"

Before she can finish you're shaking your head. You're quick to make that apparent to her. You were angry, you wanted to hurt them to hurt Jade, not Kara. That was never the intention.

"I need to talk to them. I don't, why would Chris do this? To Cam, yeah they would do this. But, to me?"

💛 M - They haven't said anything since you told them you had slept with Chris. You could feel their nervousness, with how they bounce their knee and tap their fingers along their thigh. "M-" "Thank you, for telling me. But, I-I don't understand why it happened. So.." They turn then, their eyes looking you over taking you in as you sit on the edge of their couch. "You fucked."

It catches you off guard, not because you haven't heard M swear before, but because they struggle talking about sex when they're writing it. "Wha-"

"Shit, fuc- I..sorry. I didn't mean to say it out loud." They mumble, voice shaky not meaning to let their thoughts slip out. At least not in front of you. "M it's not that sim-" "I'm not sure I want to know. I don't...want to think of the two of you, bodies hot and writhing and lips in places and-" M stands, hands pulling on the bottom of their sweater pulling it as they pace back and forth in front of the couch. "with them though? With them? I know it can happen, I mean I've written something like that happening," M looks you over, their brows furrowed. They speak in a rapid-fire rush, words tumbling over each other.

M's eyes dart around nervously, and they fidget with their hands, pulling at a piece of thread at the bottom of their sweater.

There is heat in their gaze, is it anger? Is it more? "I thought if you were going to fuck someone it would be m-" M slaps their hand over their mouth, stopping their pacing. They shake their head, as your eyes meet. Who, who would it be? M pulls their sweater up to cover the bottom of their face, the growing blush creeping up their neck to their cheeks. In a high-pitched voice, they yell "Excuse me!" before rushing into the bathroom. Groaning loudly "Fucking shit balls, damn it. Get it together."

💜 Isaac - You think for a second Isaac is going to say something, with the way their mouth opens. But, they say nothing instead running a hand along the back of their neck. "Well, I'm happy for you. I mean it's not like you're interested in anyone right? Not like we're serious or anything." They say it so effortlessly, or at least it sounds it. But really, it takes everything in them to say it. They don't want to get close, this just helps them not. Knowing you were with Chris, they have no right to care because they haven't made a move, not really. Yet it hurts, it fucking hurts and they don't want to admit it. No, must be the hours they've worked, they need sleep, they need time. To sulk, to be jealous, wait no..no. That's the last thing Isaac needs. "I..wouldn't say that." Isaac snaps around to look at you, "So you do care about Chris, after everything?" "No, no it was, I don't know closure in a way. We were arguing and Chris kissed me. That was their favorite way to end old arguments. It helped in a way, because a part of me would always wonder if leaving them was the right choice. Now I know." In a way, Isaac respects that. Because they never got that kind of closure, like a wound that never heals, always festering deep inside. "So..was it?" The question leaves their mouth before they can stop it, because damn it if they don't want to know. Was this thing the two of you have been trying to start worth it? Was it what you wanted? Do you finally know, that you want someone, someone standing right in front of you?

🖤 Ardent - He laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. It was a hollow, bitter laugh. His lips twisted into a grimace as he tried to mask his feelings.

"Why are you laughing?" "Because that's just how it goes isn't it? You and me, this twisted little game we got going on. I knew something was off because I know for a fucking fact I didn't put this on you." His large hand yanks the collar of your shirt over, the purplish mark still very much visible. You go to slap his hand away, embarrassed. You wanted to tell him, to be honest. Not because you wanted Chris, you drank you drank so much and Chris was there and you wanted to hurt them, hurt Jade. So you slept with Chris. Worst fucking decision ever. Ardent grabs your wrist, his eyes staring at the mark, at the reminder of what happened. You watch his tongue dart out to lick his lips, as he leans his head forward. "What the fuck are you doing!?" You step back, but he follows. Still holding your wrist, his other hand clinging to your hip. Your cheeks are red with your embarrassment. "Don't move." His voice is stern, as he shifts closer to you, pressing his body against you, turning your head to bare your neck to him. "Is this some weird ass kink of yours or something? Stop looking at it!" You press your hands against his chest but it only makes him growl. Sending a shiver down your spine, but not out of fear, much worse than that. Something you should probably talk to a therapist about. "If this is what you do to get my attention, then congratulations you have it. Every last fucking ounce. "I was drunk damn it. Not like I judge who the hell comes out of your apartment." "No one's come out since this shit started, and you know it. Only one other person comes in here that isn't me." His breath is warm on your neck, and it excites you. Sleeping with Chris wasn't meant to make Ardent want you more, but some fucking how, it did just that. You feel his warm tongue dart against the hickey, and it almost causes you to moan but you stifle it, the sound getting lost in your throat. You hear him snicker, as his teeth bite in just enough. A little bit of pain, with a little bit of pleasure, as he begins to suck. Marking over Chris's hickey. He lets go his lips making a loud pop as he pulls away. "Now, where is this shit stain?" "Wha-who?" You arch your brow and Ardent stares at you, not needing to say Chris's name. "Why, what are you going to do, punch them?" He smirks at you, pulling your hand away from the mark on your neck, his teeth marks marring your skin. "That's the first thing."

[aziraphales-library]

Hi, I appreciate all the time you put into this blog and everything that you do.

I was wondering if you had any fic recommendations where Aziraphale can't say "I love you"?

Like, after years of being afraid of Heaven finding out he just has a really hard time saying it? I know it’s oddly specific, but I figured I'd ask. Thank you so much for your time. Have a lovely day. <3

Hello! You can check our #denial of feelings tag for fics along these lines. Here are some where Aziraphale struggles to express his feelings for Crowley...

the one where aziraphale can't say I love you by assbuttsinlove (G)

aziraphale wants to say I love you but he can't. but he really really wants to. so crowley helps. first kisses and fluff. and a touch of angst.

E pesa come l'anima by D20Owlbear (G)

[3 + 2 +1] Three times Aziraphale never began the words, two times he fails to get them out, and one time he finally managed it. I love you hung heavy in Aziraphale's chest like an ornament on a too-small, too-barren tree, dragging down the branches with the weight and intensity of it until it nearly falls and shatters into pieces and rips itself from his lips. But instead he said, "Or I'll never speak to you again!" And that was almost the same, and he knew Crowley heard it too. That Crowley heard I'll never speak to you again and knew it meant I don't dare lose you, I love you. But then the world didn't end and he wasn't shipped off to his platoon and he was with Crowley still, his oldest and best friend in any world there might ever be and… he still couldn't say it. He's had thousands of years to practice beating it down, to keep it to himself, to only let Crowley know of his affection in the most roundabout of ways, and only a few months to unlearn it all. But, Crowley deserved more than that. Aziraphale deserved more than that too!

But The Smoke Clears When You're Around by midnightdragons (T)

“Mhm,” Crowley mumbled, before closing his eyes, curling back up around Aziraphale, and promptly falling back to sleep, one hand hooked loosely around the angel’s middle, his face pressed into his chest. Aziraphale looked down at him, his heart seizing in his chest, and gently hugged him close. “You are silly, my sweet boy,” he whispered breathlessly, sparing a single chaste kiss to the demon’s forehead. “And I . . .” Love you, he wanted to say. Wanted so badly to say it, to reveal it to the world, if only for a single moment.

After the Armageddon that wasn't, Crowley can't rid himself of the trauma caused by a certain event, and shields himself with defensive anger and a mask of irritation. Aziraphale convinces him that it's okay to rest and recover. (Alternatively: purely sleepy intimacy, comfort, and fluff, accompanied by the lingering scent of smoke in a bookshop.)

Definitions of Love by organizechaos (T)

Aziraphale thinks that all the abuse and trauma he endured in heaven is ‘love’. After being freed after the apocalypse, the angel is beyond happy. He wants nothing more than to spend eternity with Crowley but the demon is ready to put a name to their feelings. They both know that they care for each other deeply and when Crowley finally has the courage to put it in words (‘I love you’), it sends Aziraphale spiraling into believing Crowley will start treating him like heaven did. "We- we don't have to pretend anymore.” Crowley stuttered out, golden eyes looking frantically about the angel. His sunglasses were clutched tightly in the palm of his hand, “The apocalypse is over, it has been for years. Can't we- can't we say it now?" his voice wavered only slightly. "I don't love you, Crowley." Aziraphale emphasized each word to better help the demon understand. He had never truly loved something in all his years of existence, he didn’t think he was capable. To love another being — especially Crowley... "I could never love you."

An Angel and a Demon Dined at the Ritz (And Everything Went Downhill from There) by AshCommaMan (T)

Always offering. Always asking a question he must know will only ever get a “no” in response. And yet he asks anyway. “Anywhere you want to go.” You know I would do anything for you. “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” You deserve better than what I can give you. All that, and still, nothing has changed. In which Aziraphale must stop running from his feelings, or risk losing his best friend forever.

- Mod D

[httpiastri]

first of all CONGRATS ON 3K!! 💗😫 I've loved your Pepe work and I'm so checking out your other works 😭💗

saw the 3k celly and I couldn't resist myself 👉👈

how do we feel about a small Pepe blurb with the touch starved prompt: "one just casually sitting down on the other's lap and they start internally freaking the hell out" ??

furthermore,, could it be the reader being the one that is touch starved and Pepe just casually grabs em and sits them on his lap and is the reader the one freaking out?? 🤭

🍈 – send me a driver and a prompt from this list of hugging prompts, these touch starved prompts, or these kiss prompts, and i will write a short blurb for you!!

author's note: thank you so much!! and im glad you like them aaa 🥺 i loved this idea !!!! but lol i thought a blurb was 500 words, not 100-200. still doesnt explain why this is 1.2k. 😶 i had time over on my flight so this (and the paul "blurb" ive got scheduled for later) was the result. hope u enjoy :)

(college!)pepe marti x reader

there are a lot of fun ways to spend a free saturday evening.

but being squeezed into a room with a bunch of drunk students, with music so loud you can barely think? not one of them.

you had been about to refuse your friend's suggestion to tag along, as you always do, before she had uttered the magic words. pepe will be there.

you were already planning outfits in your mind when the words left her mouth, suddenly feeling like no piece of clothing you own is enough to impress him. how could any piece of clothing ever be good enough for someone like him?

disappointment, though no surprise, fills you when your friend leaves you the second you enter the apartment of some guy in her physics class, to search for that other guy she's been crushing on for weeks now. so, here you are, in the living room belonging to some student you don't know, being pushed around by students you also don't know, with some song that you've never heard blasting from the speakers.

thankfully, even in a crowded apartment like this one, it isn't hard to find pepe. the sound of his sweet, intoxicating laughter can be heard from miles away.

he's sitting on a couch in the corner of the room, red solo cup in one hand and phone in the other. he's showing something on his phone to his best friend christian who's sitting next to him, his giggles sending a wave of relief through your body.

pepe's eyes light up when they meet yours, a sliver of surprise in his smile as you make your way over to him. he says your name like it's what he was made to do, like no other words have ever fallen from his lips. "i almost didn't believe your friend when she told me you'd join her tonight," he tells you. "i'm surprised."

"i'm full of surprises," you answer, tilting your head to the side slightly.

"of course you are. like that dress, very surprising." that statement isn't very surprising in itself; your friend, ever the fashionista, noticed your stress over your choice of outfit for the night instantly, lending you one of her favorite dresses with the words you'll look adorable, he won't be able to stay away. but the fact that pepe has noticed you enough to at least in some way collect an idea of the types of clothes you would and wouldn't wear is surprising to send a shiver down your spine. "you look great."

you can't control the redness that threatens to spread across your cheeks at that, but your gaze shifts to the ground to at least lessen some of your flusteredness. pepe doesn't miss the gentle smile that makes its way onto your lips, though. christian understands this as his cue to leave, jumping out of his seat and bolting away in just a second. pepe taps the now free spot on the couch, and you slip down next to him without another thought.

"did you get to the kitchen already?" he asks, gaze burning into the side of your face as you pretend like fixing the hem of your dress is something you actually need to do and not just a way to occupy yourself. "or do you want me to go get you something to drink?"

you shake your head, eyes flickering over to him again. "i'm alright for now, but thank you."

he nods over his cup, bringing it up to his lips to take a sip. the action has the muscles of his arm contracting and… has he always been this muscular, or is it just the light of the apartment? either way, he makes it look so casual – he probably doesn't know he's the object of your current mental assessment – as if the feeling of his jeans against your bare knee isn't distracting enough. "i'm glad you came," he says after he's lowered the cup. "the party was bound to be boring without you."

there it is again; that relief you felt earlier. a sliver of a confirmation that this thing that's been going on between you two these last few weeks isn't just one-sided. unless he's just toying with you, as you've heard certain men like to do, which doesn't exactly help soothe your worries.

but pepe isn't like that, you have to remind yourself. that's one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place; he's gentle in a way you can't credit a lot of men to being, like a mild breeze instead of a full-blown storm.

someone turns the music up even more, something you would've assumed was impossible a minute ago, as if to say you're thinking too much. fewer thoughts, please.

you take a deep breath, eyes meeting his. "i'm glad you're here, too."

"what?"

you let out a short laugh at the way his face contorts as he tries to hear what you're saying over the loud music. "i said," you start, voice growing louder. "i'm glad you're here, too."

pepe nods, though you're not sure if he actually understood or if he's just faking it, before saying something you have no chance of catching. you raise your eyebrows, tilting your head slightly and jokingly bringing a hand up to the back of your ear to hear him better. you did not expect him to lean forward, nor the warm huff of air that meets your ear when he speaks into it. "it's a little too loud, isn't it?"

you nod when he leans back to look at you, the corners of your lips tugging upward at the sight of his own smile. you shrug, trying to figure out a way to solve the issue; you came here to talk to him, not to just sit next to him all quietly because you can't hear each other. you gaze around the apartment, only to find a pair of speakers placed in about every corner of it, which brings back that disappointing feeling from when your friend left you just minutes ago.

but pepe has other plans. before you can interject, his hands find your hips and lift you up to straddle his thighs sideways. it's a swift motion, and he makes it seem like you weigh about five grams, leaving you pretty completely speechless. "i figured we'd hear each other better like this," he says, one hand reaching over to grab his cup again from where he must've placed it on a table nearby just moments ago, while his other hand stays planted on your hip. when you don't say anything, his eyes rake over your face, a hint of guilt in his expression. "sorry, is this okay?"

you take a deep breath, pushing the butterflies in your stomach away for just a moment and gathering the courage to nod. "yeah," you say, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "i just… wasn't expecting that."

the chuckle he lets out vibrates through your body, too. "well, get used to it." that damn smile of his appears again, the one you just can't stop yourself from mimicking. "i like having you close."

as his hand slips past your hip and around your waist, you allow yourself to lean into him a little, impressed by the way you find yourself enjoying your new seat very much.

impressed by the way it feels like this seat was made just for you.

[daboyau]

I am reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and WOW I am getting extremely emotional over Reaper specifically. He has such a comparatively small role, and I’m not sure if we ever “hear” him even speak at any point, but there’s something about this boy that’s been pegged as a killer and the most likely winner of the Games from the start just being so extremely gentle all throughout it. He apologizes before the Games even begin for what he might have to do inside the arena, which may have just been a strategy to scare the others into staying away from him so he doesn’t have to fight or hurt anyone. I don’t think he actually harms a single person once the Hunger Games do begin. Instead, he spends the entire time keeping to himself and tending to the bodies of the other children with so much compassion and care. He collects them as they die. He covers them and lines them up and he keeps vigil over the bodies, guarding and protecting them. The only time we see him engage with anyone in a way that could be considered aggressive is when people try to mess with the bodies, and even then it seems like it’s just to chase them off.

This sweet boy spends the whole time in the arena, aware he’s most likely going to die, caring for the dead. He wraps a piece of flag (the same flag that he’s using as a funeral shroud for the others) around his shoulders like a cape and he runs around in it just to feel it flapping behind him. (Maybe he just wants one last moment of joy, a final chance to feel happiness.) He rocks himself to self-soothe once it all starts to be too much. In his final moments, once he knows he’s going to die, he uses the last of his strength to drag himself over to lay side by side with his fellow tributes, joining the other children he’s been taking care of all this time. Reaper is breaking my heart and this is the first time in a while that a book has made me cry.

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 4

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 3955

Warnings: Angst, Past Trauma, Lots of tears.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers. Not sure when this one will be up and available to read yet. Just getting the chapter list started for it.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 4

Thinking back to where you had accidentally discovered that letter, you started there, the inside doorframe of the house. It was a hidden compartment that you’d accidentally popped open when you punched the door on that hot summer evening almost nine years ago.

You stood there, staring at the spot, then turned and looked in front of you, remembering the words of the letter. 

They knew I’d be older when I found it. If they were here, how would they walk with me through the house to show me this place? 

You then glanced to your right, toward the kitchen. It had an open archway leading to a spacious open floor plan with a stationary island in the center. The table was to the right of that near beautiful bay windows that let the morning light in. To the back of the kitchen was the pantry and laundry room.

Mom would start in the kitchen.

Goosebumps danced their way down your body as you walked to the archway. You let your hands slowly slide from the floor, up along one side and down the other.

Nothing on the outside.

You then did the same on the inside but stopped halfway down on the side closer to the kitchen table. Your breath hitched when you felt the tiny button hidden in plain sight. Pressing it with utter anticipation and hope, a small pocket opened near the floor of the frame.

Another note…

Your hands were shaking slightly as you pulled the note from what had been its hiding place for far too many years, carefully unfolding it and seeing your mother’s handwriting.

Y/N,

Your first clue on this scavenger hunt. We’re so proud of you. You’re on the right path. My sister, your Aunt Ellen, knows the details of what you’ll eventually find. So does Bobby, Jodi, John, and Mary. We were all dear friends growing up.

Think of me and your dad as you walk through the house and the clues will come easy to you. The key in the little pocket where you found this note will be needed later on. Keep it safe. Where would I take you next?Love, Your Parents

For a moment or two, you looked at the letter quizically, then crouched down and retrieved the key. It looked like an ordinary key, although somewhat old as well. You slipped it into your pocket as you looked around the kitchen. 

You checked around the window cill, finding nothing, so you went to the laundry room. Something about the doorframes was important, so you checked this one, too, but there was nothing out of the ordinary there, either.

Before you got frustrated, you quickly went to the pantry, opened the door, and slid your hand along the top of the inner doorframe, finding another button. It was barely noticeable, but your fingers felt the tiny dip where it was nestled. Once pushed, another pocket opened up at the base of the doorframe.

You were feeling both anticipation and apprehension as you pulled out the folded piece of paper, unfolded it, and began reading.

Y/N,

You’re doing great. There are things you need to know. When I was a teenager, before my sixteenth birthday, a man approached my father and wanted me to marry his son, who was eighteen. My father turned him down, and that’s the nice way of how it went down. 

After I got my soulmate's name, which was your father, he and I were inseparable. The man, whose name is Mark Vaught, only got angry and was set on revenge. His son, Nick, joined him in his quest for revenge. They are a powerful family and very dangerous.

That is why you are in danger. Nick did have a son, a year ago. He’s intent on you, my daughter, being wed to his son. Due to the threatening letters, which we’ve hidden for you to find, we know that we will be dead not long after you are born. We also know that you won’t get the name of your soulmate like most sixteen-year-olds do because of that.

Keep looking, daughter. There is so much more for you to find.

Love, You Parents

Those goosebumps slowly crept down your body from your arms to your toes. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and it was again hard to breathe.

“I need a drink…” you mumbled, swallowing hard and grabbing a beer out of the fridge. 

You put all three letters on the table in the order you found them. That was when you noticed a little number in the upper right-hand corner of each one. So far, you’d found 1, 2, and 3, and it had only taken you under an hour to do so.

Your mind felt like it was spinning out of control. Between what you had overheard back at the garage, the comment Benny had made the first day you met the Winchesters, and now the letters from your parents, you were in a complete state of shock.

The Vaught family wasn’t one anyone messed with. You’d seen them on TV and in the papers for one reason or another but had never paid much attention to the stories. You did know that Nick’s wife had died during childbirth, though, but she wasn’t Nick’s soulmate. About the only other thing you knew was that the family had moved to California around the time your parents had gotten married.

Time slipped by as you stared at those letters, sipping the beer until it was gone before you finally got back up and looked toward the living room.

What would Mom want to show me next?

You picked up the letters, wanting to keep them close as you ventured into the living room. There were no doorways here, not with it being as open as it was and the main room of the small house. Your eyes went from the wall near the door, to the far wall where the small fireplace sat, and to the other wall that joined the hallway to the bathroom.

Fireplace…

You’d never thought much of the fireplace before. It was simple and served its purpose when the weather was cold. The rocks that had been used in its construction looked like typical flagstone and were slightly blackened around the edges due to the fires you’d had over the winters. The shelf above it was of simple wood where you had placed small nicknacks and a picture of you with your Aunt Ellen and Jo. You knew there had to be something, somewhere along it, so you slowly moved your fingers along the underside of the wooden shelf, finding nothing. 

You set the papers on the shelf as you used both hands, trying to find something that was out of place or slightly different. Even when you searched the sides and base, you didn’t find anything like what you’d found earlier with the doorframes. 

It wouldn’t be in the fireplace, would it?

Mentally questioning that very thought and how that would even work with the heat of the fire, you grabbed your phone and turned on your flashlight. Sitting on the small bench portion in front of the fireplace, you looked around the inner walls. They were charred, but the outlines of the stones could still be seen. 

You halfway leaned in to look up at the flue release. Nothing looked out of place or out of the ordinary. Grumbling quietly, you readjusted yourself, looking down at where you typically had a fire. You removed the metal rack where the logs went, setting it to the side. 

Using the flashlight on your phone again, you looked along the inner edges of the fireplace. Near the back right corner, there was something tiny that didn’t look like it was flush with the rest of the stone. You gingerly reached over and messed with it till you heard a slight click.

Outside the fireplace, literally right next to you, one of the stones had popped out and up, only slightly. With a slow, deep breath, you maneuvered the stone until it slipped out of its spot, revealing another letter. Under it was another key. This one, though, looked old, like one of those skeleton keys you’d seen in movies.

With the key clasped against your palm with your pinky and ring finger, you unfolded and held the letter, slowly reading the words your parents had left for you. You did take note of the number 4 in the upper right-hand corner of the paper.

Y/N,

Your father was worried you wouldn’t find this one, but I’m so glad you did. He’s teasing me that you have my smarts and my looks now. I wish you could grow up with him. He’s such a gentle, loving man, and he would have made an amazing father to you.

Now, to the important things. Because Nick couldn’t have me, he believes my daughter, you, are owed to him. His father drew up legal papers with the help of his lawyers for grievances against me because I didn’t marry him. In those legal papers, they state that if my daughter’s soulmate’s name doesn’t appear on her by her twenty-fifth birthday, she’ll be taken to be married to Nick’s son.

The trauma that happens when someone loses both their parents at such an early age can break a soul, wound it, deeply. That will happen to you when we’re killed by Mark’s men. More than likely, he’ll send Azazel to do his dirty work and make it look like an accident. More than likely, it will be a car accident, given the threats we’ve received.

We’ve hidden all the evidence for everything, along with the legal papers to keep you from having to marry Nick’s son, Cole. You’ll have to talk to Jodi and show her. She’ll know what to do. You’re doing great, finding the clues we’ve left behind for you. We both love you dearly. Next, we’ll tell you what will happen to your soulmate and what was threatened. That evidence is with the rest, at the end of this little scavenger hunt. The key under this letter will open what it’s locked inside.

Love, Your Parents

Far too many emotions were flooding your system, and you needed another beer. You slipped the key into your pocket with the other one while holding onto the letters. Even with the beer, your nerves felt shot. You debated going for something stronger but still wanted to think clearly enough to find the rest of what was clearly hidden somewhere in the place you’d called home for almost seven years.

While sitting on the couch, with the letters on the coffee table and the beer in your hand, you weren’t paying attention to the clock hanging on the wall near the fireplace. You’d put the stone back, and it looked like it was just another stone now. It was well past seven at this point. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, and you hadn’t even noticed, even though you had turned the lights on.

Your parents had been murdered, and it had been made to look like an accident by one of the most powerful families in California. Then there was the fact that you did have a soulmate but had no clue what it was because your soul was wounded.

You fell back against the back cushions of the couch, staring off at nothing in particular. It was a lot to take in, and in only a few short hours, it felt like an eternity had passed. The conversation at the garage that you had overheard was beginning to make more sense. Although you still weren’t sure how Dean fit into everything, not yet, at least.

Once you finished your beer, you picked up the letters, looking around the house again. 

Mom would show me my room next.

It wasn’t the room you had been sleeping in. It was the one that would have been yours when you were a child. You used the room as more of an office, storage, and miscellaneous room for things you weren’t into very much. Since you typically didn’t have guests, you never worried about setting it up as a guest room. 

First, you checked the doorframe, but this time, there was nothing there, which puzzled you. Confused, you looked around the room, wondering where on earth they may have hidden it. You remembered back to how it looked when it wasn’t cluttered with things. The window seat…

You set the letters on the desk before moving a few boxes around so you could reach the window seat easier. Moving with more determination than you had previously, you checked the frame of the window, next to the window, along the top edge of the seat, and then along the base of the window. Your fingers found a tiny indent, so you pressed it.

Three different clicking sounds went off in succession: one near your leg as you half knelt on the window seat, another near the door, and the third in the closet. That made your heart pound, and you took a few shallow breaths before reaching down and pulling out the next letter, unfolding it, and beginning to read.

Y/N,

This was supposed to be your room where you’d grow up playing with your toys before becoming a teenager and thinking about boys. I know you’ll only be here for a short time, though. I’m sorry for the dried tears on the paper. It’s hard to write these to you, my dear daughter. I will miss you so much.

About your soulmate issue. Your soulmate will still get your name on him. We don’t know who it is, but we’re sure that Mark and Nick will do whatever they can to keep him away from you once he gets your name at sixteen. 

All I know is that Nick told me, and I have the letter, that he could pay any woman to do whatever he needed them to do, even if that meant faking a soulmate mark to keep you from getting close to your soulmate and healing your wounded soul.

Your heart began pounding in your chest, goosebumps ran down your body, and again, it was hard to breathe. You briefly wondered if this had anything to do with Dean, but you weren’t going to hope for anything, not after the last time. So, you continued reading.

Whoever it is, he won’t feel a connection to her, even if her name is the same as yours and the mark looks real. He’ll know, deep down, that she isn’t his soulmate. Your father and I both have hopes that he’ll find you before you turn twenty-five. 

Love, Your Parents

You barely managed to take a deep breath when your phone vibrated in your pocket, scaring the shit out of you. After pulling it out and seeing who it was from, you sighed. It was late, and you’d completely forgotten about Dean and celebrating at Harvelle’s. 

“Hey, Dean. Sorry. I lost track of time,” you answered, putting the phone on speaker as you moved to pull out the note from the spot near the base of the doorframe.

“It happens. I know you didn’t really want to come. I mean, you did say that to me earlier. You okay, though? You sound kind of distracted or upset or something,” Dean replied.

You set your phone on the desk as you opened the letter, “Just reading a few things,” you mumbled, glancing at the letter.

Dean was silent on the other end of the phone for a moment, “How about I come over? The two of us could celebrate a job well done.”

“Sure,” you replied absentmindedly, not even paying attention to what he’d said as you focused on the letter in your hands.

“See you in about thirty then,” he replied and hung up the phone.

You hadn’t even heard him, completely lost in what you were reading.

Y/N, 

We had such amazing dreams when we found out we were having you. Your dad found this amazing house and surprised me with it a month into my pregnancy. I try not to cry when I think about not being around to see you grow up, but the tears fall anyway.

I think about the first time you’ll ride a bike and how many times you’ll fall off. I have a feeling you got your father’s stubbornness, so I know you’ll get right back up on it, no matter how many bruises you get. 

Then there’s your first day of school. I see you wearing jeans and not dresses. I have a feeling you’ll be more rough and tumble than a girl who wears dresses. I also see you climbing trees and giving Bobby a run for his money around the garage.

Your father is convinced you’ll have a love of old cars, and he wishes so badly that he could be there to build one with you, from the ground up. He also said you’d probably have a purple paint job, but I’m hoping for blue. 

I’m going to miss not getting to put your hair up in braids, pigtails, or ponytails. I hope you let it grow long. Your father wanted to teach you to shoot. I’m sure you’ll learn, though, and he’ll leave his favorites for you for when you’re old enough. Okay, now that I’m in tears again, I’ll close this letter. It was just one I wanted to write to you. No looming dangers, just the little things we’ll miss as you grow up without us. We both love you so much, and we’re going to miss you.

Love, Your Parents

You were in tears by the time you reached the end of the letter, sobbing silently as you sunk to the floor, covering your mouth with your free hand, trying to stay quiet. As you pulled your knees against your chest, the letter slipped from your fingers. You may not have remembered your parents, but you felt like you had learned about them through the letters. Now, it felt like you had a hole in your heart—some deep void of emptiness that nothing could fill.

You didn’t hear the knock on your door twenty minutes later. Or the footsteps that made their way inside, slowly moving through the house before they stopped in the doorway. Then, there was someone by your side, and they pulled you against them. You turned and buried your face into the person’s chest and sobbed.

“Shh, Sweetheart. I’ve got you,” and you’d know that soft voice anywhere. Dean held you close, with one hand while running his other over your hair while you sobbed. He glanced down at the paper on the floor, reading it from where he had sat down. His eyes widened, and if you hadn’t been crying so hard, you would have heard the change in his heart rate.

“He… he took them… from me…” you managed between sobs.

“It’ll be okay,” he replied, still trying to calm you the best he could.

Calming you took a little while, but your tears finally stopped. You slowly pulled away, but only slightly, attempting to calm your breathing. Dean stayed quiet now that your tears had stopped, but he was looking at you with more concern than you’d seen even Ellen have.

You reached up, pulled the other letters off the desk, and handed them to Dean, “My parents left these for me. I need to find the rest. Maybe you can help me figure them out. You’re welcome to read them.”

“If you’re sure,” Dean replied hesitantly, but he did take the letters.

You stood up, grabbed your phone, and went to the closet while drying your eyes and cheeks. There was one more you had to retrieve in here. The last letter hurt so much, but you weren’t going to stop now. You needed to see this through to the end.

This time, the little pocket with the letter was above your head, on the top of the doorframe. You pulled out the letter and clicked the pocket closed again, hearing the other two click closed as well. Y/N,

Hi, my little munchkin. It’s your Dad here. I built something for you, but I hid it. It holds all the things that your mom’s letters have been talking about and so much more. It’s a place you can hide if you need to, and no one will ever find it.

I wish I could be there to protect you, Baby Girl. I know I won’t be, so I did what I could now. Go where I’d take you to teach you about the love of your life. At least, I’m hoping it’s your passion when you’re older. A Dad can dream, at least. Your mom mentioned it in the last letter. Remember, it’s hidden, so you’ll have to play detective. It’s hidden so good that only you can find it, even as an adult. Here’s a hint: I know you’ll always be a kid at heart, though, and love to play games, like hide and seek.

There will be another letter when you find the sanctuary I built for you. 

Love, Your Father

A few tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, but you managed a deep breath, keeping yourself grounded. You set the letter on the floor next to Dean before you headed to the garage. Whatever you were looking for was in there, and you knew it.

Dean quickly grabbed all the letters and followed you, still reading, as he had only made it through three of them at this point. You clicked on the light and looked around. Everything in there had a place. You’d kept it neat as you usually worked on your car here or at Bobby’s garage. There were yard tools, holiday boxes, and the winter supplies you didn’t keep in the house. Your workstation was organized with tools hanging on the wall above it. 

Where though? Think like a kid playing hide-and-seek.

You crouched down, looking around, now at the eye level a child would have. The problem was figuring out where you would have hidden to hide from your father during a game. The garage didn’t look quite the same as it did when they were alive, but you let the memory overlay what was in front of you.

Slowly standing, you made your way over to a shelf that was next to your workbench, which your father had installed before you were born. There would have been a dark corner there in the past, making it the perfect place to hide. Taking out your phone again, you clicked on the flashlight, shining it around just as Dean came up behind you.

You checked along the floor first, but there was nothing. Then, you slowly and carefully checked the walls of the area, but there was still nothing. With a sigh, your eyes went to where the pegboard met the wall, and your eyes narrowed, focusing on a small opening that looked like a keyhole. No one would have seen it with how it was set into the material between the pegboard and the wall itself. 

Slowly reaching into your pocket, you pulled out both keys. You found the smaller of the two and tried it first, but it was far too small. Then you tried the larger one, the skeleton key, which fit perfectly. The goosebumps, shallow breathing, and thudding of your heartbeat came back when you heard the click after turning the key. Dean’s eyes went wide.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 5 - Coming soon

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[pendarling]

Icecream

Henchman looked around the tall home, a chandelier staring down from the ceiling and a line of windows overlooking the city below as the night rolled in. Its appearance was an over-glorified perception of Villain's work as one of Supervillain's favourite criminals. Then again, Villain had done a lot of heists and had an intangible thirst for money; their home, if they could even call it that, was simply a reflection of their work. Other than giving the same energy as any classic magazine cover home, it was generally welcoming.

Their eyes scanned the marble tables as their shoes clicked softly against the delicately tiled floors set in perfect wax, offering a clean shine that didn't surprise Henchman one bit.

Impressed, their cool gaze returned its focus to Villain, who leaned against a pillar, fanning themselves with a piece of paper and occasionally taking a sip from the can of beer in their hand. Everything was too fancy for someone so evil as them. Then again, it was a nice contrast.

"You want one? It's awfully hot during this time of year."

"I don't drink." They replied.

Villain nodded, "Oh, I get it, you like to eat cold things. Something shitty like ice cream, right?"

They sighed; idle talking wasn't what they came here for. "You're tasks haven't been challenging enough." Henchman began, searching for the smirk that often riddled Villain's face when they were confident in themselves. However, instead Villain gave them a calm look of boredom, and a small shrug.

"Maybe I'm just too competent for you. Supervillain would know."

Henchman gathered their hands together and walked slowly; the wide room void of any life presented an odd sense of eerieness that wasn't often felt. They tentatively sat on the pale couch; its decorative pillows stayed stiffly on either side. "You're surprisingly cleaner than I expected." They murmured.

Even the glass coffee table had remained nearly untouched, offering a crystal clear view of the soft white carpet with only a small pot of randomly assorted plastic plants posing inside resting atop the table.

Villain took a deep breath and nodded slowly, "I try not to mix my personal life with my work life." They circled from behind the couch and sat on the armrest, "So what're you doing seeing me at such a late hour? I hope you're not here for just a talk, I'm not a very good listener."

Henchman should've laughed, but it wasn't funny, was it? After all, they didn't just come here for simple chatter. If they could, they'd wait until tomorrow, and besides, Henchman didn't know Villain well like they did with most other villains working under their boss. "It's something urgent."

"If it was urgent, why wasn't it the first thing you said as soon as you entered?"

Henchman could feel it without even glancing beside them. That awful smirk Villain did when something had piqued their interest. "I lost track of thought… I guess being in such a large mansion startled me at first."

Villain remained silent as they leaned back.

"Anyway, one of our compounds had been raided by the heroes about an hour ago."

"Which one?' Villain said, their back straightened.

"Don't worry, it's not one of yours, but it's the one on 78th street. Supervillain knew your followers like to hang around on the 81st and I just wanted to tell you to tell your goons it isn't safe around that entire district anymore."

"Fuck."

Villain stood, breathing in heavily with a frustrated expression Henchman had only seen when Villain was off fighting. They reached for their phone and dialled a number.

"Are you calling them?"

"Of course I'm fucking calling them!" They angrily flailed an arm and turned around, waiting impatiently for the other line to pick up. "I can't have my men getting arrested for getting drunk."

Henchman stood up as Villain took the call, barking orders at his underlings on the other side to get going.

They stared at the empty walls, clean of any sign of aging; the generic photographs of colourful shapes and some of nature did little to offer hope to the room. Henchman slowly made their way into the kitchen; clean whites clashed with soft greys and sharp blacks. In the sink, a single spoon, they tilted their head curiously. It looked like Villain could get a little messy sometimes, though this was very minuscule. Henchman turned their attention to the cabinets. They wondered if Villain had even organized each plate from biggest to smallest or categorized them by material.

They laughed softly and opened it; their eyes widened with an unforeseen turn of events. Not one plate was symmetrically aligned nor was it in order of colour or whatever they had wanted to see. It seemed like Villain's perfectionist image only existed from the outside.

Their hands wander to the fridge, stuffed stock full of foods they weren't even sure if one person could finish. Perhaps spending money was just easier than saving it all. Henchman opened the freezer, Villain's voice abruptly becoming louder as they continued switching from demanding to concerned.

"Ice cream?"

Henchman reached in. Its red and pink colour pulled them in closer.

"I thought…" They turned the pint of cream in their hands; the ice on the surface of its plastic exterior melted in the palms of their hands into cold drops of water. Henchman frowned. Either Villain was secretly a fan of ice cream, or this was all an elaborate joke.

"Henchman!" Villain shouted from the other room. They struggled to shove the pint back into the fridge and rub their hands free of the cold liquid.

They hurried back into the living room, fixing their uniform along the way. They had to be grateful the long corridors offered Henchman enough time to calm themselves. "Yes?"

"Stop snooping around and get the fuck outta my house."

Henchman waited for the words to settle in and nodded absently, their mind still wondering about the pint of ice cream sitting in their freezer. It didn't seem all too big of a deal, but it wasn't until Henchman gathered the morning newspaper for Supervillain that something had caught their eyes.

An advertisement bright and bolded around the front page of a news article in its designated corner alongside other words scattered around the page.

Strawberry cheesecake icecream, a personal favourite of Hero's.

~~~

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[shineonyoucrazyyandere]

Funny valentine: (name) please..i love you so much that it physically hurts me, please accept my love, (name)...

Reader: don't you have a wife?? 🤨

Funny valentine: i don't know what you're talking about..

Proceeds to write on a divorce paper and immediately sends it to scarlet

Saved this for today since it’s the 4th of July.

Reader: *gets Scarlet to try and convince her husband to not divorce her* *you even plead how good of a couple they are, she knows him better than you do*

*proceed to butter her up too much*

Scarlet: I like your spirit, but it’s cute you think you can run off just like that. You won’t get married outside of myself or my husband , he won’t allow it. I could shield you, that’s the best thing you have right now. Reader: *looks at Scarlet freaked out* I- I can’t possibly stay here…

Scarlet: *expression softens she’s totally enamored with you* You still want to run anyway? I won’t stop you, *she proceeds to pull out a small piece of paper to write on it* “however, I have something in mind…”

she hums a short moment later sliding said bit of paper to you.

Scarlet instructs you to go to this address and that someone will be there to help you.

Scarlet: I’ll propose something to my husband, a wager of finding you. We’ll work separately,

Reader: that sounds insane!

Scarlet: Not as insane as you running away without a plan, this is the federal government we’re talking about here dear y/n. If my husband is head over heels for you as you describe then you’re doomed from the start.

She hurt to see the look of defeat on your face, the way you were vulnerable right in front of her. No wonder her husband liked you,

Whether you liked it or not, this probably was the greatest chance at freedom you had. But you couldn’t help but feel you were only marginally safer with Scarlet than Funny Valentine. Shakily you accepted her offer and she guided you out of her room and out the building. Making sure not a single guard would see you.

Funny Valentine later approaches her asking where dearest y/n went. Scarlet: Let’s talk about that shall we? *She gestures at the divorce papers* I’ll protect y/n one way or another as best as I can, to give them a chance to run away from you. They’re so cute I couldn’t stand to just squash their sense of hope right in front of them. I know how you work after all dear,

Funny Valentine : *His eyes furrow looking at his current wife in front of him* Are you trying to suggest something here?

Scarlet : *Nodding confidently* See normally I’d be upset at such an announcement you handed me, but something about seeing y/n coming through the door and begging me to talk some sense into you, stirred certain emotions within me. They listed everything about how I knew you so thoroughly like a lovely wife should, they paid attention…

Her fingers tapped on a nearby table she was leaning on

“I’d like to propose a wager on y/n, I’ll help her from my side, not once do you interfere in my end. However, you can continue looking for her however you see fit outside of that. If you find them, I’ll gladly sign the divorce papers you have served me…”

Funny Valentine : then I presume we’d stay married as long as they’re still on the run.

Scarlet : Either way, it works out for both of us. I won’t be having them marry anyone else, I’ll likely have them come back somewhere around this area, if I win. Not “here” so to speak, if they hold out long enough.

Funny Valentine: I’m sensing a time limit as another condition to potentially win.

Scarlet: more so for me to fall back on, but yes, about a year should do it. If I manage that I get to do what I see fit with them, as I suggested moments ago, with moving them back here. You’d still get to see y/n even, you have the simple restriction of being unable to marry them

If you manage to foil me and find them first, then they’re all yours my lovely husband.

Funny Valentine : So interesting….and such a clever way to torture me. Yet, a fitting punishment.

Scarlet: Are you’re changing your mind on this? You can just let them go and everything would be fine

Funny Valentine : *shaking his head* No, it’s the opposite I agree to your terms, testing me on my desire for y/n. Perhaps even you’re testing yourself here, I find it fascinating…

*In your desperation to run away you somehow made everything worse for yourself*

[atthebell]

practical advice about college you say?

[the weird spaces between some paragraphs are because i hit the character limit on content blocks which i didnt really know existed until now, fascinating!]

Don't buy too much shit. There will be a lot of things that people tell you are useful— buy things that seem like necessities, then figure out what you need from there. My grandma tried to buy me all kinds of crap and some of it was utterly useless, whereas other random stuff was super helpful (like towels, you should own at LEAST two towels, more if you reallyyyyy don’t want to do laundry).

Decor and things to make your dorm room (if applicable, also relevant for apartments etc.) feel more lived in are excluded from the above; if you want to have a million pieces of art on your walls, absolutely go for it. In fact, other people will think you're cool and want to hang out with you, I'm not even joking. Maybe invest in a bean bag, those are also a good seating thing for small rooms. I had a regular bean bag and then a giant one and it was a great way to have fun seating in my room (I hosted a lot of hangouts/let people just chill in my room a lot, so your personal mileage may vary).

Go find free food. There is more free food than you could even imagine on college campuses, go find it and don't be afraid to bundle some up in a napkin or some Tupperware and take it home. This is genuinely grad student 101 (grad students often don't have meal plans like undergrads) but is very relevant to all elements of college. I was notorious amongst friends and acquaintances for going to all kinds of events and bringing food home, and it was awesome. I could swipe some bagels from a student org social and the next morning I wouldn't have to worry about waking up early enough to grab breakfast from the dining hall or, heaven forbid, cooking.

Along similar lines, keep a decent amount of snacks/food in your room. Do you love trader Joe's chocolate covered almonds? Goldfish? Wasabi peas? Keep a stash in your room at all times. Future you will thank past you, especially when you're feeling down or studying or both. If you have a mini fridge or anything like that, keep a few cold things in there, like Gatorade or energy drinks for late nights or even cream cheese for the previously mentioned free bagels.

Join some student orgs! I assure you that while I have always been an over involved maniac of a human being, I am not anything even close to a social butterfly. You don't have to be, but having a few connections, especially with people in similar circumstances to you (first in your family to go to college, low income, women in stem, queer, latine, whatever your background and/or situation may be). You might not meet people you click perfectly with, but you'll at least be able to connect with people who get your experiences on some level. I truly do not know what I would've done without my college’s first gen/low income program or the Jewish community I found going to various events.

Professors are way more chill than you think. I say this as someone who asked for extensions every single semester/quarter of university i was in and again went to several incredibly prestigious colleges. Many professors are way less hardass than you may think, and some are the kind of people who will invite you over for shabbes dinner and become incredibly important mentor figures for you. The latter are harder to find, but there are plenty of extremely cool professors and TFs and lecturers who are always down to talk about course content or any number of topics. Everyone always says this but go to office hours! It really helps and it's just a great way to connect better with people passionate about the same things you are.

Grades are stupid and bad. This is not specific to college; the focus on grades in all levels of education is ridiculous and counterproductive to learning. This is important for you to know and remember, even when grades DO matter; for transcripts, for grad school, for getting jobs and scholarships and other opportunities. Trust me, I understand that grades matter, but I want you to know that they shouldn't, and you aren't stupid or worthless if you struggle with academics, or if you feel like your grades don't reflect your effort. Grades are a way to standardize (retch) measurement of learning, but they don't show the full or accurate picture. You are so much more than your grades or where or what you're studying.

Take fun classes! I know a lot of STEM majors make it incredibly difficult to dip out of course tracks, but if you can, try to take some fun and diverse classes. Take a gender studies class, take a theater class, learn photography, take a wacky science class, take a language course (this one I want to specifically highlight!!!! learn a new language while you're in a setting that's way easier (for many people) to learn one in!), find a beloved professor from another field and dip your toes in. I took all kinds of wild classes (religious studies is not a major where they fill up your schedule with required classes, at least not at my university) and had a blast, and it's good to have some familiarity with different fields and possibly how they connect with your own. Also it's just fun! You can meet new people and learn a lot from studying something you haven't before.

Be very nice to your custodial staff but know that they are probably deeply underpaid and understaffed. And get to know your housing staff too so you know more about who to call in certain situations. Also get a tool set so you can fix minor stuff yourself.

Don't be afraid to party, but also don't feel pressured. I spent most of my college years in a group of friends who played board games every week instead of drinking, and I personally did not drink until I was 21 for various personal reasons. If people make fun of you, don't hang out with those people. If they pressure you, stay the fuck away. If people are judgy about your drinking/partying/hookup choices? They can go fuck themselves. Find people who respect your decisions, either way, no matter what they are, and anyone else can fuck off.

I didn't really date or hook up in college but I did get hit on by a lot of beautiful bisexual women. If a very hot girl that you want to hang out with in a sexual or romantic context asks you to teach her to play pool, just say yes. Do not shoot yourself in the foot. If someone sets you up on a date with a friend of theirs and you guys vibe better as friends, never let this person go. I'm joking but that's how I met my best friend who I adore perhaps more than anyone else in this world so you never know what the universe will hand you.

Get more sleep. Whatever amount of sleep you're getting, try to sleep more. Sometimes homework or frat parties or boyfriends matter a lot less than just getting a few more hours of sleep, and you will retain information better and feel less like shit. Please get more sleep and maybe drink less caffeine.

Befriend some grad students! I'm completely unbiased (<3) but grad students have a lot of insight about college and life as a young adult, and they're often very cool. They might invite you over to smoke weed and talk about Kant— I cannot stress enough that you never have to do something you don't want, but say yes to this if it's at all appealing. Definitely not another personal anecdote.

Connect with your first gen/low income and/or financial aid office(s). They will have incredibly helpful info, including about getting jobs or scholarships or even just the experience of being low income at college. Also, if you're attending a California Community College, apply for the CCPG (previously known as the BOGW)! It waives all enrollment and tuition fees if you meet eligibility and qualification requirements. I would add more resources but I am a Californian so that's what I have at the moment.

Kind of related, if you're leaving university right now with student loans and you're low income, apply for the SAVE plan to make smaller (or no) payments and less (or no) interest. It's been saving my ass for a while now and it could be helpful for you.

Drink more water. If you need it cold, get a brita pitcher thing and put it in your minifridge if you have one. If not, ice from the dining hall + a decently insulated water bottle. You should be drinking on average 8oz every two hours, or every one hour when it's really hot.

Have a craft or a hobby or a video game or a show or a book or a movie or something that you can do like. At least once a week as Chill Time. Personally I would have some Chill Time at least once a day, but if you are busy to the max, Chill Time once a week is mandatory. Doesn’t have to be the same time every time, but if it is, clear your schedule. That is the only thing happening then. No one gets to interrupt Chill Time. Not to be confused with hanging out with friends, which is still a good activity you should do many times a week. This is Chill Alone Time, where you just sit with yourself and do something you like to do alone. Get a coloring book, learn how to cross stitch, read a book on native birds, whatever suits your fancy.

If you are anything like the hot mess express that I was, you will go to class in pajamas/sweats. This is fine. There are probably some people out there who care about this, but you should ignore them. Similarly, if you, for instance, wake up at 1pm for your 1:30pm class, feel only the amount of shame necessary to make you able to be on time to class (if the prof cares) and nothing more. I stayed up til 4:30am every single night my freshman year of college it is a miracle I was ever awake during the day and the fact that I managed to do my coursework and still have a social life continues to be a mystery to me today. Anyway, your fashion choices in college but especially your first year should never be judged to any significant standard. If you’re wearing clothes at all, that’s commendable.

If you’re on a biking campus, wear a helmet. This is not optional, wear a fucking helmet. Also for the love of fuck have a bike light and use it at night you do not want to be smushed by a car at 3am biking back from wherever you’ve been.

If you do not know how to do laundry, ask someone. Please do not just go into the laundry room with full confidence and dump 16 loads worth of detergent into a washing machine and fuck it up for everyone. Also not a single dorm dryer will ever work correctly. Know this, and invest in a drying rack or be content to fry the shit out of your clothes at 90 minutes of high heat.

Communicate with your roommate(s). You do not have to be friends, you don’t even have to like each other, but you should be on the same page about stuff. Especially re: sexiling, taking the trash out, volume levels, friends over, etc. etc. You don’t want to get to the end of the year and then realize your roommate fucking hates you because you never asked if she was cool with whatever thing you’ve been doing that’s been annoying her.

This is just general young adult life advice but: You will fuck up. Like, probably more than you think. But you will be okay, and you should know that everyone does that. You’re learning how to do stuff on your own, you’re possibly leaving a bad situation or even a great situation into something you don’t know enough about to possibly be prepared. It’s hard! It’s going to be hard for a bit! But you are not the only person who’s done this, and there are a lot of people out there you can talk to and find support from. The worst thing you could possibly do is isolate yourself, so please don’t do that. Find some good people, eat some good food, and for the love of fuck get more sleep.

[rox-of-iu]

me + mayhem going on a stupid silly hike for my stupid silly mental health

touched grass and i am normal again (lying)

[vgamer164]

Trying out papercraft!

[rosicheeks]

gotta ask the follow up question...

What tattoo do you want to get the most?

Nooooo I want so many though 😤😤

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Let’s play a game of “How many sensory items can I accumulate before people suspect there’s something odd going on with my brain”