#BUT I MUST

[kris-sona]

saw this meme at 3 AM and had to lock in and hammer it out in half an hour sorry if it’s shitty

[ghostface001]

Broken Bottles

March is falling for you, but he sees how you act around Olric and knows you'll never return his feelings. His solution is to bottle up his emotions and drop kick it as far away from him as possible. Somehow, he doesn't realize what happens to glass when you kick it.

March x Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), assumed unrequited feelings, minor swearing, drinking as a coping mechanism, a slightly toxic confession scene

Note: This took a lot longer to write than I thought it would, but I love it, so that's okay. Please let me know if you like it! Tagging @atoltia because she asked so nicely

The bell ringing above the door of the blacksmith’s prompts March to turn from his spot at his desk to see who entered, greeted by your bright smile and sack of ore from your latest trip down to the mines. He ignores the clenching in his chest as you beeline to him, procuring a perfect piece of iron ore and holding it out to him. 

“Hey, I found this and thought of you.”

He hates it when you talk to him like you want to see him. It could be so easy for him to trick himself into thinking that’s the case. The increased visits to the shop when you don’t need any new tools, the gifts, the attention — when he’s feeling particularly delusional, he wonders if it truly is all for him. But the illusion breaks after he takes the ore and gives the only response he’s capable of under your expectant gaze, something lukewarm to disguise the warmth rushing to his cheeks, and you move on to who you’re actually here for. 

Olric. 

It’s annoying, hearing Olric tell the same stupid story about his most recent part-time shift around town for the third time in two days. It’s even more annoying when he has to hear you laugh at it, because now instead of focusing on his work, he’s distracted by coming up with ways to hear your laugh for the rest of his life. 

“I’m trying to concentrate. Don’t either of you have work to do?” His voice comes out harsher than he intends, but he can’t bring himself to amend it. His position at his desk is a convenient cover from your gaze as you pause. Do you see the white-knuckled grip on his pencil? Do you notice the redness in his cheeks?

He doesn’t have to look at you to know your expression. Raised brow, a wrinkle of confusion and annoyance. He hasn’t snapped at you like that in a while, hasn’t deemed you a nuisance. You thought you were past this with him.You purse your lips and side-eye Olric, who only gives you a guilty shrug. “Sorry, March. I’ll get out of your hair.” You shoulder your bag and say goodbye to Olric, pausing at the door. “I’ll see you both at the inn tonight?”

“Yeah, totally!” March gives a flat grunt following Olric’s enthusiastic answer, and continues scribbling out blueprints. 

The door closes behind you, leaving a tense silence as Olric decides whether or not to question him. Before he can, a gasp escapes him. “I have a shift at the general store!” He rushes out the door, and March turns in his chair to see him walk past the window with you smiling brightly at him. 

The rip of paper brings him out of his thoughts. March looks down at the blueprints to see a large tear where the pencil had ripped through the paper. With a frustrated sigh, March balls up the paper and tosses it into the wastebasket before pushing himself up from his desk, grabbing his hammer and heading out the door.

Get a grip. 

Why do you care who the stupid farmer talks to anyway? 

Why do you think they’d ever smile at you like that?

Each passing thought is channeled into March’s swing, punctuated by the loud banging of his hammer against metal. The shop needs a new sword on display after he gave you the last one in exchange for all the ore you’ve been handing over. He can’t let himself be in debt to you. Can’t let himself owe you anything. Because then you’d just give him that smile you have whenever you think you’ve made progress with him, the one that drives him insane. You drive him insane. Every laugh when he brags about his skill, every smile as you hand over a gift from the mines, every new scar from your journeys down there… he can’t tell if he admires you or is worried about you when you act like nothing happened after passing out in the mines. Seeing his sword strapped to your back as you run around town helped after the last time Valen had to heal you — it also made it worse. It made you keep talking to him; it made him keep responding. And now… now it just makes him confused. Frustrated. Annoyed.

Angry.

Angry when you smile at him as though he deserves it. Angry when he messes up and snaps at you. Angry when you just roll your eyes and give it back to him, making his stomach twist in guilt — both because you don’t deserve his attitude and because he likes it when you return his energy. You don’t coddle him like Olric does. You don’t defend him when he’s being a jerk. You don’t insist he’s secretly better than he is. You see him for who he is, and you like him for who he is. 

But you like Olric more. You like Olric in the way March wishes you would like him. Not that he blames you, though he can certainly pretend to. Olric is better than him. Maybe not at blacksmithing, but at everything else. Everything you deserve. And it pisses him off.

“Are you, uh… trying out a new technique, bro?”

March forces his glare away from Olric to the anvil. The sword he’d been taking his anger out on now sits in pieces, the metal ruined from sitting in the forge for too long before he started working on it. He sneers down at his failure. “No. I’m screwing up.”

“I’m sure it can be reused… somehow.” Olric reaches up and scratches the back of his neck as he attempts to be reassuring. 

“It can’t.” March swipes the metal into the scrap bucket that’s been steadily becoming more and more needed the longer you’ve been living in his head. Maybe it’s for the best that you like Olric. That way, he can finally force his feelings to the back of his mind and get back to his standards of perfection. Maybe it’ll actually work this time. 

Olric is saying something about not worrying about the waste of metal when him saying your name brings March’s attention back. “— and I are going down to the tide caverns of the mines tomorrow, if you want to join?”

The offer makes March roll his eyes. He’s never been a miner. After the earthquake, sometimes he’ll go a few levels down in the upper mines for copper if he’s really desperate, but otherwise, he relies on Olric and Balor for supply. Not to mention, he’d rather look for worms after it rains than be a third wheel to you and Olric in the mines, working together, protecting each other with his sword on your back—

“March?”

He grits his teeth and tears off his gloves. “I’ll pass.” He storms past Olric into the shop, slamming the door behind him. 

~~~

As soon as you walk into the inn, March feels the room brighten, and he watches you make your rounds. You first visit the Dragon Guard, who are conspiring on their next hit — March overheard them ‘whispering’ about Juniper earlier, the kids aren’t subtle. Next, you check in on the latest session of Dragons & Drama that Celine is running, and after that, you stop for a round of cards. March observes you sitting next to Olric, consulting each other about your hands to the annoyance of everyone else playing. And when you win instead of Olric, he cheerfully congratulates you, his arm around your shoulders causing March to grip his glass tighter.

You finally sit next to him at the bar, and the sinking feeling in his gut disappears with your smile. Hemlock slides a drink to you over the bar, and you thank him before turning to March, your voice low. “You seemed a little off this morning, are you feeling better?”

“Now that you’re here,” He drawls with a smile, propping his head up with his hand, his elbow resting on the bar.

You bite back a smile, and March suddenly has the strong urge to cup your cheeks in his hands as your face takes on a warmer hue and you laugh softly, hiding behind a sip of your drink. “Did Olric ask you about the mines tomorrow? I wanted to ask you myself, but thought you might still be… moody.”

He frowns — if he’s being honest, it’s more of a pout. “‘S’not fair.”

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“You are bothering me.”

Your face twists in confusion and offense. “I can leave—”

“Noooo.” It begins to occur to March that drinking does not make him magically better at expressing himself. He reaches forward as you start to get up, but you’re closer than he’s prepared for, so he holds your wrists when he means to take your hands in his. “I mean… ‘s’not fair that you hang out with Olric all the time. ‘S’like you like him or something.”

“I do like him.”

You say something else, but the blood is already rushing in his ears. “You… you do?”

Your confusion doesn’t let up. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

No. There isn’t. Because Olric is everything March isn’t. He’s nice, and humble, and respectful. His compliments aren’t backhanded, and his praise doesn’t have to be earned. Olric doesn’t have to hide behind alcohol to express how he feels. He doesn’t have to drink to be happy. 

You like Olric. March already knew, but to hear it from your lips makes the sting burn. The warmth of your skin under his hands turns to ice, and he pulls back quickly. Too quickly, as his elbow hits his glass and sends it crashing to the ground. 

Everyone turns at the sound of glass shattering, and March’s face burns under their gazes as he pushes himself to stand. You reach out to steady him as he stumbles, avoiding stepping on broken glass. “I’ll pay for it,” He manages as Josephine approaches, ready with a broom and dustpan. 

 “There’s no need. You didn’t get nicked or anything, right?” Josephine waves him off with a smile that he can only read as pity.

“I’m fine.” He backs away, keeping his head down, and shoves his hands in his pockets before leaving. The cool night air does little to help the burning in his cheeks as he stalks over the bridge to get home. 

On the way, a hand is on his shoulder. And he turns to see you, your concerned gaze under the moonlight doing nothing to help his inner turmoil. “March? What happened?”

“I said I’m fine!” He wrenches himself away, glaring at you. “Just go be with your boyfriend!”

You hold your hands up to placate him, only angering him more. “What are you talking about?”

“Olric!” He steps forward, closing in the space between you. “You said you like him, so how about you go do something about it instead of being a useless coward?”

Your face falls for a moment before hardening, and you straighten. “Get some sleep, March,” You say coolly. “It seems like you need it.”

You head back to the inn, and March glares over the side of the bridge, debating the merits of a night swim when Olric finds him and brings him home. 

~~~

March is occupying himself witht he inventory books the next morning when the bell above the door rings. He looks up to see you enter, dressed for the mines, with his sword strapped to your back. Despite the pain relieving tonic from Valen, his head throbs. “Olric left already,” He bites out, forcing himself to look down at the book.

“I told him I’d meet him there.” You set a paper cup on the sales desk and push it towards him. “Fresh from Darcy. She said she hasn’t seen you today.”

There was no chance in hell he was going to the market today. Everyone would just ask him how he was, and what was wrong, and he might just throw himself over the bridge for sure. His headache forces him to take the cup, despite never wanting to accept anything from you ever again. It’s a mocha. At least he can pretend it’s from Darcy knowing his order instead of you. You watch him expectantly as he takes a drink, an edge in your gaze. You’re expecting him to lash out at you again. He just might. “You should go. Wouldn’t want you to be late for your date.”

Your eyes narrow, and he pointedly returns to the inventory lists. “It’s not a date,” You reply. 

“But you want it to be.”

“No, I don’t.” You reach forward and close the book, bringing it over to your side of the desk. March glares at you, but you don’t waver. “So, let’s talk about it.”

It’s times like these when March wishes you would treat him like everyone else. Give him a wide berth when he’s upset, only bother him when necessary, and treat him like a ticking bomb just waiting to go off. Stop being so… you. Maybe then he wouldn’t like you as much, and you wouldn’t be forcing this conversation on him in the first place. “If you want to talk so bad, then talk to Olric,” He grits out.

“You are such a child!” You round the desk, removing the barrier between you. “I’m not dating Olric, I don’t want to date him—”

“You said you like him—”

“I thought you meant as a friend!” You throw your hands out in exasperation. “And you know what? Even if I did like him romantically, why do you care? Why is it any of your business?”

He balls his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “It isn’t.”

“No.” You step forward again, closing the distance between you. “It’s not rhetorical. Why do you care so much about who I like, March? Because I have a feeling, but I’m not gonna make it easy for you after you’ve been treating me like shit for no good reason. So how about you do something about it instead of being a useless coward?”

For the first time in a long time, he does something about it. The kiss he pulls you in for is bruising and awkward, but that doesn’t stop you from returning the intensity with equal fervor. His drink sits forgotten on the table as he holds the back of your neck, his other hand gripping your hip. You clutch the front of his shirt tightly, arching your body closer into him. His lips part, and you capture more of him, causing him to gasp against your mouth.

When you finally part, neither of you let go of the other, both breathing heavily. “Why… why did you think I liked Olric?” You ask softly, still catching your breath. 

He knows his face is red, but he’s close enough to see that your cheeks are a deeper hue as well. “You always come by to see him.”

“I always come by to see you.” Your palms flatten against his chest and you laugh. “Do you seriously need me to tell you how disgustingly obvious it is that I like you? Because I will. And it will be disgusting. And slightly stalker-y. And you’ll feel really stupid that you got it wrong.”

He purses his lips to hide the smile threatening to surface. “So, what, you’re so smart that you’ve known I liked you all along and did nothing about it?”

“I had no idea until you freaked out on me last night.” Your hand trails up to his cheek. “So I guess we’re both a little stupid.”

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, dipping his head down. “I didn’t do it right the first time.”

“It felt alright to me.” Your gaze falls to his lips. You can still feel where your teeth had knocked together, and your lips sting. 

“‘Alright’ isn’t good enough.”

“You’re such a perfectionist,” You laugh, leaning in so your lips graze against his. “But I’ll allow it.”

He closes the distance, and vows to perfect his technique as long as you’ll let him.

[chickenchirps27]

Okay okay okay final update for the day I gotta go study

[smudgeandfrank]

Okay, I won't be able to watch OFMD or Loki until tomorrow afternoon/evening, so I'll be signing off of my socials until I do!💖

Hold fast to your feelings, my darlings!! See you on the other side!! 🫡💖

[baby-xemnas]

reminder that at 35th minute of film RED we see Law walk backwards through a dark corridor (for no other possible reason other than to lead the way for Bepo safely) before going smoothly and casually into exposition

[considermygenderminecrafted]

he had wings

[yondamoegi]

Did stretches twice today

And with profound sadness I must report, they do help making your body easier to move

[victoriadallonfan]

AND SHE WHISPERED SWEET NOTHINGS AND THEN THEY KISSED

[master-of-the-railway]

Idk why but a part of me thinks Victor would be like...one of the few if not the only engine able to escape being monster-ified. You'd expect him to be due to the fact that he'd be surrounded by them constantly as they still have machine parts in them that need to be repaired and maintained, but so far the humans have managed to keep the monster engines under control. Victor feels a mixture of things about the whole situation. On one hand his (metaphorical) heart aches for his poor friends having to go through so much pain, on the other, once the transformation is complete and they've adjusted...the affected engines almost seem to enjoy their new forms. He's heard Rebecca chatter on about how freeing it is to be able to go wherever she wants now that she isn't confined to the rails. Personally, Victor is fine with staying himself. He'd rather not be a monster, but he still loves all of his friends who are.

[annmariethrush]

I’m in the midst of a genuinely deranged SPN rewatch. I originally watched S1-11 in like two months in 2016 right as 11 finished airing. I watched 12 as it came out, and then 13 I binged like a year later but wasn’t totally entranced with. Then, cut to 2023, I decide I’m going to finish, watch 14 and 15 in like a week, and then start watching rewatching 4&5 very slowly with my husband while simultaneously catching up to that point by rewatching 2&3. I don’t rewatch S1 cause I don’t fucking like it. As we’re slowly trudging through 4&5, I’ve caught up to that point and decide I want to rewatch 11 cause I remember it being my favorite season and end up watching 12 too. Finally, we are done with 4&5. Husband stops watching, so I end up continuing on from that point and am now almost through S10, catching me up to the point mid way where I started, S11. I feel like I’m experiencing time like in Arrival (2016) by watching it this way. Would absolutely recommend everyone have the direct split screen comparison of S15 and S8-10. It’s absolutely unhinged. Seeing the purgatory relationship to widower arc to confession scene back to back????? Bro. If you don’t believe in destiel, you had best hope for forgiveness.

[daisyofwaterdeep]

its high time for me to make a proper pinned post and actually keep tab of my writing so ppl can find it

[dippy-ecks]

chat do I get out of bed and go for a walk yes or yes

[jenevawashere]

I’ve been reading Sansûkh for the first time and holy shit chapters 31-33—!

I don’t know how I didn’t start crying when my theory was proven right at the end of 31. 32-33 are both painful and sweet.

Painful for obvious reasons to past readers and sweet (and sad) because of the Dead Dwarf Peanut Gallery had a makeshift family reunion with their living cousin.

I’m half expecting the burglar to drift and show up in the middle of Pelennor and save his love’s dumb kingly ass 😂

[resin-popia]

guys

GUYS

you realize when I buy this 1/6 Secondo figure from Trick or Treat Studios:

Imma need to buy him a TB League/Phicen 1/6 Silicone Super Muscles Man Body and Snazzy Suit, right?

And then have the 1/6 scale tiny Mr. Worldwide take me out to fancy dinners, riiight?!

[ladylokilaufeyson5]

Beyond Rumours

Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Chapter Twenty

Summary: Y/n is a Malfoy. A Pureblood. A pretentious, blood-status-loving Slytherin. At least, those are the rumours, but since when has Remus Lupin ever really cared about rumours?

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: y'all... not to get ur hopes up... but i think the writer's block is fading! let's cross our fingers and pray... anyways i hope ur enjoying! i have decided that i am in love with the remus x slytherin!reader concept so i will be writing more about slytherin!y/n. i already have another idea lol. other than that have a lovely day/night!<3

Series Masterlist

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Y/N MALFOY

Sunday, 18th of December 1977

“Hey, Y/n! Earth to Y/n!”

I snapped my head to Sirius, who was clicking his fingers in my face.

“Huh?” I responded, having missed the entire conversation.

“What’re you so deep in thought about?” he inquired.

I blinked and quickly came up with a lie. “Um… the Yule Ball.”

Remus looked over as I said the words and smiled bashfully, and I felt a pang of guilt for lying. I had, in fact, been thinking about the fact that he, Remus John Lupin – the kind, smart boy I fancied – turned into a werewolf every month.

I’d been raised knowing that werewolves were dark creatures, but looking at Remus, I couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see him being a bad person, see him wanting to hurt others. But werewolves were supposed to be bad, uncontrollable, animals…

Did it change how I saw him at all? I looked to the boy in question, who was laughing at something Sirius had said. His smile brightened the whole room, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. As I felt my heart warm, I realised no, it didn’t matter. He was still my friend, still the boy who made me breathless and made me forget how to speak and made my heart beat a million times faster.

He was still Remus.

“I’ll be right back,” I said suddenly, standing up.

Everyone looked at me as I left the common room, but no one followed. I walked the familiar path to the library, and hurried past Madam Pince, who’s eyes pierced into me as I passed. I walked down rows and rows of shelves, and stopped at one of them, grabbing a book and reading the title.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

We were supposed to learn about werewolves in our fourth year of Defence Against the Dark Arts, but our teacher was terrible, so we ended up missing out a lot that year. I flipped through the pages of the book, past basilisks and dragons and ghouls, until I landed on page three-hundred and ninety-four.

Werewolves.

They were rated XXXXX – the most dangerous rating in the book. My eyes skimmed over the pages, gobbling up all the information.

The werewolf is found worldwide, though it is believed to have originated in northern Europe. Humans turn into werewolves only when bitten.

Only when bitten. That must have been absolutely traumatic for him – being bitten by a werewolf. I wondered how old he’d been, if he was recently turned, or had been going through this for a long time.

There is no known cure.

No cure. Maybe I’d invent one for him. Maybe I could study werewolves and become a potioneer, and brew a potion that prevented his lycanthropy. It sounded difficult and challenging, but I’d do it.

Merlin, I was whipped.

I continued to read as I slowly walked down the aisle, and got to the end before I turned and smacked straight into someone. The book fell out of my hands and to the floor, and I looked up to see Remus standing in front of me.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said, a small smile forming on his face.

His words brought me back to the first time we’d met like this, and then the most recent. I couldn’t help but look away, a bashful smile forming on my own face. Remus reached down and picked up the book and observed the cover, which wiped the grin from my face.

“Why are you reading Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?” he asked, his smile turning to a slight frown.

Was he frowning because he knew he was in it? Or did he suspect that I somehow knew? But that was unimportant – I needed to come up with a lie, and quick. I didn’t want to confront Remus about his being a werewolf – not yet, and not in such a public place.

“I – um… dementors,” I blurted, naming the first magical creature that came to mind. “Um… defence stuff, y’know?”

There was a pause and Remus’s brows scrunched up in confusion. “Um… okay…”

Remus and I stood there, him looking at me in confusion and me avoiding his gaze, which was highly suspicious. Fortunately, before Remus could confront me about my clearly dodgy behaviour, Professor McGonagall appeared.

“Ah, Miss Malfoy,” she said. “Please come with me.”

She turned on her heel and started walking away, and I gave Remus an anxious glance before following after her. We walked up stairs and down a familiar path, and I thought she was taking me to the Gryffindor Tower before she took a right and led me to her office. She opened the door and gestured for me to enter.

“Take a seat,” she ordered.

I did as she said and McGonagall walked around her desk and sat down, placing her hands together.

“How are you doing with your schoolwork, Miss Malfoy?” she asked.

I had to pause for a moment, because I wasn’t expecting it. I thought that maybe I’d done something wrong, and that’s why I was in her office. Usually, those types of questions were ones our heads of house would ask us, so, in my case, Professor Slughorn.

“Oh, um… I’m doing alright,” I mumbled.

“You are doing exceptionally well in Potions, as I’d expected,” she praised. “I’m assuming you’re enjoying it?”

“Very much, Professor,” I agreed. “Erm… thank you for helping to make that happen.”

McGonagall nodded. “No problem at all, Miss Malfoy. Now, to get to the matter at hand – I am aware that you and Mr Black – the younger one – have been staying at the Gryffindor Tower.”

McGonagall’s sharp stare pierced into me, and I felt my stomach drop. There were technically no rules about staying in other houses – I’d checked in Hogwarts: A History, as well as in the school rules.

“I – we have, Professor,” I answered truthfully.

“Is there a reason you haven’t been staying at the Slytherin dorms?” she pressed.

I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it. My parents would be furious if I gave in to a little bullying. They’d be horrified to find that Reg and I had resorted to staying at the Gryffindor Tower because of it. They’d be humiliated… Sirius’s words flashed through my mind at this point, the words he’d spoken when we’d first come to the Gryffindors for help…

Our families don’t deserve our protection.

Perhaps they didn’t, but I still couldn’t find it in myself to tell McGonagall the truth. At least, not the whole truth.

“Family problems,” I answered.

I didn’t elaborate further, and McGonagall just looked at me with that assessing gaze. She narrowed her eyes slightly before speaking again.

“You know, your teachers are always available to listen, if you need to speak to an adult,” she reminded me.

“Yes, Professor,” I nodded, but didn’t say anything else.

McGonagall waited for a moment longer before sighing, and giving me a rare smile.

“It is nice to have yourself and Regulus as honorary Gryffindors,” she commented.

The words left me feeling happy for the rest of the day, as I walked back to the common room and into the dorms. I smiled at myself in the mirror, and my eyes strayed to the closet that the girls had set up, all of our dresses for the Yule Ball hanging up inside. I cautiously opened the door and stared at the array of fabrics, before the green of my own caught my eye.

Honorary Gryffindor.

My parents would have a fit. But I didn’t care about that anymore. I didn’t care about them anymore.

So I flicked my wand, and chose my path.

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[asexualbookbird]

dang i was all ready to listen to butcher of the forest while crocheting tonight but turns out i reserved the ebook not the audiobook NYOOPS

so now i have to choose an audiobook