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wartakes · 10 months

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What’s Going On in Ukraine?: An Explainer (OLD ESSAY)

This essay was first posted on April 7th, 2021, and seems somewhat quaint now in retrospect.

This essay was written in response to the then-ongoing Ukraine crisis where it looked like a war might kick off in the Spring of 2021. Little did we know that it was pretty much just the pre-gaming for what would happen NEXT Spring.

(Full essay below the cut).

So, this is another one of those essays I didn’t originally plan on writing for the month. But then the darndest thing happened about a week ago: Russia got back on its bullshit.

Now everyone is wondering if the war in Eastern Ukraine is going to reignite or potentially escalate even further than the heights it reached after the initial outbreak of war in 2014. Now I don’t think time is a flat circle, but I do think the idea that “history doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes” has some merit here.

As this conflict is a bit of a hobby horse of mine, I’ve been keeping a close eye on it (perhaps too much for my own good) ever since things started to escalate at the end of March. As more of my friends and peers have started to ask questions and express concern over what’s going on and what may happen next and certain parties have started to spread bad takes or downright misinformation and lies, I decided that maybe a little explainer and synthesis of current analysis was in order for folks on what the situation is currently with Ukraine and Russia.

I was going to write about Iran this month, but I guess we’ll save one piece about a potential war crisis and trade it for a separate but different one.

Just up front: this is a situation that is changing every day, so I can only make this as current as the moment I post it – but I’ll do my best in this regard. Also, I’m going to make no illusion about my biases in this case (spoilers: I’m not on Russia’s side, and if you have a problem with that, I dunno: cry about it, tankie). Also, a lot of my sources for this are Tweets and threads by analysts and observers that have been popping up as things have been going on and have the potential to suddenly vanish – as Twitter is want to do – so I apologize for any broken links or lost sources.

What’s Exactly Is Happening?

Over the past week, we’ve seen an extensive Russian military buildup along its border with Ukraine. Now, that in itself is not unusual. Russia holds large-scale military exercises – including both planned and snap drills – on a pretty regular basis. None of that specifically is new or shocking. But analysts have pointed out that there are several factors that make this occurrence different in a worrying way.

First there’s the context. This military buildup happens in the midst of a sudden and sharp escalation in hostilities along the line of contact between the Ukrainian military and pro-Russian rebels in the Donbas region. While the war in Donbas has remained very much active since reaching a stalemate in 2015, it has been relatively quiet and low-level until now. The Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe has registered a sharp increase in violations of the ceasefire previously agreed upon between the belligerents in July of last year. As of April 6, 2021, two more Ukrainian soldiers had been killed in the previous 24 hours, with four having been killed by enemy shelling in late March (it is unknown how many rebel troops have died, if any). It is against that backdrop that Russia is now flowing additional military forces into the region.

Another part of the context factor is the timing. While Russia does undertake large, seasonal exercises, analysts and observers have noted that these drills have taken place outside of the typical schedule. And while Russia has been known to undertake snap drills and exercises, again, experts note that they’ve never seen a sudden callup or mobilization like this one outside of scheduled wargames before. Its not an understatement to say that its pretty unprecedented. For what it’s worth, Russia has now declared a combat readiness check across the entire Ministry of Defense (after all of these movements had already been going on for several days, of course).

This leads into the second major factor, which is the sheer size of the buildup. Over the past week, social media has been flushed with photos and video of large amounts of Russian military equipment flowing west into illegally annexed Crimea and the western regions of Russia bordering on Ukraine. So far, it shows no sign of stopping, with train load after trainload of armor and other vehicles heading west. The Russian military has been using so many railcars that agricultural machinery manufacturers reportedly haven’t been able to ship their goods to farmers for the spring harvest season – a story that state media entity TASS was even reporting on. Other civilian passengers have also noted disruptions.

Closely tied to the size factor is the scope of the mobilization. Not only is Russia flowing large numbers of troops and vehicles to the border, but it’s also bringing them from far afield, all across the country. Some enterprising OSINT practitioners on Twitter were able to identify the original locations of some Russian military units by the numbers on their license plates that indicate which military district they are based in – that is, until the Russians seemed to get wise and start covering those numbers up, along with other identifying markings. Before the Russians started practicing better OPSEC, however, it was identified that many forces were coming from the Central Military District, which covers the Ural Mountains and parts of Siberia and doesn’t even border Ukraine. More questions abound.

The nature of the equipment and units being sent towards Ukraine is also notable and worrying. Main battle tanks with fuel tanks for extended range offensives and plows for pushing through minefields. Artillery and heavy mortars designed to try and break through tough defensive lines. Elite airborne units with high levels of readiness that already have a history of involvement in eastern Ukraine. Both short and long-range air defense systems. These are all also worrying signs. They once again, could very well be explained away by large scale offensive wargames, but combined with everything else it raises the blood pressure and anxiety levels of defense analysts such as myself.

Ukraine appears to be reacting to this increasingly tense situation as well. Aside from issuing strong statements and calling for support from the United States, NATO and the West – and receiving at least some military support thus far, it now also appears to be flowing its own reinforcements towards Donbas. It’s well within its right to do so and I can‘t blame it for doing that, but this in itself is a worrying sign that this all could potentially lead to a resumption of fighting not seen since the height of the initial Donbas war – potentially even surpassing it.

Why Is This Happening?

That is the million-dollar question on most Russia and/or military watchers minds right now and everyone on the internet has been offering their two cents as to why Russia is undertaking this buildup. My answer for now is a resounding “we don’t quite know yet.”

Despite the increasing number of concerning factors and unanswered questions raising doubts about the Russian intent behind this buildup, the safe money is still (probably) on this being an attempt at posturing/signaling/intimidation. Russia has many reasons to want to intimidate and posture against Ukraine given their acrimonious relationship since 2014 and far before, but chief among them is discouraging Ukraine from any attempt to retake the rebel-held Donbas or annex Crimea by showing that Russia is willing and able to mobilize its military might to defend their pro-Russian allies. Likewise, it doesn’t hurt to demonstrate to the rest of the world – including other potential adversaries – that you’re able to mobilize and rapidly transport a significant portion of your military across vast distances to meet a perceived threat.

That being said, while posturing is still the most likely outcome, enough unusual facts and elements have emerged with this build-up to raise questions as to whether its only posturing. This is the opinion of Russia analyst Michael Kofman from the Center for Naval Analyses, who was initially far more certain about this being a posturing exercise by Russia. As of today, while still leaning towards posturing and intimidation as the explanation, says there’s still too much uncertainty and concerning factors to be sure of the motive and that the situation still merits cautious and careful observation and analysis before being too sure about what is going on.

None of this is helped by the fact that Russia is notoriously opaque about its intent when it comes to these things, more so than even the usual song and dance of geopolitics that states and nations engage in. Further alarm bells are raised by the way the Russian propaganda machine appears to have suddenly gone into overdrive, both in terms of spreading disinformation on social media, but also in the sudden bellicose tone taken by state-run media as well. All of this raises deeper questions about Russia’s intent in this situation, with no real satisfactory answers so far.

What Might Happen Next?

That’s the next big question on everyone’s minds, after “why this is all happening.” If this is all just posturing, the most likely outcome is Russia decides it has enough forces in the region for its liking, does a series of drills and exercises along the border to try and intimidate Ukraine and the West, and then wraps everything up and sends all the troops back to barracks without incident. The war in Ukraine resumes its Frozen Conflict status – until the next crisis of course – and everything goes back to “normal”.

But what if it’s not all just for show? Could Russia launch a wholesale invasion of Ukraine? That’s not impossible, but it would be a significant escalation on Russia’s part and is probably the least probable of all the outcomes if you were to ask any Russia watcher. If Russia openly launched a full scale invasion of Ukraine, it could at best further isolate and cement its international status as a pariah among nations. At worst, that could even bring NATO fully into the conflict, escalating what was a regional, internal conflict, into a full-scale European or even world war. Again, none that doesn’t mean such an escalation is impossible (unfortunately), but Russia would be taking an exceptional risk – one that I don’t think it would take on a whim and with the eyes of the world on it unless it suddenly had an excellent excuse fall in its lap or it felt it had no other choice in order to defend some vital interest or its very existence as a state.

What might be more likely – and what Kofman lays out in one of his previously mentioned twitter threads – is that a significant escalation of fighting within the Donbas might be in store. We may see fighting of the same intensity as the early days of the war but limited to skirmishes and clashes in that region and not spreading beyond it. That’s not great, sure. But its not as bad as the war spreading beyond the Donetsk and Luhansk provinces and escalating. He also points out that if any escalation happens, it may not be in our immediate future, but could happen later in April or even in May (guess I better strap myself in for a month of anxiety then).

But, even if Russia’s intent is to simply posture, or only to go on the offensive within Donbas, there’s always the possibility that events on the ground could get out of theirs – and Ukraine’s – grasp and escalate of their own volition. When you pump up the propaganda machine, there’s always the possibility that things can take on a life of their own. Add in the fact that the number of both Russia and Ukrainian forces in the area are increasing, tensions are rising, and additional stress and pressure are being put on everyone involved and you may have problems. Even if neither party wants outright war, its important to remember that states and governments are not single, monolithic, rational actors. They are made up of multiple elements with different – sometimes conflicting – interests and goals. This means that even when its absolutely in a state’s best interest to avoid war and its leaders know that a comedy of errors and missteps can potentially lead them right to that war anyway (Full disclosure: there are some decent arguments against this very idea of “accidental” war but I still think its worth mentioning as an aside).

Isn’t Ukraine Fascist Anyway?

Ok, this one is starkly different in tone, but I want to address this claim in particular because it’s making the rounds by tankies and campists alike to basically justify whatever Russia may or may not end up doing in Ukraine. So, let’s deal with it right now, bluntly.

Does Ukraine have a problem with the far right? Absolutely and undisputedly, it does. Has it done a great job at dealing with that problem? Nope, it has not – as some recent evidence shows. However, it does Ukraine and the regular people living there hoping not to become engulfed in fresh fighting a disservice to simply write the entire country off as a fascist state in its entirety. This thread on Twitter does a far better job than I at addressing some of the tankie talking points being used to try and paint Ukraine as a whole of being in the wrong and worthy of destruction while putting Russia up on a pedestal. To put it simply, while the far-right has been a persistent issue in Ukraine since the 2014 revolution, its power and influence is often overstated for propaganda purposes and the far right is more often than not at odds with the government rather than a full integrated part of it – with many Ukrainians protesting against it as well.

Again, I’m not trying to excuse any behavior here. Ukraine continues to disappoint me in not more effectively dealing with this problem – much as the United States and most of Western Europe does. But this is not a reason to simply abandon the country or actively root for Russia to rip it to shreds. Plus, the same people who are likely to promote these kinds of narratives are also the same ones who are likely to ignore that more than a handful of far-right Russians have found themselves fighting on the opposite side of the conflict. You ever wonder why the infamous Russian mercenary group Wagner got its name? Well that was from its founder, who fought in the early stages of the war in Ukraine and took the nickname “Wagner” because he was fascinated with Nazi Germany – Wagner being one of Hitler’s favorite composers – and would wear a World War II-era German steel helmet into combat. So, take that home with you I guess.

There are plenty of things you can criticize the Ukrainian government about. But I don’t think any of them rise to the level of painting Russia as being the ‘good guy’ in any of this. What Russia has done to Ukraine since 2014 is inexcusable and illegal, whether it be the annexation of Crimea, the invasion of Donbas, and other forms of interference and undermining. I have no problem taking a side when I think someone is in the right or in the wrong, as I did with Armenia and Azerbaijan. Whatever you think about Ukraine, its not in the wrong for defending itself.

Why Should I Care?

I usually end these with a mix of “what happens next” with “why should I care”, but seeing as I already hypothesized a bit on what might happen next, I’ll focus on what this should matter to you (though if you’re reading this I’m going to assume you already care somewhat).

From a national security standpoint, what’s going on in Ukraine is important even if it doesn’t escalate. It shows a continuing pattern of concerning behavior by Russia that, even if it doesn’t culminate in a disaster today, could do so another time. The fact that the media seems to hype up any Russian action as potentially being the harbinger of World War III – especially since the 2016 election interference – may make some people numb to Russia’s activities or even actively push back because of a not-unfounded mistrust of mainstream media narratives. Obviously, we shouldn’t treat every suspicious Russian action like the greatest threat to civilization, but we should be able to view them broadly and recognize a pattern of bad behavior that is becoming increasingly more threatening and could eventually spill over into outright conflict if not responded to properly.

If some kind of war does actually emerge from this crisis, then I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain why you should care. If the conflict spreads out from Donbas and draws in surrounding countries or even NATO, obviously we should care as it may become a threat to us. Even if it remains limited to Donbas in particular or Ukraine in general, we should care because of impact it will have on a people who have already been suffering from the effects of over seven years of on-again, off-again warfare – potentially affecting even more.

This is where the leftist angle comes in, and the spirit of internationalism – and part of why I felt I wanted to write this piece, aside from it being an issue that’s important to me and being current. If leftists are going to take a stand against imperialistic attitudes and actions by the United States towards the rest of the world, or those by any of its allies, then it can’t turn a blind eye to imperialist adventures by other states as well. What’s going in in Ukraine is only the latest event in a long and tortured history between Russia and Ukraine going back to when the Tsars first marched into the region and eventually annexed it into the Russian Empire in the 18th century. Whatever you can criticize Ukraine for, you can still support its people wanting to fight back against an imperial power that simply will not leave it alone. Its one thing to simply not be aware of it, but if you actively reject it, then you’re quite simply just a tankie or a campist and are unknowingly – or knowingly – carrying water for Russia and its own brand of oppression.

To be fair, can we really do anything about this? No, I suppose not. I guess if you really want you could go in fight in Donbas but I wouldn’t recommend that (and probably, legally shouldn’t). I realize it’s a lot to ask people to devote mental and emotional energy to caring about this when A.) we have our own pressing concerns at home; and B.) there is virtually nothing most ordinary people can do to have a direct impact on what’s going on in Ukraine. That being said, a point I often return to is you can’t be a leftist without some empathy, and that includes the plight of people in other countries. Being a good leftist means being a good internationalist and caring about the rest of the world and what happens to it and at least offering some words of support.

Likewise, if we ever hope of actually governing and changing anything some day, these are issues we need to be aware of and have actual policies and plans to address with should we ever (hopefully) get to that point. As much as some people might lead you to believe that if the United States ceased to exist that imperialism and war would suddenly vanish, Russia and its history with its neighbors – the vast majority of which predates the founding of the United States – is a pretty good reason to point out why that’s bullshit.

As I said before, this situation is changing day to day, hour to hour. As of writing this, Russian tanks and vehicles are still heading towards Ukraine and there are (unconfirmed) reports of more skirmishes in Donbas – such as around Donetsk airport, the site of previous battles. For the time being, all we can do is remain aware of what’s going on, not jumping to any conclusions but also preparing ourselves for the unexpected and undesired. Simply put: “watch this space.”

While I’m a student of war and fascinated by it, I certainly don’t hope war happens. That’s not something anyone should wish for. As much as I think war is sometimes unavoidable or even necessary, I don’t think this is one of those cases. I don’t have the magic solution to what’s been going on in Ukraine, but I know an intensified war would only mean more suffering and death for everyone involved. Hopefully, the most likely course of action will play out and this will all amount to nothing. If not, we should hope that any conflict that emerges is short, does not escalate to highly destructive heights, and ends in a way maybe buys some stability. We’ll see.

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anouri · 2 years

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first i hope you are having a GREAT day because i dont<3

For day three? i think? we have Tasos Leivaditis

I admire him a lot, his poems are so well written and I wanna buy at least two more of his poetry collections. I still don’t know many about him sorry,

So, he was born on 20th April of 1922 and he died on 30th October of 1988. born and died in Athens. he began writing poetry at 12 or 13 years of age, he studied in the Law School. During the war II I think he was arrested as Wikipedia said but without trial, sent into internal exile (June, 1928) and he spent three years in different prisons ect. – i don’t know the reason, he also wrote the script for two movies and some songs.

Thats all I could find and know, I couldn’t find many articles unfortunately

and this is my favourite poem of his, (its the whole poem)

If you want to be called human

If you want to be called human you won't stop, not even for a minute, fighting for peace and for justice. You will go out to the streets, you'll scream, your lips will bleed from the screams, your face will bleed from the bullets, but not even a step backwards. Your every scream, a rock at the warmongers windows Your every movement like you knock down the injustice. And be careful: don't forget even for a minute. For a little while to remember your childhood years You leave a thousand of children to be broken apart when they play unsuspecting in the states one moment if you look at the sunrise tomorrow people will be vanished in the night of war if you stop, for a minute, in order to dream millions of people's dreams will become dust under the shells.

You don't have time you don't have time for yourself if you want to be called human. If you want to be called human you might need to leave your mother, your lover or your child. You will not hesitate. You will deny your lamp and your bread you will deny the night rest at the homemade treshold for a rough road that leads to tomorrow. You will not retard and you will not fear of anything.

I know, it's beautiful hearing one harmonica at night, to look one star, to dream it's beautiful leaned up the red mouth of your love to hear her telling her dreams about the future. But you have to say goodbye to all that and begin because you are responsible for all the harmonicas of the world, for all the stars for all the lamps and all the dreams if you want to be called human.

If you want to be called human you might need to be closed in prison for twenty or much more years but you even inside the prison you will always remember the spring, your mother and the world You, even from the inside of your square meter of your cell will keep your road up in the earth And, when in the infinite silence, in the night you will knock with your finger the wall your cell from the other side of the wall Spain will answer you You, even if you see your years to go by and your hair getting white you won't get old.. You, even inside the prison every morning, will wake up even younger because even younger wars will start in the world if you want to be called human.

If you want to be called human. You have to be willing to die any morning. From the night to the isolation you will write a big touching letter to your mother you will right to the wall the date, the acronyms of your name and one word: Peace as if you were writing the whole story of your life. To be able to die any morning.

To be able to stand in front of 6 rifles as if you were standing in front of the whole future to be able, up in the broadside that kills, to hear millions of simple people that they are fighting for peace while singing.. If you want to be called human.

A small fun-fact:

During a school festival we organized about war ii if im not mistaken, and I recite this poem, aand I made my teacher to CRY. I made someone cryy then had a panic attack lol

my day has been alright, but now i'm immediately wishing that your day turns out better in the end and/or you have an amazing day tomorrow that makes up for a rough one today!!

"people will be vanished in the night of war if you stop, for a minute, in order to dream millions of people's dreams will become dust under the shells"

pain

"I know, it's beautiful hearing one harmonica at night, to look one star, to dream it's beautiful leaned up the red mouth of your love to hear her telling her dreams about the future. But you have to say goodbye to all that and begin because you are responsible for all the harmonicas of the world, for all the stars for all the lamps and all the dreams if you want to be called human"

even more pain salkdjlskdjl

um i don't have anything eloquent to say, but i definitely understand why people were literally crying & having panic attacks bc that writing is poignant

thanks for sending these, i love reading them, and i very much hope that the rest of your day & your future days fair much better than today has been going thus far for you! < 33

#anouri answers asks #a decomposing dump of my thoughts #on humanity #words

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ioannemos · 2 years

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3, 4, 7, 10,18

What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

i don't have a writing ritual, which is probably a contributing factor to why i never finish anything. wherever i'm writing, though, i have terrible posture. does that count?

What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

so many... big fan of anything to do with like. things that aren't quite there? intangible. phantom. psychosomatic. ghost. hollow. echo. infinite. vanish. opaque. lost. almost.

What is your deepest joy about writing?

when someone mentions a detail or makes a connection with something i've written and i go YES THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I MEANT!!! YOU GOT IT!!!

Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

i'm easily haunted by poetry... here are a few of my faves

stairs appear in a hole outside of town

here, now, gone

fifteen years of spring

the nature of living

rose petal jam

i'm haunted very differently by my own writing tbh, in the "hey remember that story and all the great ideas you had that you never ever wrote down so each day they fade a little more? yeah. still no idea how to connect the necessary dots tho" kind of way

Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

i tried to find something from a published work but instead you're gonna get a passage from my 10k+ prospect wip "victors"

In the meantime, his death has been… a hurdle. A complication. They’ll sell the aurelac and split the money and she’ll figure it out from there. She has to narrow her focus to that or everything starts to spiral. There are job boards; surely there are apprenticeship boards, or something near enough, something she can do while she really weighs her options. She shrugs, a bit frustrated. “I can’t sell the stuff without your help,” she points out. Ezra waves that off like it’s a minor hitch. “Oh, you’re right, I’ll just hop over to the nearest rare gem market. They’d never scorch an ignorant little girl.”

thoughts on it:

i was stuck on how ezra was going to respond to this for, i kid you not, two and a half years. december 2020 - june 2022. i changed two words in april but that was in an earlier section and had nothing to do with moving the story forward. what did help me move forward again? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ don't remember!

it took me a while to figure out a slang term that conveyed "take advantage of" and sounded plausible. i like "scorch" tho

aurelac is whack. they're gems the size of fists, worth tons of points. what are points? what are they used for? what in the heck is the thing they're harvested from?? they're so macguffiny. i want to make resin replicas

it's bleak but i'm gonna say it: damon's life was a hurdle for cee and it's probably for the better he's dead

the seed of my story was inspired by a description of the movie (i don't remember if it was netflix or imdb) that calls ezra an outlaw. there is absolutely nothing in the movie itself that implies anything he does is outside of the law. i'm not saying his actions were moral, just that. y'know. for all we know, they weren't illegal. there's nothing in the movie about him hiding out or running from space cops or being wanted for crimes. again, he very much does coerce, kidnap, lie, kill, etc. but it's a space western and they're on the extreme fringes of society. nobody's even gonna go there after the time limit is up (presumably). everyone who's there is either after macguffins or stumbled over macguffins while there for ~reasons~ and wants in on the money the macguffins will provide. there's no reason to label him an outlaw. there is no law, far as i can tell. so then i was like well maybe he's wanted on some other planet and kinda went from there

#i can keep rambling about victors but i'm gonna stop there #thank you #sunheart #let's talk #personal #abbie needs a twitter #ask #asked and answered #writing is hard #my muse is a monster #prospect #my favorite #movies #huh i don't have a tag for victors yet... maybe i'll fix that later

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through-lines · 2 months

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Some Updates

I almost hesitate to make this post because I didn't have much of a presence to begin with, but in case anyone remembers me or is wondering why they're following this guy:

Hey. I'm the fictionkin formerly known as Maverick…kind of?

(warning: this is a very ramble-y blog post)

Backstory:

Let me lay down all the relevant history: I went by Maverick (he/they pronouns), which was essentially a nickname I slapped onto myself for the sake of differentiating myself from other Son/ics shortly after I awakened as him.

I also identified as So/ra (Ki/ngd/om He/arts) and Something Vaguely Resembling A First Level Nightmare/n, but my blog mostly focused on being Son/ic, I only mentioned being a Nightmare/n here and there, and I actively avoided talking about being So/ra for a variety of reasons.

I discovered the fictionkin community in ~early 2016, and made a blog in 2018 in hopes of actively participating in the community. (I was not very successful).

Why I stopped posting to this blog comes from multiple reasons, reasons which continued to evolve as I took some time away.

I considered the fictionkin community my "main" community, but it felt like it was beyond repair and I struggled to relate to any post in the tags

I was horribly anxious and couldn't break out of my shell

I went through a phase of identifying strongly as nonhuman, but in light of the fictionkin community diminishing, nonhuman talk began to felt suffocating--feelings which began when:

My Son/ic kintype up and vanished. One moment I was Son/ic and then the next I wasn't.

I'd like to elaborate on that last point more, because I feel like it would be very insightful and potentially helpful to others, but here's the short of it: I awakened as Son/ic in April of 2018, then he kind of died off at the end of March in 2021.

And, you know…Son/ic was practically the face of the blog, so that was incredibly awkward and I had no idea how to even begin to address that, especially because kintypes traditionally don't just spontaneously vanish into thin air. I just waited for him to come back. And he didn't.

Well, he did, actually, two years later... He just wasn't me. He was also never me to begin with.

So who am I?

I'm So/ra. I'm a Nightmare/n at my core. I'm not Son/ic.

Son/ic identifies a lot with nonhumanity and being otherkin. I do not! I am nonhuman, but I'm also very much human. He was also responsible for a lot of the agnostic feelings "I" had about the origins of my kintypes; I've found myself much more adamant about my spirituality since we've separated ourselves (whereas he's remained more "I think it's spiritual but who really knows").

Pronoun Update

I don't use they/them anymore.

I've had beef with they/them pronouns for a while. I mean, "beef" is a bit dramatic. But I found myself wanting a very unique set of pronouns that were very gender neutral and something about they/them/their has come to be…weirdly gendered to me? Which wasn't very satisfying to me.

Enter "ve". Proposed singular gender neutral pronouns for the purpose of referring to individuals of undetermined gender. But also, I once upon a time tried to workshop Dream Language pronouns, and got stuck on them starting with a "v" sound, so that was frankly just perfect.

(Pen) Name Update

Regarding "Maverick": I never identified very strongly with the name and only used it for convenience. When Son/ic disappeared, I had less reason to identify with it. He doesn't identify with it either--in fact, he calls me Mav out of habit.

As for what to call me instead (besides just So/ra)…I've been workshopping a pen name idea.

I don't remember what my name as a Nightmare/n was, but I speculated for a while that the reason I was drawn to the "v" sound was because my name started with a V. So I thought, hey, I don't know if it's really my name, but how I use it like a nickname. Something that starts with a V, something nature-y.

Vernala. From vernal (relating to Spring), and an -a at the end because it sounds cool.

So I was thinking of combining the two in some way. Like So/ra né Vernala. I think it looks nice, and it's totally unique (0 results on Google!). Very identifiable, right?

URL Update

Also, I forgot to mention:

This blog's URL used to be @/chaossed. I've passed it on to Son/ic because it is a nice URL, but it's very specific to him. Hence, my current URL is unchaossed.

I'm not sticking with "unchaossed" forever, that's just a placeholder until I can decide on a better URL.

I think that's about it. I let myself ramble because I want to treat this blog like an actual blog and not just a platform to post reblog bait, but uhhh maybe this would benefit from a concise summary.

TL;DR:

I am So/ra and a Nightmare/n. Son/ic turned out to be a whole other guy.

I no longer go by Maverick, and I'm experimenting with new pen names.

My pronouns are he/him/his and ve/ver/vis.

P.S., Son/ic doesn't front very often (and also tumblr pushing a shitty update immediately after his blog was made killed most of his desire to use it), so keep that in mind if you decide to check out his blog.

#i forgot what a chore censoring names is. ew.#my posts #about me #fictionkin #this is probably not as coherent as i think it is but that's fine

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sunder-soul · 3 years

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I’ll start off by saying I adore this blog due to how amazing ur writing is & how active u r, it makes me so happy. I’m hoping you could write some tom smut where he’s the virgin & the reader (preferably a hufflepuff) is the experienced one? (cause I really can’t imagine Tom being popular or caring about sex in hogwarts). Like I can just imagine him having no idea what to do & letting the reader take in control and he’s highkey loving every minute of it (like he’s secretly just a sub).

You cannot imagine the effect this had on me. I… I am a changed person.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Nox

Summary: You’re trapped in a closet with Tom Riddle playing Seven Minutes in Heaven. What happens in the dark, stays in the dark. Word count: 4.8k Content warning: explicit sex scenes. Underage drinking I guess?

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

PART II HERE! 💖

It had taken some convincing to get you to come to the party, but you’d have to admit that it had been more fun than you’d expected – the Slytherin common room was the perfect place for a post-Quidditch game blow out, hidden away under the lake where the Professors wouldn’t hear the music blasting from enchanted gramophones, the creepy light filtering in through the tall glass windows leading into the dark waters of the lake giving the perfect background under the dim green lanterns illuminating the party.

You’re drunk on Firewhisky that a group of cheeky-faced seventh-year Gryffindor boys brought to bribe their way inside, and by the time the party is winding down at around two in the morning you’re laid out across Ruth Willows’ lap on one of the black leather couches by the fireplace, giggling and very unwilling to move.

“Alright you two,” one of the Slytherin boys you don’t recognise says, smirking. “Clear out – this is strictly Slytherin territory again.”

“Aww, come on, Hartley,” Ruth says teasingly, “don’t tell me you’re done for the night – out-partied by a couple of Hufflepuffs, are you?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Willows,” Hartley says seriously, pointing at her.

You sit up, the room spinning around you in a pleasant, warm way. “We can take you,” you say cheerily, resting your head on Ruth’s shoulder.

There’s a smattering of laughs from the circle of lingering party-goers – You and Ruth are the only Hufflepuffs left, but there’s a couple of Gryffindors too, and you recognise some sixth-year Ravenclaw boys whispering to each other next to the fireplace.

“A game, then,” Hartley declares, looking around the circle with a grin.

“A game!” you and Ruth echo cheerfully, lifting your drinks.

“Alright, who’s playing? Scott? Peters? How about you, Avery?”

You glance over your shoulder to the far corner of the Slytherin room at the only group left in at the party – the gaggle of Slytherin boys who had spent the whole evening sitting at the circular table looking disapprovingly at the revelry as they sipped their drinks and evidently thought themselves far too mature for such nonsense. You share an amused look with Ruth.

“No thank, you,” Avery says aloofly, turning up his nose.

“Too good for a bit of fun, are you?” one of the Gryffindor boys snickers.

“They’re just trying to show off,” another smirks back, “think they’re acting all grown up and responsible –”

“I’ll join you,” says a very unexpected voice.

The whole circle looks around in shock. Tom Riddle has stood from the table and approaches the couches, his acolytes staring after him looking surprised. “What are we playing?” Riddle asks pleasantly, taking a seat on the couch opposite you – Ella Scott from Slytherin scrambles to the side to make room for him looking like she’s just won the lottery.

“That’s the spirit, Riddle,” beams Hartley, “not like those hoity-toity friends of yours, are you?”

Riddle smiles with far too much charm as he laces his arm over the back of the couch and crosses one long leg over the other, his Slytherin boys sliding into spare places around the circle and casting him perplexed looks of surprise.

“So?” Ruth asks expectantly, grinning at Hartley. “What’s the game?”

“Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Hartley smirks.

The circle erupts; the Gryffindor boys whoop with cheers as the Ravenclaws groan and roll their eyes, and you laugh softly as your head rolls back against Ruth’s shoulder, the alcohol still making the room spin slightly.

“I don’t know this game,” Riddle says quietly through the cacophony – though everyone seems to hear him with ease all the same.

“It’s the best game ever invented,” the first Gryffindor boy grins – you think his name is Rory but you can’t remember his surname. “When it’s your turn, you spin your wand on table and whoever it points to has to spend seven minutes with you in the broom closet.”

“What is the point of that?” Riddle frowns.

There’s a smattering of snickers and Riddle’s frown vanishes at the sound, his face going strangely blank.

“Making out, of course,” Rory smirks, “catch on, Riddle.”

Riddle’s face remains expressionless but there’s a coldness to it that the others don’t seem to notice as they continue to chuckle quietly. He clearly doesn’t like being laughed at.

“Who’s going first?” you say quickly, looking around the circle to distract them.

“Hartley’s the one who suggested this, he should start,” a Slytherin girl (April…? Avril…?) smirks.

“Only because Willows goaded me!” Hartley accuses, pointing at Ruth.

“I’ll happily go first,” Ruth says with an easy smile, “since Hartley’s too chicken.”

There’s a low murmur of amusement as Hartley’s eyes narrow at Ruth leaning forward and spinning her wand on the table – only to explode into raucous laugher when it comes to a stop pointing directly at –

“Looks like you’ll be going first after all, Hartley,” Ruth says breezily, standing. “After you,” she gestures theatrically at the wooden door to the broom closet in the corner, and Hartley gets up from the couch looking extremely gobsmacked.

“Make sure you return him in one piece,” April/Avril snickers.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” Ruth says without missing a beat, grinning as she slams the door to the closet shut behind them.

“Hufflepuff’s got a set of claws on her,” the other Gryffindor boy laughs.

“Badgers are a natural predator of snakes,” you sigh, lying back on the couch and throwing back your arms in a content dizziness. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

You lie there listening to the group talk and laugh, the reedy music wheedling away in the background, and by the time the closet bursts open again it doesn’t feel like any time has passed at all – though perhaps that’s the alcohol talking.

“And that,” Ruth exclaims, falling back onto the couch beside you, “is how it’s done.”

“How’s Hartley?” you ask her, laying your head back on her lap.

“He’ll never be the same,” she says smoothly, inspecting her nails.

The group is still laughing when Hartley sits back down on the floor beside the table, his hair dishevelled and his expression rather shell-shocked.

“Have fun mate?” Rory smirks, clapping him on the shoulder.

Hartley nods blankly, and the laughter only grow.

“Alright then, who’s next?” Ruth says loudly, looking very pleased with herself.

The turn passes counter-clockwise, and April/Avril gets landed with one of the reluctant Ravenclaw boys before Edgar Peters spins Rory. Scott casts Tom next to her a very unsubtle hopeful look before she spins her wand, but when it lands on Lestrange she has the good sense not to look too disappointed.

“Alright Riddle,” Rory grins, his arm now around Edgar’s shoulders (who is blushing violently). “Your turn.”

There’s something strangely blank about Tom’s face as he leans forward and sets his wand on the table, and you let your head loll to the side to watch with interest as Tom’s long, pale fingers deftly spin his wand. You cast an eye around the circle and fail to hold in a laugh; nearly everyone is watching in utter rapture, mostly leaning forward expectantly. Your laugh is drowned out by the noise that erupts across the group when Tom’s wand comes to a gradual stop pointing directly at your face.

“Is that me or you?” you ask Ruth languidly, looking up at her from her lap.

“That’s you,” she smirks down at you, “I’ve had quite enough Slytherin for one night.”

“Alright then,” you sigh, sitting up and stretching before swinging your legs off the couch and sprightly standing.

Tom is looking up at you blankly, unmoved from the couch.

“Well come on then,” you say in amusement, waving your hands at him. “The clock doesn’t start until the door shuts, you know.”

Riddle blinks and then smoothly stands, and you totter around the couch and stroll towards the door to the closet, still buzzing from the Firewhiskey. Riddle follows you silently, not looking at you as you hold the door open for him.

“Have fun!” someone shouts from the couches to general giggles.

You roll your eyes and let the door fall shut. Darkness and utter silence immediately falls, and you realise at once that at least one of the previous players has cast a muffling charm on the door to stop any potential eavesdropping.

“Lumos Volant,” you murmur.

A little ball of warm yellow light springs from your wand and hovers happily above the two of you, casting the inside of the closet into view – it’s small and cramped, a table stacked with boxes of books and old parchments beside you and shelves crammed with all sorts of things on every wall, hedging you in. Tom is standing in the middle of the closet, his dark, even gaze on you. There’s something suddenly very funny to you about the fact that he’s still wearing his uniform, impeccable as always.

“I thought lights were not permitted,” he says quietly.

You lift yourself up onto the edge of the table, feet swinging slightly. “I thought we might talk for a moment,” you say casually, looking around the closet.

Tom hesitates. “Talk?” he asks slowly.

“You’ve not done this before, have you?” you ask him, meeting his gaze with a tilt to your head.

“I believe I made it quite clear that I’m unfamiliar with the rules of this –”

“Not the game,” you interrupt, shaking your head with a soft smile. “This.” You gesture between the two of you.

Silence returns. Tom looks at you with an impenetrable expression as you wait for his reply, your feet still swinging lightly.

“And why would you think that?” he eventually asks, very evenly.

You shrug. “Just my read on you, I suppose. Am I wrong?”

Tom just leans back against the shelves, his hands pushing back his robes and sliding into the pockets of his slacks. For the first time you take a moment to appreciate exactly how good-looking he is; the black waves of his hair, the high cheekbones, the elegant curve of his lips – and the naturally regal quality of his features only augmented by the calm composure he always seemed to radiate. It was easy to see why he’d been made prefect, why Slughorn always fawned over him, why everyone said that he’d be Minister for Magic one day.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you say conversationally.

Tom arches one of his dark brows. “What do you mean?” he asks in wry amusement.

“A stranger in a closet at a party?” you smile. “With a time limit, no less… Not exactly a very romantic setting.”

“I’m not a romantic,” Tom says lightly, looking away.

“No,” you say quietly. “You’re not, are you?”

Tom’s eyes flash to yours. For a moment you think you see something almost annoyed in his eyes, like your comment rubbed him the wrong way, and then the look is gone and his attention returns to the closet. “Your read on me appears to be quite extensive,” he says distinctly.

You laugh. “Does it bother you to be so transparent?”

His lips curve into a rather unsettling smirk. “Transparent,” he echoes, looking up at the ball of light floating above. “I must say, that’s a first…”

“You don’t like being laughed at, do you?” you say nonchalantly. “Specifically when you’re being excluded – oh! Is that why you spend so much time with those horrible blood supremacists even though you’re a half-blood?”

Tom’s eyes narrow on you and his smirk vanishes immediately. Something sharp has taken over his face, and you think that perhaps if you hadn’t drunk so much Firewhiskey, you’d find it scary.

“You tell those boys what to do, don’t you? They listen to you even when they don’t want to – Avery didn’t even want to play tonight but he followed you the second you came over. Are you in control all the time?” you ask curiously. “Is that why you dress all…” you wave a hand at his absolutely perfect uniform, shoes charmed to a shine, hair set into tidy waves, Slytherin tie dead straight and his prefect badge gleaming on his robes. “Well anyway, I suppose that would explain the grades, too.”

“Extensive indeed,” Tom breathes, tone very cool. “Is there more?”

“Yes,” you smile, holding the edge of the table lightly. “I don’t think you’re one to be coerced into doing something you don’t want to do.”

“Is that so?” Tom asks icily.

You nod. “Which means you want to be here.”

“I’m regretting it already.”

“You are not,” you scoff, “or you would have left.”

“I’m considering it,” he snaps.

“Come here.”

Tom’s expression falters, his brow furrowing. “What?”

You lift a hand and motion him closer with a casual wave. “Come here,” you repeat softly.

Tom huffs disapprovingly and looks away. “If I were really so transparent you would know not to give me orders,” he says coolly.

“Tom.”

His eyes find yours immediately, and you tilt your head again. “I’m not ordering you,” you say quietly, “I’m inviting you.”

Tom frowns slightly, something very calculating about the way he looks at you in the ensuing silence. After a long moment, Tom gently pushes off the wall and takes three slow steps towards you, stopping a respectful distance from where you’re sitting on edge of the table, his hands still in his pockets.

You smile, amused. “Closer.”

The blankness has returned to his face. You wonder if perhaps that’s how he looks when he doesn’t know how to look.

Tom takes the final step towards you, just barely brushing your knees, looking down at you with impenetrable eyes. You slowly reach forward and gently take his wrists, pulling his hands from his pockets and placing them lightly on your thighs. Tom doesn’t react, he only keeps his eyes on yours, his hands utterly still where you’ve placed them. You let your own remain on top of his as you look up at him, watching his face curiously as you gently guide his hands to push your knees apart.

He blinks, the barest flicker of his eyelids, a seemingly involuntary reaction – but that was what you’re looking for. Something beyond the composure. Something out of his control.

Slowly, you glide your hands up his forearms, keeping your eyes on his face and watching for his reaction. You can feel his warmth through his robes, his body beneath the impeccable layers of his uniform, your touch traveling up to his shoulders, down across his chest, and in a single, unbroken motion you lace your fingers around his tie and pull gently.

Tom’s eyes flicker again, but he lets you pull him down towards you, smooth and slow, and you feel anticipation thrumming in your chest as he gets closer, those dark eyes fixed on yours, his expression still blank and inscrutable. He’s less than an inch from your lips when you stop. Tom pauses at once, bent to you with his hands still resting on your thighs, your knees brushing against his hips. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath warm on your face.

“Are you quite sure I can’t order you around?” you ask softly, leaning up and very gently pressing your lips right next to his mouth. Tom exhales slightly, his eyes closing. You smile and then press your lips up against his neck, right in the most vulnerable point under his jaw. “I think you might like it,” you murmur against his skin.

Satisfaction curls in your stomach when you feel his fingers press ever-so-slightly harder into your thighs. “What would you have me do?” Tom asks quietly, and he’s almost entirely successful at concealing the slight thickness in his voice – but not quite.

“I’d have you move those hands of yours,” you say softly, your lips trailing back up his jaw. “I didn’t put them there to stay still.”

Tom exhales again, tense and measured, and then very slowly his hands slide up your thighs. His hands are warm and reserved, travelling to your hips as you press your lips against his pulse point and listen to his breathing, the deliberateness of it, the brittle tension in it. Tom is trying very hard to remain in control.

You pull away and Tom’s hands fall still on your waist. His eyes have gone hooded and dark, and a flutter of excitement swells in your stomach at the sight. “Keep going,” you say quietly, gently pulling on his tie again, bringing him down to your lips and holding him there, barely a breath away.

Tom hesitates only for a second before his hands start to move again, sliding up your waist, your ribcage, the side of your chest – you nearly smile at how obvious he’s being at avoiding touching your breasts – up your collarbones, your neck, coming to a halt on either side of your jaw.

For a moment he holds you there, and you hold him there too, your hand on his tie anchoring him in place mere milimetres from you. His gaze is level but you can see the hesitation behind his eyes, feel the reservation in his hands.

“Nox,” you whisper against his lips.

The light above you goes out.

In the darkness, the warmth is all-encompassing, the sound of his breath louder, the heady, rich scent of him more potent, and the feeling of his hands on your skin more overpowering, and you lean without hesitation, kissing him slow and smooth, and…

Your stomach twists. He’s kissing you back just the same, restrained at first, hesitant like you were expecting, but when your arms slide up around his neck to pull him closer, drawing him into you, some of Tom’s restraint starts to falter. His hands against your face hold you more firmly, his breathing getting sharper, and his head tilts to the side to kiss you deeper. When you lock your ankles together behind him, the inside of your thighs pressing against his hips he breaks the kiss and you look up blindly into the dark.

“What?” you ask softly.

“I… you were right,” he says, still breathing slightly harder than normal. “I haven’t… done this before.”

“Do you want to?”

There’s a ringing silence. You frown in the dark. “You don’t have to, Tom.”

“You’ve already noted that I’m not one to be coerced into doing something that I don’t want to do,” Tom says smoothly, leaning back down to your lips.

“Right on that count too, was I?” you smile, kissing him again before he has a chance to reply.

Tom inhales and his hands pull your face closer to him, his mouth moving more insistently, and as you twist your fingers through the soft waves of his hair, you experimentally brush your tongue against his top lip. He immediately pulls away again and you laugh softly.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, “too much?”

He hesitates. “I wasn’t expecting it,” he says evenly. Some of the restraint has returned.

“Shall I do it again? Now that you’re expecting it?” you ask with no small amount of amusement.

By way of reply Tom slowly leans in again and kisses you deeply, and then – exactly as you had done – his tongue traces your top lip, like he’s mimicking you. He is mimicking you, you realise as you kiss him back enthusiastically, he’s copying what you’re doing because he doesn’t know what else to do.

If you’re leading by example, then there’s only one thing for it.

You slide your hands from around his neck down his body, pressing your hands flat against his chest and sighing against his lips – he feels good. Down your hands fall, curving under his jumper, gently tugging his shirt from his trousers, and Tom is kissing you harder and harder, stepping in closer, a hand falling from your face and slipping around your waist to pull you closer to him.

Your fingers brush his warm stomach and Tom breaks the kiss again, his head falling onto your shoulder as you touch him, your hands travelling around his hips and up his back. His skin is soft and smooth, his body lean and warm, and you’re breathing hard yourself when Tom lifts his head again.

“Can I…” he says slowly.

“Can you what?” you breathe.

Tom slowly kisses you, full and open, his lips lingering when he pulls away. When he speaks, he’s so close that you can feel his lips forming the words against yours. “Can I touch you?” he murmurs.

You laugh softly again. “If you weren’t so opposed to being ordered around, I would have already told you to.”

Tom’s arm around your waist tightens and pulls you into another kiss, and this time when his tongue brushes your lips you reach up and take his other hand from where he’s still cupping your face, gently guiding it down your neck, down the swell of your chest – Tom’s breathing takes on that same brittle quality – down your hip, your thigh, coming to a stop where the hem on your dress rests just above your knees.

Your lips draw from his and there’s a ringing silence. Too quiet. You realise that you’re both holding your breath.

“Is this what you meant?” you ask softly.

Tom swallows, and he nods.

You kiss him again, sliding his hand up your thigh and under your dress. When you bring his hand up to the hollow where your thigh meets your hip, Tom exhales again, breaking the kiss as his head tilts down. “I… I’ve never…” he says slowly, swallowing again. “I don’t know what to do,” he finishes quietly, and you can hear the conflict in his voice, his pride battling with his desire.

“Would you like me to show you?” you murmur.

He takes a breath and nods again.

You guide his hand inwards, the touch of his fingers against the outside of your underwear making heat spread across your skin. Slowly, you push Tom’s hand into place and carefully press to curve his fingers. When he feels how wet you are Tom breathes out very shakily and then – to your surprise – his lips are against yours, kissing you as you move his fingers with your own, showing him what to do.

He’s a fast learner. Tom’s fingers slide gently against you, mimicking what you show him and kissing you the whole time – it’s too much very quickly, and you can’t keep yourself from moaning as searing pleasure burns at his touch, smothered by his kiss. Soon you draw your hand away, confident that he knows how to continue, and place your palm against his cheek to draw him closer into the kiss. Tom’s grip around you tightens, his tongue meeting yours, the pressure and speed of his fingers just barely increasing and making you gasp into his mouth.

“Like that?” he asks softly.

“Like that,” you breathe, your eyes squeezing shut as tension coils in your core. “Don’t… don’t stop…”

Tom’s mouth presses hot against your jaw and your head falls back automatically, his lips moving – just like yours had – right on the vulnerable part under your jawbone.

You feel the pleasure hike, growing and growing, and then with your palm still flat on Tom’s cheek and your other curled into a fist around his tie, it hits you hard, gasping as the dark closet seeming to spin with lights for a moment before you slowly come down.

Tom slowly draws his hand from you, and over your own panting you can hear him take a long, tense breath that sounds suspiciously shaky.

“Now,” you say a little breathlessly, “it’s your turn.”

Tom is silent as you slide your palm down his neck, his chest, keeping one hand fixed around his tie as the other brushes his hip, slips under his shirt again and traces the top of his trousers.

With a small, sharp tug on his tie, Tom’s mouth is nearly against yours again and you hear his breath stutter. “Do you want me to touch you?” you whisper against his lips.

He swallows. Nods.

Your fingers curl around the button of his trousers, pull it open, and then slowly undo the zip. Tom reaches up and takes your face in his hands, taking another shaky breath as his forehead presses against yours, and you can almost imagine his eyes closing, the tension on his face, the wanting.

Slowly, knowing that you’re teasing him, you slide your hand against his skin just beneath the line of his trousers, feeling the flat warmth of his stomach, the sharp angle of his hip bone – Tom’s hands hold your face tighter and he’s trying to control his breathing as you push your hand lower, lower –

There’s a rap on the door that makes you both jump and you pull your hand from him quickly.

“Time’s up!” someone yells from outside, muffling charm broken. “That’s seven minutes!”

You suppress a laugh as you reach for your wand on the table next to you. Just when things were getting good… “Lumos Volant,” you say again softly.

From your wand the same ball of light erupts, and you freeze.

Tom is still standing in front of you, but he looks nothing like when you saw him last. The refined, impeccable, composed Tom Riddle has been replaced by a figure unlike any you’ve seen – Tom’s dark hair is tousled and curled, his eyes black with hunger, his lips slick and pink and his cheeks flushed. His tie hangs loose from his crumpled collar, his shirt untucked and his trousers still unbuttoned.

Worst of all is the way he’s looking at you.

Tom’s dark, ravenous eyes sweep over you in what must be the same way you’ve been looking at him, lingering on the sleeve of your dress fallen from your shoulder, the hem pushed up all the way to reveal your thighs where his elegant, pale hands are resting. Whatever he finds on your face catches his attention because his jaw tightens and he looks on the brink of leaning in again.

“We… should…” you say slowly, unable to look away from him.

He nods silently.

Neither of you move.

You clear your throat and force your gaze off his face, straightening your dress pointedly and standing. Tom’s uniform slides back into its usual perfection with a single wave of his hand, but as he moves to step past you, your palm flashes up and catches his chest. Tom looks down at you at once and your heart skips a beat at the heat in his eyes.

“Your… your hair,” you say sheepishly, nodding at it. “You might want to…” You reach up before he can and push your fingers through it, smoothing it out and returning it to its regular impeccable state.

Tom’s eyes don’t leave yours as you touch him, and your cheeks grow warm, pointedly not lowering your gaze to his as you work.

“There,” you say quietly, smiling at him as your hands drop.

He doesn’t step away. He just looks down at you.

Your face gets warmer still. “Listen,” you say softly, “do you… want to keep this between us?”

The barest hint of a frown appears on Tom’s face. “Why would I want that?” he asks evenly.

“I just thought you might,” you shrug.

His lips flicker into what might be called a smile. “Just your read on me?” he asks with the faintest brush of dry humour.

“So?” you smile, rolling your eyes slightly. “Would you like that?”

Tom’s expression falls sober. After a second he steps in a little closer and you can’t ignore the way your pulse spikes when he lifts his fingers and pushes your hair back behind your ear, so soft that you shiver. “Yes,” he says very quietly, “I would like that.”

You nod and quickly turn away before you can get distracted again, pulling the door open and humming absently as you step out. You know without needing to check that Tom is following you with that blank composure returned to his face.

“Oi oi,” Ruth calls, winking at you. “You sure took your time – longest seven minutes I’ve ever seen!”

“We just talked, Ruth,” you say with a wry grin, leaning against the back of the couch. “Tom is an excellent conversationalist.”

“Conversationalist?” she repeats, smirking. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“We should be going,” you say dryly, giving her a look. “It’s nearly three in the morning and we’ve got Apparating class tomorrow.”

“Merlin’s beard, if I don’t splinch myself it’ll be a bloody miracle,” Ruth mutters, standing. “Alright you lot, try not to do anything too irresponsible once we’re gone!”

You catch Tom’s eye as he sits back down on the couch, but both of you look away again.

“Good night lovely people!” Ruth calls gaudily, throwing an arm around your shoulders and leading you across the Slytherin common room towards the steps, “Oh – and Hartley.”

The circle snickers, and you chance one last glance over your shoulder at Tom – but he’s not looking at you. His eyes are fixed on the little table in between the black leather couches, on his wand resting there, still pointing at where you’d been sitting.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

PART II HERE! 💖

To request sequels/being tagged in follow-ups, leave a reply in the notes! 💖

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strawwritesfic · 2 years

Text

Thor Odinson x Pregnant!Female!Midgardian!Reader: Where Gods Do Fear to Tread [Ch. 5]

Summary: You never imagined that shadow of death would be quite so dark.

Challenge: “9 Months” challenge by crackleviolet on Lunaescence Archive -- Bonus Three -- Rape Pregnancy

Rating/Warnings/Tags: M (rape (not written out in detail, but the first chapter goes up to the event and the rest of the chapters deal with the fallout); assault and battery; abusive relationship; stalking; pregnancy resulting from rape; victim blaming insinuations from various characters; discussion of abortion; references to depression; references to rape kits; references to law procedures; references to restraining orders, some foul language; not Infinity War compliant; not Thor Ragnarok compliant; set post-Ant-Man and the Wasp; Hope & Reader friendship; the Pyms as Reader’s second family)

IMPORTANT NOTE: Thor is not the character involved in any of the awful things warned about above. Additionally, if there is anything you’d like me to add to the tag list, please let me know!

Pairings: Thor/Female!Reader; Scott/Hope; Hank/Janet; past!Male!OC/Reader

Master List

Chapter 5: Starting to Show

Two weeks into your second trimester, a miracle occurred. Endless days spent too tired to do more than nap on the couch came to a sudden an end one sparkling April morning. It was not the sort of miracle that you prayed for, nor did your exhaustion dissipate entirely, but you weren’t about to let the rare opportunity for activity to get away from you. You hustled out to the front yard to do some gardening before this bout of energy could vanish once again.

This year’s garden doubtless would not be good as the one you typically put so much time and care into. Your gynecologist had warned you at your last appointment that a woman’s second trimester was often their favorite for a reason—but you tried not to think very hard about that, or about the looming decision of what to do with the baby while you worked on preparing for planting as the sun made its slow way up the sky.

“[Name].”

A hand on your shoulder brought you out of your trance. With your fingers still half-buried in the cold, moist earth just recently exposed to warm spring air, you turned your head to look at Thor.

His presence did not surprise you; he had insisted on coming out to enjoy the weather as well. Words could not express the relief you felt upon his offer, so you had not expressed it. He was too kind to outright say why he wanted to sit against the single tree and watch you. According to him, seeing the love of his life doing work she loved brought him great joy, but you knew he knew more about your anxiety than he let on.

“Is there something wrong?” you asked.

Thor shook his head. “Not at all. I just thought I’d let you know that I am going to go inside.”

“You’re leaving?”

“For as short a time as can be allowed. It is nearly lunch. I thought perhaps you might be hungry.”

“Starving!”

Your eagerness made him laugh. He bent to press a quick kiss to the top of your sweaty, dirt-dotted forehead, then he straightened and headed for the door.

“I will return promptly with sustenance. If you have need of me, I am but a shout away,” he said as he reached the porch.

“Okay! I miss you already.”

“And I you.” Thor blew you a second kiss. Shortly after that, he ducked inside.

Your heart fluttered at the sound of the door snapping shut behind him. You knelt alone in the grass with nothing but the chirping birds and distant traffic for company. Anyone might see you exposed like that, and the kitchen window faced the side yard. All Thor would be able to see were the fragile sprouts of the root vegetables growing there. Originally, it had seemed like a good idea for you to hold off planting the tomatoes and squashes in the vegetable garden until later in the afternoon so as to take advantage of the shade your patio offered. Now you wondered if you ought to start on those early. Doing so would keep you in Thor’s line of sight at least…

No. Wrapping your hand more securely around the handle of your trowel, you dived back into the dirt. You had been relying far too much on him lately—especially once your baby bump grew large enough for people to see. He went out of his way to look after you. This included not only learning how to cook so you would have something to eat on your worst days of depression, but also taking a temporary leave of absence from the Avengers. If you didn’t rein it in soon, he was bound to get sick of your clingy behavior.

The rate at which you worked soon left you with nothing to do but plant. Planting required seeds. This was the difficult part; you had to keep your thoughts very carefully balanced as you picked up one of the packets at your side. Thor didn’t need to come back with twelve grilled cheese sandwiches to find you bawling in the yard because—

You tore the envelope open with your teeth, then spilled the seeds into your free palm. They were long and multicolored: white in the middle, with black on one end and a bristle of orange at the other. Along with the snapdragons waiting patiently for their introduction to the soil, you hoped that the marigolds’ bursts of color would bring some cheer in the dreaded days to come. Neither would unless you finished your job. Busying yourself with pressing the seeds into the dirt, you allowed yourself to get lost in the hobby you so loved long enough to lose track of the passing time.

“And here I thought you couldn’t get more beautiful.”

This time, the voice that issued from behind you was not expected. No, it wasn’t Thor—but the voice was familiar all the same. A chill washed over you at the thought, then froze you to the spot when you heard the front gate creak open a minute or so later.

He wasn’t there. He couldn’t be there. You hadn’t heard a peep from Kevin in months. No letters appeared in your mailbox; no calls rang out in the middle of the night. Occasionally he or his car would appear to you in crowded streets, but those were only visual hallucinations brought on by trauma. Thor never saw Kevin, and he had been on high alert for any sign of the man he so desired to introduce to Mjolnir.

For some time, you did your best to continue with your task. These marigolds weren’t going to plant themselves. The prickle on the back of your neck would not dissipate, however, no matter how hard you concentrated on the proper spacing for your seeds. You could not keep yourself from getting to your feet so you could give the yard a thorough check. Hopefully that would prove you were hearing things, and then you could carry on until Thor returned.

No such luck. Kevin stood there, bold as brass, underneath the tree. He smiled as you met his eyes.

“Pregnancy really suits you,” he said.

What possible response could anyone expect to that statement? You didn’t have the wherewithal to come up with anything remotely witty either. None of your hallucinatory Kevins had stuck around this long before. They disappeared almost as soon as you spotted them. Not this Kevin. In fact, he seemed to grow larger and more solid as you stared at him. The world darkened and waved around the ages; you felt gravity sucking your head down, down, down—

“Hey,” he said gently, much louder this time.

The good news was that Kevin had not come into possession of Scott’s adapted Ant-Man suit. The bad news was that he had changed in size because he had walked right up to you. Only his swift action had prevented you from fainting and hitting your head on one of the gardening tools surrounding you. You could not find it in yourself to be grateful for his rescue, though, because that meant he had his hands on your body.

“You okay?” he asked.

Your breath hitched in your lungs, preventing you from calling for help. You settled for shoving him as hard as you could away from you. Somehow this surprised him; Kevin went off balance and fell backward onto the lawn. Unfortunately, doing this also put an end to any of your delusions of him being a figment of your imagination. His body was just as hard and real—if not more so—as it had been the last time you had seen him.

It wouldn’t take him long to recover. You snatched up the cultivator rake at your feet and brandished it at his face. His eyes narrows on its wicked points. Slowly, Kevin lifted his hands in front of him…

…then snickered as he made to sit up more properly on the ground.

“What do you think you’re gonna do with that?” he wanted to know.

“I plan to convince you to get away from me,” you snarled.

“By gouging my eyes out?”

“I mean it, Kev.”

“Why?” He blinked up at you. “I was only trying to keep you from getting hurt.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”

“Seriously, [Name]. What if you had fallen on that thing? That’s the sort of accident your boyfriend should be here to prevent, don’t you think?”

He said this with such a blithe expression that you knew. His appearance in your yard was not some chance encounter. Kevin had been watching at least all morning for the opportunity to talk to you alone.

“Get out of my yard! Now!” you said.

Kevin shook his head. “This all sounds a little familiar, doesn’t it? Haven’t we had this conversation before? You couldn’t get me to leave then, and you can’t get me to leave now. Not until I want to.”

“You wouldn’t dare. We’re in full view of the street.”

“Right. Which means you wouldn’t dare assault me with a sharp object here either.”

Why did he have to be right so often? Still, you didn’t put down your makeshift weapon. It seemed to be keeping Kevin at a fair distance, if nothing else. You didn’t quit scowling either. On the off chance one of your neighbors spotted this conversation, at least they would know you weren’t enjoying it.

“Relax, [Name],” he said coaxingly. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Like I believe that.”

“When have I ever hurt you?” he asked innocently.

Rage pumped into your system. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the last time you came to see me?”

“That’s not what I remember happening.”

His words twisted your gut. Just how much of this meeting had he planned ahead? Using your own words against you made it seem like he had wanted to talk to you for a very long time. Now you wondered if all those times you’d seen him before had been hallucinations after all. Saying any of this in front of Thor, Hope, or Hank would be a much stupider decision than you could give Kevin credit for. Your voice was hushed as you said:

“Why did you come here, Kevin?”

“Can’t a guy visit his ex-girlfriend unannounced without being accused of having ulterior motives? I thought you wanted to stay friends.”

Kevin had no clue just how close you were to shearing his smug mouth right off his face. He couldn’t know that, because otherwise he would have stopped talking. Keeping yourself from acting on the impulse took a tremendous amount of effort—effort you might have otherwise spent on screaming at him, if you’d had any to spare.

“Say what you came here to say and go,” you snapped. “This time I will call the police. Don’t test me.”

“I didn’t come here to say anything. I only wanted to see if it was true.”

“To see if what was true?”

He reached for you, as though wanting to take your hand and pull you down next to him. You instead took a step backward. Shrugging, he allowed his hand to drop.

“I heard you were pregnant,” he answered.

Nausea swelled like a toxic bubble in your stomach. How had Kevin heard? Not many people knew about your baby—only Thor, Hank, Janet, Hope, and Scott that you’d spoken to personally. Even the last you trusted not to spread the news around casually. Hope would kill him in the most painful way she could dream up. The Avengers had some idea, of course, but they had no reason to tell anyone else. Your parents, hidden away on some secret mission, remained out of the loop. All this meant that no one you informed would ever have let Kevin in on the secret.

“Are you following me?” you demanded.

Kevin scoffed. “I’ve got better things to do than keep tabs on my exes, [Name].”

“Then how—”

“Your ‘bestie’? Yeah, she’s not the only one with connections at your new company. I’ve got power now, [Name]. I’ve got friends. Did you really think wearing a bunch of baggy sweaters around the office was going to fool anyone?”

“Who told you, then?”

“I don’t think I want to tell you that,” he said slowly, standing as he did.

You hefted your rake to chest level. “Maybe that’s because they don’t exist.”

“No, they exist, but your eyes are actually spinning around in your head right now. If I give you their name, you might go out and murder them for all I know.”

Well, Kevin wasn’t too far off the mark with that observation. Your mind raced through a list of your coworkers, trying in vain to figure out which of them had betrayed you. Not a single one of them was someone you confided in, so either your boss had violated your confidence after you spoke with her, or it had to be a person with plenty of opportunities to observe you as you went through the various symptoms of your first trimester.

But all this speculation really only served to keep you away from a much more important, obvious question:

“What do you care if I’m pregnant?”

“Because the baby’s mine, obviously.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Oh, come on, [Name],” he said in that aggravating falsely patient voice he used to use to win every argument. “Who else’s could it be? You and I discussed your boyfriend’s schedule, remember? He’s out of town too often to meet your needs.”

“Whatever you think, this baby has nothing to do with you.”

“I don’t see why not.”

Kevin never had been great at understanding the concept of personal boundaries. Even when you’d just been friends as children—even when the two of you spent half your time together with Hope in the mix—he didn’t much care whether someone wanted to be touched or not. During your time dating, that had meant a lot of hand holding on hot, sweaty afternoons after trying to express to him just how badly you needed some space. Now such behavior came across as a lot more threatening. He surged forward without giving you a chance to react and placed his hands directly on the swell of your stomach.

“Hng,” was all you managed to say, too torn between fear and fury to physically react.

The smile he shot you indicated he either didn’t notice your discomfort or he didn’t care. “You know, I’ve always wanted to be a father.”

Something very strange happened next: Kevin seemed to lift into the air of his own accord. His expression as his head came level with yours twisted with a shock that mirrored your own. A second later, he flew backward across the yard to land in a heap right beside the open gate.

“It is a pity, then, that you are so unworthy of the title,” Thor said as he materialized next to you.

Kevin quickly climbed to his feet while your boyfriend gave you a swift once over, as though to make sure no obvious harm had been done before making his edict. You weren’t anything more than rattled. Rattled seemed to be enough for Thor to come to a decision.

“You may leave now,” he said. “Do so, and I shall allow you to leave unscathed. If you choose not to, that would be unwise. I assure you that I will do much worse than call the appropriate authorities.”

“Is that a threat?” Kevin asked, smoothing his rumpled hair.

“It is a promise. Come, [Name]. Lunch is on the table.”

His attempt to steer you to the porch without body contact didn’t get either of you very far. You had only managed to loose your death grip on the rake handle when Kevin decided to make that unwise decision he’d been warned against:

“That baby,” he said, “is mine.”

Thor didn’t bother to turn toward him. “You are not the child’s father.”

“Oh, yeah? You get a paternity test?”

“There is no need.”

Footsteps issued from somewhere behind you: Kevin running up to Thor’s elbow. This got your boyfriend to stop, and you had to give Kevin credit for not cowering at the stony look upon Thor’s face. All he did instead was lift his hands up to his shoulders.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help you out, man. How are you supposed to raise a baby? The way [Name] told me, you’re gone almost all the time. Busy, you know. Up in New York. With Black Widow.”

A gentle crackle in the air told you that Kevin’s insinuations weren’t winning him any favors. Thor stood very, very still at your side, a sure sign that only his knowledge that summoning his hammer would break your house was stopping him from doing so.

“[Name], tell him,” Kevin said.

“What?” you gasped, disoriented by being drawn suddenly into the conversation once more.

“You didn’t tell him what really happened that night, did you? Go on. Tell him. He deserves to know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Tell him!”

Thor put an enormous arm between you and Kevin when the latter lurched at you. “I will not prevent [Name] from speaking to you if it is what she desires, but if you continue attempting to touch her, I will remove you from these premises myself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal!” Kevin insisted, but he inched toward you despite the obstacle. “[Name], don’t you think you ought to tell the truth?”

What truth? Everything that happened the night you’d seen Kevin, every little gory detail, had been described to Thor. You could not for the life of you grasp just what Kevin wanted now.

If you could not answer him, Thor would throw him bodily from the yard, and you were nearly desperate enough to let him. Unfortunately, Thor would not always be able to be so close by. Maybe Kevin would be—which meant that by the time the Avengers faced their next world ending crisis, you needed to be able to get rid of him on your own.

“I did tell him the truth, Kev. Every bit of it,” you said flatly.

Kevin looked at Thor. “Did she?”

“She told me you assaulted her, yes,” Thor growled.

Kevin’s blue eyes went wide. They darted from your face to Thor’s, and for the moment it seemed as though Kevin understood his position there clearly. One hand lifted to his thin lips. You didn’t exactly expect an apology from him by that point, but you also didn’t expect what did come out of his lips next:

“That’s what you came up with?” he asked incredulously, and doubled over with laughter.

You and Thor exchanged confused looks. His lasted only a moment before he returned to glowering darkly at the man in front of him.

“You believe any portion of this situation to be funny?” Thor demanded.

Kevin sobered just a little as the distant sound of thunder rolled across a sky dotted with fluffy clouds—but only just a little. He continued to smile. “Yeah. I do. Because I thought your people were supposed to be smarter than this.”

“Smarter than what?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Don’t they have women where you come from?”

“Either you will put an end to your riddles or you will be gone.”

“Fine! Fine!” The cold wind whipping through the yard must have got to him. Kevin plunged plunged his hand into his front pockets as he looked you right in the eyes. “When you were away, [Name] called me up and asked to come screw her. For old time’s sake.”

“What?” you gasped, horrified, but Thor did not permit you any time to worry he might believe your ex-boyfriend’s words. The clouds above your heads congealed into a dark morass through which forks of lightning flashed so often the thunder became nearly continuous.

Still Kevin did not put two and two together. “So she didn’t tell you that part, I’m guessing.”

“I came home,” Thor said in a low, guttural voice that grew in volume as he went on, “to find her beaten and bruised in the hospital!”

“Yeah? Wow, your sex must be real vanilla. [Name] likes it rough, or hasn’t she ever told you that? Oh, right. If you tried to give her what she wanted, you’d probably accidentally kill her.”

“Liar!” you shrieked.

Kevin took one step backward when you launched yourself at him, but he need not have bothered. Thor quickly caught you around the middle. His weight was an effective enough anchor that he required no strength to keep you from moving forward. You swiped your arms, hands clawed, in Kevin’s direction. No matter what direction you struggled, you could not reach him.

“[Name], be careful,” Thor said, though the coming storm still swirled around you.

“[Name], listen to your boyfriend,” Kevin chided you. “You keep that up, and you might hurt the baby.”

“As though you care about my baby!” you said.

“Not just your baby. Our baby. It’s half mine.”

Lightning slammed into the asphalt on the street just outside your yard as Thor’s grip on you tightened. “Whether or not you have some biological claim on the infant has no bearing on anything further you might have to do with it,” he said.

“Really. Is that so?” Kevin asked you.

Your energy had not returned in such great amounts you could fight against Thor’s arms for long. Luckily, spitting at Kevin’s feet didn’t take much energy at all. That ought to have been answer enough. Apparently not, because Kevin next did something very dangerous: He strode right up to you and placed his clammy hand against your cheek.

“This is a sign, [Name]. You’re supposed to be with me, not with this asshole. That baby is ours to raise togeth—”

Thor wrenched Kevin into the air by the front of his shirt, and this time he did not carefully toss him away. The former’s eyes had gone completely white with electricity; the wind howled, thrashing the new leaves on your tree; lightning crackled from Thor’s free palm.

“Be careful in how you choose your next words,” Thor said. “They may well be the last you ever speak.”

Kevin squirmed. “G-Go ahead, Big Man! I’ll have you arrested for assault if you try anything. What do you think about—oof!”

Hitting the ground hard brought Kevin no relief. Following his short declaration of pain came the distinct sound of shattering glass and a familiar whistling. Thor had summoned Mjolnir at last. An earth-rending blast of thunder issued from the hammer as it found its place in his hand.

“I would like to see you try. I doubt even the backwards courts of this Midgardian nation would find fault in my ridding its streets of scum like you. Leave this place! Now!” he barked suddenly.

No longer could Kevin play at courage. Rain as hard as bullets fell upon your trio, and this thunderstorm showed no signs of letting up. Thor also looked every bit the thunder god those fanzines always squealed about now that he held Mjolnir—or at least he did until your staggering ex-boyfriend slammed the gate behind him. After that, all the weather and all the electricity vanished at once. A calm spring day surrounded your home once more.

“Be warned,” Thor said, “should there be a next time, I will not be so merciful.”

Trembling, soaked through from head to toe, Kevin no longer cut the intimidating figure he had at the start of that afternoon’s altercation. You allowed Thor to turn you gently toward the house, take your hand, and begin once more to lead you toward the porch. So confident were you that Kevin could have nothing more to say that you didn’t bother looking back at him as you made your slow, sodden trek to the front steps—not until he called after you:

“This isn’t over!”

Lightning surged again into Mjolnir. Kevin stumbled backward with a yelp, but he was not to be deterred now that a barrier—even as flimsy a barrier as your picket fence—stood between himself and Thor. Moving away, he continued to talk:

“That baby is mine. Mine. I’m going to see it after it’s born, and I’m going to see you. You want to go to court? I’ll take you to court.”

“You really think—” you began hotly, but Kevin cut you off in a voice dripping with venom:

“There’s precedent. You’re going to regret today. Both of you are.”

Thor stepped forward, but Kevin was already sprinting up the street to wherever he had presumably hidden his car while he watched your yard. To pursue him, Thor would have had to leave you alone and unguarded, or waste precious time waiting for Hope or Scott to arrive to look after you. He chose not to do either. Instead, you both went wordlessly back into the house.

Unfortunately, you could no longer find it in yourself to eat. You knew the effort Thor had put into cooking your meal; you knew you ought to eat for your own good and the baby’s. No knowledge could overcome the anxiety coursing through your veins. The haunted look in Thor’s eyes—and his own refusal to pick up his plate—led you to believe that his thoughts were of the same nauseating nature as your own.

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dirt-cup-draco · 3 years

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Cedric Diggory x Reader- Due Time

Hello! Is it okay if I request something with Cedric with a Hufflepuff!Reader (or any house of your choice ) where cedric really likes the reader and leaves notes/love letters for her anonymously and reader is just really skeptical about it and weeks after that he wants to meet up and just fluff? Idk work your magic, do what's more necessary, I love you!

“That’s the third one in two weeks, isn’t it?” Hannah giggled, leaning over your shoulder as Susan peaked at the letter for just a moment before returning to her laid-back position in the arm chair she had claimed was hers on this rainy Sunday afternoon.

“Mhmm,” You confirmed, eyebrows drawn to the center of your forehead as you wondered who could possibly be sending these over-the-top declarations of adoration. It wasn’t so much the contents that were over-the-top, but the fact that the letters hadn’t stopped coming since October and you were edging your way into April. The writing was unfamiliar to you even though you’d been sneaking glances at as many people’s essays and notes- anything that would give you a hint, really- as you could.

The first letter had come to you on one of the worst days of your life. You felt at the time that it had been a friend anonymously sending you something just to cheer you up. The contents had been kind, generous even, but friendly and you hadn’t seen it is a love letter.

Y/N, it had read, the sun has gone missing with the summer months but I don’t miss it much when I see you smile. Take care.

It had been more of a note than a letter but it had still been folded neatly and left in an envelope. Somehow it had found it’s way into your bag and it was part of the reason you had assumed that either Hannah or Susan had left it. Even Hermione had been a thought. You were older than the Gryffindor but you two often studied together and she always seemed to know how to cheer you up when you entered the library looking more like a dark cloud than a person.

However, you had inquired with every friend, hoping you could find them and thank them somehow, but everyone had denied it- even going as far as to show you their handwriting when you felt at a loss for finding your anonymous bit of belief. After that, the note had morphed into letters and the words read more like a love-sick poet than a friend offering support on your hardest days.

“Why’ve you always got to frown Y/N?” Hannah pouted, bottom lip wobbling. “It’s just so lovely and you look like someone has sent you a ransom letter instead. They haven’t got anyone hostage, they just think you’re cute,”

“No, they think she’s ‘brighter than a summer sun and more beautiful than spring’s first bloomed rose’” Susan giggled from her seat, shooting you a wink as the apple of your cheeks grew warm.

“I’m not frowning,” You scowled at Hannah, disproving your point immediately, “I would just like to meet them. Their letters are very kind but it’s been months now and I’ve begun to wonder if they will actually ever speak to me,”

Hannah couldn’t seem to argue with this so you folded up the most current letter and shoved it into your bag as the bell tolled and reminded you that you needed to run halfway across the castle to make it to your next class. With a goodbye thrown over your shoulder, you vanished out of the room.

Cedric hadn’t been eavesdropping, he’d just been conveniently in the common room with you as you opened the letter that he had enchanted to float into your bag as you focused on McGonagall in transfiguration. He made the letter float laps around the classroom, out of the professors sharp and watchful eye, to make sure that no one could say where the letter originated from if Y/N inquired about it.

He couldn’t help but smile as he watched your cheeks go rosy with Susan’s painfully accurate quote from his letter and he felt a bit embarrassed himself but he couldn’t regret it. He meant every word and you ought to be told as often as possible how truly radiant and wonderful you were.

What made him pause, as you left the common room, was that you wanted to meet the author of these letters. You were right of course, he knew he could only send so many letters until you began to grow bored or even annoyed with the lengthy display of literary affection. Words of affirmation was how Cedric Diggory showed love and nothing could stop him from showing he cared for you.

You knew each other, quite well actually, and so he wasn’t a complete coward he told himself. You two had conversations when the fancy struck and when he could get his tongue untied. Sometimes you’d find him half asleep in the common room and you’d shake him awake requesting he go to his bedroom for the night out of care but he would linger and ask about your day and the two of you would chat until far later than either of you had intended.

Other times he would find you, head bent over a textbook as you sat beneath your favorite tree near the edge of the black lake. He teased one of these days the squid would come and grab your textbook from you but you’d just roll your eyes at him and pat the grass beside you, knowing he had a free period when you did.

It was in the interactions he had grown to love every bit of you and he only wanted to learn more every time he got to be in your presence.

Cedric swallowed the lump in his throat as he heard Hannah and Susan giggle, wondering who this mystery admirer could be. “He ought to hurry up and speak to her already, Y/N seems half ready to strangle whoever has been sending her those letters,”

He knew that wasn’t true, Y/N wouldn’t hurt a fly. Yet, they were correct in that he needed to borrow a bit of gryffindor courage and come clean. A sudden thought struck fear deep into his stomach. What if someone else saw Y/N in the same golden light? Would they tell her that they had been the ones to write the words that came from his heart and his heart alone? That had decided it for him. He would tell Y/N that night.

“Y/N?” you heard from your left, head buried in your arms as you rested on top of one of the tables in your common room. You hadn’t been asleep or studying, just thinking. Thinking of papers due, love letters, and the weather. Thinking of the rotation of the earth and how you weren’t really sure what made an animagus and what made a werewolf even though you were certain it was simple and you should have learned it long ago. Thinking of everything and nothing.

“Oh, yes, sorry Ced,” You mumbled, bleary eyes focusing on the boy who had taken a seat beside you. You let yourself take a moment to fall into the depth of his eyes. He had such caring eyes. Yes, the popular hufflepuff was quite the looker but he was far more than that and you had had the pleasure of speaking with him some during the school year. You considered him a friend and you hoped he did too, seeing as he had been the one to approach you.

“Everything okay?” You asked, stifling a yawn and looking around you to see that your fellow housemates had left the common room while you had been lost in all of your thoughts and non-thoughts.

“Yeah!” He replied a bit too cheery, voice pitching towards the end. Cedric winced and your eyebrows crinkled in that familiar way that made him want to smooth the lines away and ask what was worrying you. His stomach flipped comfortably and he let out an easier breath.

“Yeah,” He tried again, more relaxed. “Just wanted to talk to you ‘bout something, actually,”

“Oh?” You perked up, sleep falling from your eyes as you became more alert. Worry settled in your gut. Was Cedric certain everything was okay? You couldn’t bear thinking anything was wrong but you were honored that if something was wrong he wanted to come speak with you.

“Yes, I have something for you,” The boy tried to keep his tone even but he couldn’t but feel some excitement swirl in his gut. He knew it was the right thing to tell you now and this seemed a good way to do it. Tugging a crisp envelope from his pocket he handed it to you and watched confusion paint over your worried expression.

“Open it,” He encouraged.

“But it looks like-” You caught yourself, staring down at the familiar envelope. Surely Cedric couldn’t be the one sending you such attentive letters? You didn’t interact as often as once a day even if you would like to. You told yourself you were being silly and hopeful, your friend just had something to show you and you were letting the letters get in the way of that.

To cover up your hesitation you opened the envelope eagerly, unfolding the paper to find a familiar scrawl. Your heart flipped and your stomach flew.

Hogsmeade this weekend?

The option to check a box labelled yes sat beside another identical box labelled no and you stared with wide and startled eyes at Cedric.

“You mean you were the one?” You croaked, eyes growing glossy. Putting a face to the letters made them mean exponentially more. Such kind eyes, such a kind heart.

“Y-yeah,” Cedric breathed out, hand skating nervously against the back of his neck. “Just wanted to cheer you up one day when you looked down but then we started talking more and I just needed you to know how brilliant you are otherwise I’d explode but I was too nervous to tell you and well... I just kept writing and didn’t stop.”

“Oh Ced,” You gasped, realization dawning on you. “You heard me in the common room earlier? I never meant to pressure you-”

“No, no, Y/N,” He chuckled, his hand reaching for your arm before bashfulness overtook him and he pulled away. “It was time I said something, but....”

He trailed off meaningfully, eyes downcast and you followed his gaze to the unchecked boxes.

“Oh!” you giggled, that familiar red crawling up your neck to the tips of your ears. Grabbing your quill you checked a box, drying the ink with a spell before folding the parchment and putting it back inside the envelope. Standing, you handed Cedric the letter and brushed a daring kiss to his cheek before you ran upstairs leaving him absolutely giddy and more than confused.

After shaking himself from his reverie, he tore at the envelope and noticed a neat X trapped within the confines of the box titled Yes.

Cedric couldn’t fight the grin that spread from ear to ear and you were upstairs battling the same problem of a too-wide smile. It was long overdue he said something and you were more than happy he had.

You both fell asleep as the sun started to lighten the world outside your drawn curtains. It would come back to bite the both of you once classes started but neither of you could get your upcoming Hogsmeade date out of mind. When you caught his eye during breakfast you knew that your sleepless night had been well worth it.

#credric x reader #cedric diggory x reader #fluff #request #all of you anons are lovely and I appreciate your patience #and my non-anons #you are all brilliant #Cedric x hufflepuff!reader

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hotchkiss-and-tell · 3 years

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Dates or Time of Year for Each Nancy Drew Game

whatamagicalplace made one of these charts last year. Those efforts gave me a starting point but I wanted to tweak it after doing my own research. I decided to share my final result since my version differs from hers in several ways. My reasoning for each game is discussed below; but if you have any evidence to add, feel free.

SCK: Nancy says in the opening letter she took a semester off school to visit Eloise in Florida. The banners for Senior Prom are still prominent throughout the school and the event is scheduled for May 23. Game takes place in a single day but that day could be any time in late spring semester prior to May 23.

SCK2: Homecoming banners are prominent and the event is scheduled for Sept 23. A flyer with Jake’s secret messages has a date of Sept 05, so let’s assume Jake was still alive then. The game says Nancy is there to investigate after Jake was murdered “last week.” That could mean three to seven days after the murder since it happened on a Thurs. Thus Remastered takes place in a single day but that day could be anywhere from Sept 08 to 22.

STFD: Nov 13 (confirmed with calendar). Game takes place for as many days and nights as player needs.

MHM: “Winter Festival” and Charlie studying for finals indicates late Nov to early Dec. Newspaper about the lost gold at the end is dated Mar 03; it could’ve been published after money settlement and the renovations completed though. Game takes place for as many days and nights as player needs.

TRT: December. The Spanish letter from Lisa’s friend is dated Nov 30 and acknowledges that Lisa is already in Wisconsin. By now, time should be well into Dec.

FIN: Possibly Nov (game’s release) but there are no confirmed dates on anything. It’s likely during the school year since Maya is doing the interview for the student newspaper. Game takes place over three days.

SSH: Calendar on Henrik’s desk is for the month of April. The book version takes place during the DC Cherry Blossom parade which usually occurs last week of March or early April. Game takes place for as many days as player needs. (Early April timeline would match with end of game trailer and dates for DOG.)

DOG: Jeff’s calendar is open to April. Culprit’s log book says Sally is due to move in to the cabin on April 19. Sally says she spent four weeks at Moon Lake, implying the game starts May 18. But I really don’t see Jeff’s character forgetting to change the calendar, so either Sally moved in early or she means four weeks total including seeing the property, bidding, and the final sale plus moving in. And let’s remember there’s no safe water source, so it’s unlikely Sally could live there for four weeks straight. Sally says the dogs howled a full week before they attacked the house and then they appeared every night since; maybe Sally lasted 9-14 days with the ghost dogs. The game could likely begin anywhere between Apr 28 and May 18. Then continue for as many days and nights as the player needs.

CAR: Culprit’s emails with black market dealer date from May 23 through June 04. Harlan’s appt book opens to June 09-13 with the significant clue on June 10. Game is a single day, likely on June 10, but could be as early as June 05.

DDI: June 17 (confirmed with calendar). Single day of gameplay.

SHA: Sept 15 to 17. Nancy’s airline ticket confirms arrival date in AZ. Timeline of the game takes place in three days. (Tex’s b-day is Sept 16!)

CUR: This is anybody’s guess. Hugh and Linda were married Aug 22. The lawyer’s letter to Mrs. Drake states Linda must live at the manor for another three months to fulfill the “six-month-habitation-clause” and those six months must be consecutive in the first year of marriage. Game could be late Nov at the earliest. However, frogs are chirping when Nancy arrives at the manor which is a spring thing and Bess and George say they are attending sailing camp. The fact that no one is suggesting that Linda can leave due to health reasons and start the six months over when she’s well again makes me think the year is half gone already. So the game could also be taking place in April or May at the latest.

CLK: May 07 (confirmed with calendar). Single day of gameplay.

TRN: We see snow in Copper Gorge, but it’s in Colorado and snow can be any time of year there. Frank and Lori are wearing the puffy vests and everyone else has jackets and sweaters. Fatima says it’s the off-season now and summer is the busy season. Makes me think winter is my best guess.

DAN: Game takes place for as many days as player needs. The newspaper on Day 1 is dated Aug 28. Newspapers continue to appear through Sept 06, which publishes that the journalists are negotiating for raises and the sounds of the impending strike are occurring outside JJ’s apartment. Day 11 (Sept 07) and onward have no more newspapers appear on the kitchen table. Let’s say Aug 28 to Sept 07 for simplicity.

CRE: Mike’s calendar is set to March. Quigley’s tape recorder log updates as of Mar 28. Craven’s shipping records say his latest sample was sent to Aikens Biotech on Apr 09. Game takes place in a single day, probably Apr 09 or 10. (Mike just hasn’t turned over the calendar yet)

ICE: Newspaper in the lodge is dated Jan 13. Elsa’s resignation letter is dated Jan 15. Lodge computer says Lupe checked in on Jan 15 and she noticed the lack of maid services for days. Game likely takes place that same week, starting maybe Jan 18 at the earliest, and lasts over several days and nights.

CRY: May 31 (confirmed with calendar). Single day of gameplay.

VEN: Newspaper in the Ca’ terrace says chalice was stolen “this morning” and the police records say the theft happened Jan 25. When Nancy nabs Nico on the stakeout, the next day’s newspaper is dated Feb 03. Since game takes place over several days, it likely plays from Jan 25 to Feb 03.

HAU: Night of May 28. The wedding is set for June 01. The end dialogue says Kyler and Matt couldn’t stop saying “I love you” from when the rocket launched to four days later, which was their wedding day.

RAN: The float plane pilot says resorts like Dread Isle shut down in the summer for “hurricane season” in the Bahamas. And the game was released in July. Since we see the map that charts all of Nancy’s past cases (including HAU) so the game is after the wedding on Jun 01. But there is no reference to the current date aside from “summer.” Single day of gameplay.

WAC: The essay Mel receives from her teacher with the plagiarist comments is dated Nov 21. Since two more nights of sleep are required to trigger events in the game, we can figure that the game takes place from Nov 21 to 23.

TOT: Scott’s calendar is open to May and filled in with code until the 19th. The log book of precipitation is filled out until May 24. Game likely takes place from May 20 to 25.

SAW: The TE-Japan brochure in Nancy’s teacher tote says her exchange program runs from Jun 01 to Sept 15 with different durations of 2 weeks, 3-4 weeks, and 5-8 weeks. With no specific date in the game and the player taking as many days and nights as needed to solve the mystery, we have to settle for saying it takes place in “summer.”

CAP: Karl’s daily calendar is on page March 12. When Nancy finds the final forged email from “Markus” she remarks that it has tomorrow’s date, which is Mar 13. Game is a single night of play on Mar 12.

ASH: Newspaper and police report of Nancy’s arrest say the game is done in a single day of August 18. The fire took place on Aug 17.

TMB: It’s the desert and there are no dates on any clue in the game. Since Lily is a student and Abdullah and Jon are professors, perhaps the game takes place in summer between any busy semester/class schedules.

DED: Ellie’s notepad in the control booth says she gave the coil demo to Nancy on Oct 29. Nancy arrived in daylight hours but since Ellie is on the night shift, the demo could have taken place on either side of midnight which means the game could start on either Oct 28 or 29. (Nancy arrived 10/28, night fell and midnight passed, then Ellie gives demo 10/29 OR Nancy arrives 10/29, night fell and it’s not midnight yet, then Ellie gives the demo still on 10/29.) Game continues for as many days and nights as the player needs.

GTH: Jessalyn’s phone recorded her bachelorette party antics from the night of Oct 27 to early morning of Oct 28. Addison says Jess had vanished for the second time after sun-up. It is unclear how many days Jessalyn has been missing before Nancy arrives on the island. Nancy was deep asleep when Savannah calls her for help, which means Jess has been gone at least a full day. Then Nancy arrives on the island at night which either means it’s evening on the same day of Savannah’s call or another day has passed by the time Nancy gets there. Oct 29 is the earliest possibility. Game takes place over three nights. Likely set between Oct 29 and Nov 01.

SPY: The newspaper reports that July 14 is near and it will be the eighth anniversary of Revenant’s first attack. Alec’s letter documents that his sister was kidnapped on the first of the month and has not been seen since. Game takes place between Jul 02 and 14. While Nancy cannot sleep or change the time of day, it is hard to believe that traveling back and forth throughout Scotland’s towns and the different phases of the spy operation all take place in a single day.

MED: Summer in the southern hemisphere, so datewise it’s set between Dec and Feb. Again there’s no sleep or time of day transitions but the elimination rounds likely take place over several days.

LIE: Employee timecards are recorded through July 05, the artifact exchange log is filled out through July 06, and the packing slip on the open crate says received July 06. Game is a single day of play, likely on July 06 or 07.

SEA: Soren’s winter guest log says Nancy is visiting in January. Game takes place for as many days and nights as player needs.

MID: Minion’s plane ticket TO Austria where the game begins is dated Oct 26 and the game goes into Halloween.

#all games #chart #Nancy Drew #look what i made

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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

Text

Evanesce (Giorno Giovanna x Ghost!Fem! Reader)

This was quite a specific request from a nonnie mouse🥺 . This is a bit angsty, I hope I was able to do your request justice my sweet, 💖💕❤️🐞

TW: mentions of death, part 5 spoilers

Word count: 2.1k

The gentle, crisp spring breeze softly rustled the leaves of the tree overhead, dislodging a few, which fell about the handsome young man occupying the bench you had sat on daily for the past 6 months. You weren’t upset or anything like that, you were just a creature of habit and that spot provided the best vantage point of your surroundings.

“Excuse me, are you saving this seat for anyone?” The blonde boy briefly looked up at you, shook his head sharply and returned to what he was reading as you took a seat on the other side of the bench, leaving a respectable distance between the two of you. He furrowed his well-defined brows at the page he was currently perusing and finally resigned, snapping his book shut in one swift motion.

“What are you reading? Well were reading…” he scanned your face pensively before answering.

“Catch 22…”

“Ah, Joseph Heller, I’m familiar,”

“Have you read it?

“No… I haven’t got around to it,” you admit shyly.

“you should, it’s quite brilliant actually,”

“Hmm, damned if you do, damned if you don’t… it’s a metaphor for life really, if you think about it,” you knew that feeling all too well, but that was a story for another day. In the time you had spent there you had learned the young man’s name was Giorno Giovanna, and he when he wasn’t a “freelance cab driver” he went to school a few streets away. You both chatted for what felt like a few moments, but in actuality, was the rest of the afternoon. Alerted by the changing colors of the sky as the day had started turning to dusk he had excused himself to make it back to his dorm before dinner. Watching him walk away, you sat there and wondered how different things might have been had you met him earlier.

Giorno was preoccupied with his thoughts too, wondering where you had come from and why he hadn’t seen you before… he had been to that park enough times, and if you frequented it as much as you claimed to have done so, surely he would have come across you before…

“Giorno, a few of us are going to work on the science project in the rec area after dinner, do you want to join?”

“Oh, Lorenzo, thanks for the offer, but I really need to finish this report tonight, sorry,”

“No sweat, catchya later,” the sprightly boy left Giorno to his own devices pondering silently over the events of the day.

Over the next few weeks, Giorno regularly visited the spot in the hopes of running into you, which he did, and slowly you both had learned so much about each other. Favorite foods, music, books, shows… hopes and aspirations… there was never a dull moment when you were around each other, and he had somehow enabled you to find your smile again, while you were certain you had done the same for him. He grew closer to you, connecting on a different level almost… he found himself wanting to spend more time with you than he could afford to, but your company was just too intoxicating. Savoring each smile, laugh and shy sideward glance, you were altogether too lovely, and too unaware of the effect you had on him. As much as you were unaware of his growing affections, so too was he unaware of yours. Falling in love with his wry smile when he teased you over the silly anecdotes you thought up, and the way in which the wind made his lovely, golden hair dance about in the sunshine, your heart both leapt and stung, lamenting the inopportune timing at which you had encountered your possible savior, but still being thankful that you could experience something as pure as this, nonetheless.

As much as you were happy, you remained unfulfilled, having such a specific set of circumstances during which you could interact with Giorno. In the beginning it was much easier, catching him in his quieter moments, but now, those moments barely ever occurred, each time you made a move to get closer to him, your plans were thwarted by his new groups of friends… allies? Watching him rapidly traversing Italy, cheating death at every turn, despite your yearning, you hoped with everything you had that you would not encounter him in your space between the two realms. You weren’t sure what kind of force kept you bound to earth but you knew the reason was because you had yet to truly experience love before your untimely passing. You found it altogether ridiculous and unfair, so many others with regrets much more intense than your own had encountered and passed you as they were finally able to cross over, so why were you still here?

You had wanted to tell him the truth of your semi-existence on so many occasions, but his sweet smile had forced you keep up the pretense, enjoying for once, the feeling of being a teenager with a crush, whether it was something more than that, you were unable to tell. When you hadn’t seen him for a few afternoons, you decided you needed to look for him, remembering where he had gone to school, you saw him in what looked like the throes of a fight near a white haired man, and something that looked nothing like anything you’ve seen before… was it a wraith? A monster? It seemed like the two men also commanded such apparitions, appearing and disappearing, it seemed, according to their will. Suddenly, you felt like the normal one in this scenario, which was rare for you. You knew that what he was going through was bigger than the both of you, and thus began your journey with them, keeping your distance and trying to provide support from your position in the shadows. One by one, you saw his comrades fall, each time grieving with him. When everything was finally over, you resolved to approach him directly, waiting for an opportune moment in between his duties. For now, though, you frequently visited the spot that held so many happy memories for you, knowing what you needed to do.

During his eight-day mission, in his quieter moments, Giorno had found his thoughts drifting back to you. He knew that you probably were there, at the usual spot, looking for him. he wished he could tell you about what he was doing, but the stakes were too high, there was too much to lose and not enough time to work with, so he made up his mind to find you once everything was over, but for now, he was on a mission that he could not back down from. There were moments during which he could have sworn he saw your silhouette from the corner of eye, smelled the pleasant scent he had come to associate you with, but those moments could not be dwelled on with how much was left to do and the unyielding assault from Passione’s elite.

With the battle being won, and his precious allies laid to rest in the manner they deserved, Giorno’s thoughts returned to you once more. Deciding he had avoided the place enough, he went the rendezvous spot, without any of his guards. He was confident in the ability of his stand to protect him from danger, the requiem arrow safely ensconced in his breast pocket if the need arises for him to use it. Seeing you perched under the tree, you cut a forlorn figure.

“(y/n) …”

“Giorno… oh gosh! I didn’t expect to see you here today…” you were taken aback by the sight of him, looking completely different in his black suit, embodying an entirely unapproachable, otherworldly beauty, but somehow the energy he radiated still felt warm and familiar.

“You’re probably wondering where I’ve been all this time… I’ll explain everything,” he intended to take your hand in his, but you flinched, deepening the grimace on his face.

“Cara, I’m sorry, I know you must be upset with me, as you should be, but if you allow me a chance to explain, you would understand, please…”

“It’s okay Gio… I know everything… please, sit down, there’s something I have to tell you,” with confusion replacing his pained grimace, Giorno sat down and looked at you expectantly.

“I know about everything that happened to you Gio, I was right there. The reason I recoiled from your touch, or never took you up on a coffee date is because I no longer exist in this world… my physical body has already perished Giorno,”

“April fools has already passed (y/n) and Halloween is only in October… either way, it’s still a terrible joke, not funny at all,” Giorno tried in vain to conceal his irritation.

“It’s not a joke Giorno, have you ever wondered why the area becomes deserted when we’re interacting? How I can disappear and reappear in the blink of an eye? I’m already dead… I’ll prove it to you,” in an instant, you had disappeared and the people had magically appeared in the distance. With his eyes locked on those, he suddenly saw them vanish again as you appeared.

“I don’t understand… where are we then?”

“This is the dimension I exist in, half way between the two realms. My soul refuses to pass over, being bound by a regret,”

“What regret? If you’ve been with me this entire time, surely you know my ability, and of the other ghost that inhabits the turtle… there must be something we can do,”

The desperation in his voice hurt you, you knew that he meant well, but you couldn’t allow him to live like this, being bound to someone who didn’t really exist. In the time you had observed him fighting for his life and for those around him you realized that regardless of how much you both would try, nothing would materialize from these interactions, so you made the painful decision to not pursue this any further, regardless of how much it may hurt you both.

“Face it Gio, there’s no way that anything can happen here, and hanging on to this is just going to hurt the both of us…”

“Don’t say it…”

“Giorno, this is going to be the last…”

“Please, (y/n), don’t say it. I already know… it’s just like me though… the first girl I fall in love with turns out to be a ghost… yet another one of my bizarre escapades… (y/n) … you’re glowing,”

You looked down at your hands and body, seeing a warm cerise glow taking over your body, you felt odd, -weightless- as if you would float away… and then you realized what Giorno had said to you. He loved you, actually loved you, and this was your moment of ascension. After all these months, finally, you would get your repose.

“I think it’s time, you’ve given me something precious, something I can’t even begin to return. I’m finally able to rest because of you…”

“Falling in love hey? Usually a declaration like this is supposed to awaken the princess, not send her away…” he said dejectedly, knowing well enough from recent events, that a spirit cannot remain longer than intended regardless of how much you willed it to.

Reaching up to try and cup his cheek as your image grew ever fainter, “Giorno, these past few weeks have allowed me to feel things in death that I couldn’t have even imagined when I was alive. You’re the reason I can finally rest, and I’ll always be thankful to you, I know you’ll be happy and will love again, all your dreams will be realized, I love you Gio,”

With a sorrowful smile, he watched you fading away from his sight, a warm gentle breeze swirling the loosened leaves around him, and just like that you were gone. Being unable to speak after what happened, he just sat for a while to gather his thoughts before returning to his life as the don of Passione.

It has been a few years since your final encounter with Giorno just before your ascension. Over the years you still watched him, this time from your vantage point above him as opposed to lurking beside him. Your spirit was at ease as he grew from strength to strength, realizing his dream, with a resolve that only he possessed. You watched as he matured, confidence growing in leaps and bounds… as he fell in love- again- just like you promised he would. She was perfect for him, the ray of sunshine he needed to compliment his golden soul. You smiled knowingly, the young man whose pure feelings granted respite to your soul, would be just fine, and even though it may have felt as if you had faded away on that fateful day, the memories of you will always live on through him, adding gravity to your existence- ironically, his memories of the beautiful ghost who had captivated him, would serve as evidence that you had lived…

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scented-morker · 2 years

Note

HELLLAAAUUUURRR BESTAAYYYYY GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM THE DEAD??? ADA THE WEIRDO YAYYY

OK BUT OMG I AM REALLY SO SO SO SORRY FOR VANISHING AND I JUST SAW THE POST WHERE YOU SAID YOU MISSED ME AND OMG YOU'RE SO NICE MY HEART 😭😭😭😭

I have these really important exams and they're gonna last for an entire month! Like I'm not even kidding the education system got messed up cuz of covid and they're ruining everything for us. All the new norms are straight up unfair and unnecessary but as students we gotta deal with it 💀 usually academic year ends by the end of march or first week of april and the next one starts right away but this year it's gonna end by the time may is over. This means that we have 2 months less for the upcoming grade but rhe syllabus is same. Covid messed up the previous, this and the upcoming academic years for us lmfao. We have no sort breaks and will only be provided with national or festive holidays 💀💀 love this for us 😇😇😇😇

Yea if you read all of that thank you very much i love you life is shit ♡

But anyways i hope you're doing well. Ik i say this every single time but I'll try to be more active and not let all the pressure get to me (I'm literally typing this at 2 am)

ALSO ALSO ALSO THE WONKI PERFORMANCE??????????? THE MIX AND MAX ONE???? GAWD THE TEASER WAS SO GOOD I'M SO EXCITED KWKSKA JAYWONKI ARE KILLING ME NOWADAYS FR

~Ada

AHHHHHH ADA OMG HI BFF WELCOME BACK IM SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR EXAMS :( I didn’t even know Covid screwed up other peoples schools so bad… ours just went online and they got rid of the exams and stuff for the 2020 year so everyone passed but our school year and stuff is all the same. THEYRE NOT EVEN GIVING YOU LIKE WINTER BREAK?!?! OR SPRING BREAK?!? SPRING BREAK IS A VITAL PART OF THE EDUCATION YOU CANNOT CHANGE MY MIND 😤 ilyt bff… I hope school and life gets a little easier 🙁 ik it sucks being so overwhelmed. Don’t stress about having to be active or anything tho okay? Real life first! and as for the wonki performance I only have one thought: AKXHISNOWDJUSSKDNI.

THEY LOOKED SO GOOD AND THEIR PERFORMANCE OMG LITERALLY LIKE THE PRESENCE AND POWER THEY HAVE WHILE PERFORMING IS SO LIKE 🤯

#ada my future bff <3 #pls they killed Jungwon like six times I was so concerned 😭#ngl the part where they held the coat up and it looked like he rotated his head 360… I got the heebie jeebies a lil bit 😭#caras love notes 💌#a fic for you exchange

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nbrook29 · 3 years

Text

So a few weeks ago, @foxsake5 sent me one of those dialogue prompts, and at the time I wasn’t taking them anymore but since she’s the sweetest I just couldn’t say no 😌💖

I’m sorry for the wait, I hope this isn’t awful :)

Therefore, ladies and gentlemen:

159. [text] Also, my bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall.

***

The hopes he had late last night of waking up with all his symptoms miraculously gone vanish seconds after he wakes up and gets aware of his surroundings.

His head still feels like it’s full of cotton, eyes sting and itch at the same time, and his nose being all stuffy is the proverbial cherry on top of his misery. Before he can fully grasp this truly pathetic situation he’s in, he feels the beginnings of a sneezing fit brewing in his nostrils and sure enough, a moment later all hell breaks loose.

When he finally finishes, his chest aches with the effort and he drops his head back onto the pillow, whining at the unfairness of it all.

Every year, it’s the same story. Spring comes, trees and flowers release tiny grains to fertilize other plants and Robbe is doomed. He’s so fucking doomed. April barely arrives and he turns into a sneezing, itching, coughing, swollen mess. It’s not pretty. Far from it actually.

He curses himself for being stupid and believing he was cured after last year’s very mild case. Thinking about it now, it was probably due to being forced to stay in the house for the entire month more than anything. All his hopes of battling this fucking thing forever are now officially gone. His disappointment is immeasurable, his day is ruined.

And, Sander’s not here.

Why is he not here.

Why isn’t he lovingly stroking his brow to ease his sinuses pressure like he did last night.

He’s gonna have to have a serious conversation with his boyfriend because this is just unacceptable behavior.

Tugging the duvet tighter around himself to prevent the chilliness of the room from touching on his toasty warm body, he reaches for his phone. When Sander’s beautiful face welcomes him from his screen background, he yearns for his comforting presence even more. Yes, he’s being a tad dramatic, but sick Robbe has always been a drama queen, needing care and attention. Mama Ijzermans always laughs at him, saying he turns into a five year old when down with a runny nose. There may be a bit of truth to that statement, Robbe is a man enough to admit that. He just really hates having to blow his nose every ten seconds and all that, okay? Sue him.

Just as he’s about to start typing, his eye catches something flickering in the sunlight on Sander’s pillow. Frowning, he shifts closer to inspect it and discovers sprinkles of glitter covering the bottom half, and it’s honestly barely detectable, but for Robbe’s skilled eye it’s no hardship.

Weird. Unless he somehow missed the fact that Sander turns into a sparkly unicorn every night at midnight in the last year and a half, there’s no reasonable explanation for glitter being in his bed.

He decides to leave it be for the time being and goes back to the job at hand.

R: Where are u and why aren’t u here

S: Hello to you too, love of my life, light of my day

R: ☹️

S: I had to run home cause I forgot I promised my mum I'll be there when the couch delivery comes

R: That's a very elaborate excuse for you abandonning me

I won’t hold it against you if you decided to leave me after being faced with my gross snotty self :(

S: You’re not gross

R: I don’t believe you

S: Okay you’re a tiny bit gross rn but I'm not afraid of your snot 💪🏻

I'll be back in 40 minutes x

R: I'll try to survive til then 🥺

I miss you 🥺

I need your cuddles 🥺

I miss your fingers in my hair, my head hurts less then 🤧

S: You're so sweet when you're all sniffly 😂

R: That's cause I need you to get your butt here faster

S: I'll try my best

R: Okay :(

Hey sander?

S: Yeah?

R: My bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall

S: 😶

R: Why is there glitter in my bed

S: Idk

R: I hate glitter

S: Maybe it's the allergies making you see things

R: 😠 what did u do why is there glitter in my bed????

S: Gotta go the delivery guy is here love youuu

R: SANDER!!!

***

When he wakes up next time his head is still stuffed, but the feeling of warmth coming off Sander’s body and his hand playing with his hair makes it that much bearable. Scooching closer, he wraps his arm around his waist and buries his face into his black t-shirt, hoping the graphical form of Freddie Mercury in the front of it won’t mind much if he messes it with his runny nose by accident.

“I bought croissants on my way over, and there’s hot lemon tea waiting for you in the kitchen. Do you feel like getting up?” Sander asks in a gentle tone, hand stilling where it felt so good on Robbe’s scalp.

And no, he doesn’t really feel like it. So he decides to use the power of his eyes on Sander and rests his chin on his chest, giving him a pleading look that he knows his boyfriend is far from being immune to.

“Bring it here?”

Sander regards him for a second like he’s searching for a strength inside him to say no to him, but very quickly he gives up, head shaking at himself as his fingers resume the ministrations in Robbe’s hair.

He lets out a deep sigh. “I’m such a pushover, aren’t I?” And Robbe knows he won because there’s a smile tugging at Sander’s lips and a moment later, he disentangles himself from Robbe’s grabby arms, heading to the kitchen for their breakfast.

They eat in bed, sitting side by side, shoulders brushing as they keep reaching for the goodies on the tray balanced on Sander’s thighs. Robbe has his feet tucked under his calves, his extra clinginess during sick time coming out in all force, but Sander doesn’t comment on it, just smiles and kisses his temple, looking like he doesn’t mind to be his personal teddy bear for the time being. He lets Robbe lie half on top of him when they watch silly youtube videos and draws mindless patterns on his back as his arm is probably asleep from being stuck in the same position. His fingers make goosebumps rise all over Robbe’s body and he must be thinking the shiver is the result of cold because he then meticulously tucks the comforter around him, making sure Robbe is burrito-like and safe from cold.

It’s the first time Robbe has been somewhat under the weather since they got together and he melts at every caress and gentle touch that Sander provides without even thinking about it and just in general being this five star on booking.com thoughtful boyfriend.

So yeah, Sander is passing this when-in-sickness exam with flying colors, Robbe thinks, as he leaves a few kisses on what looks like Freddie Mercury’s hair, reveling in Sander’s content sigh.

It’s an all around peaceful afternoon, except when the peace is occasionally broken with sneezing, blowing (only nose, damn it) and groaning in displeasure. Sander is taking it all like a champ, teasing him only a little and handing tissue after tissue, his face twisting at the grossness of Robbe’s state only a few times. Mostly, he just squeezes him tighter, scratches his back in that way he likes, kisses the pout out of his face despite the gross factor and makes him a fresh tea.

He even cooks him a soup when Robbe naps out of things he finds in Robbe’s mom fridge, leaving Robbe himself gaping at him in astonishment, more so when the soup actually turns out good, because he had no idea Sander could cook something more than croques.

The confession earns him a light jab in the ribs, light because Sander is still considerate of his state, but jab indeed because he will not stand for Robbe disbelief in his cooking skills, hell no. Robbe then keeps moaning in pleasure at the taste of every single spoon of the tomato soup to show his gratitude (and because it’s really good) and Sander rolls his eyes at him, but there’s a pleased smile on his face that lets Robbe know his ruffled feathers have been smoothed.

When they get back to just simply lounging around in bed with Robbe breathing (wheezing) loudly as he plays with Sander’s fingers, he remembers something.

Propping his head with his hand, he narrows his eyes at Sander. “So what about that glitter?”

The guilty look that immediately blooms on Sander’s face leaves him with no doubt that it was his fault. He thumps his chest in frustration.

“I’m sorry! I just, I was kinda bored after you fell asleep so fast last night, and, um, I bought some new paints yesterday,” he explains, wincing at Robbe’s growing frown. He scratches his head before he continues as if to delay the fallout. “And I wanted to try them out a bit and some of them might have contained, um, glitter in them?” he ends in a squeaky voice, waiting for Robbe to blow up, because he’s well aware of his burning hate for glitter.

It’s like herpes. Once it’s on you, it never goes away.

“I can change the sheets later?” Sander adds wide-eyed, buttering him up as he leans in to kiss him once, twice, three times, until the scoff on Robbe’s lips melts completely.

He could get mad, but Sander has been so sweet today and he’s looking so apologetic now, like he’s actually afraid Robbe may throw him out the door for this unfortunate incident of bringing that abomination into his house. The idea is so ridiculous it makes him giggle, and at first, Sander’s confused, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Robbe doesn’t stop, he scoffs at him and pouts.

“Ugh, you made me believe you’re gonna yell at me and put a ban on sex for a month or something, jerk.”

He folds his arms all petulant as Robbe keeps rolling in bed, laughing, but then the sneezing fit abruptly stops Robbe’s fun and he sits up straight, letting out one sneeze after another, losing count after the eighth one. He thinks he got to twenty in the end, his new record, and when it’s finally over he feels so miserable and achy he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. His eyes are so watery it feels like they’re gonna spill out any second now, nose rubbed so red it’s painful to even breathe and cheeks burning hot from the congestion.

Sander keeps handing him tissues, holding the waste bin in his other hand, and Robbe must look really awful because all signs of sulking are gone from his now sympathetic face as he gathers him into his arms, whispering sweet nothings into his hair as Robbe hides his face in the crook of his neck to keep his frustration tears at bay.

Sander is graceful enough to not say anything when a few escape anyway.

“Maybe you should see a doctor, huh?” he suggests after a while, hand stroking Robbe’s arm. “Maybe he will give you something?”

Robbe shakes his head, his voice raspy when he replies. “It’s no use, the doctor is gonna give me stuff that’s gonna make me drowsy. I just need to get over those first few days, it always gets better afterwards.”

He gets a lingering peck to his forehead. “Okay.”

“Thanks for being so amazing.” Robbe looks at him with sincerity from under his droopy lids, thumb sweeping under his eye in caressing motion. Sander just smiles, shaking his head a little as if Robbe’s gratitude is silly.

“You’re always there for me when the situation is reversed, right?”

And they both know he’s not talking about allergies, of course he’s not. No more words are necessary as Robbe considers him for a few seconds, love shining in his bloodshot eyes before he shifts closer to place a kiss on his chin and then snuggles to him as close as humanly possible, his heart full when Sander does the same.

Robbe’s eyes sting too much for them to keep watching anything on their phones, but they’re also too lazy to get up and actually do something and they’re not yet hungry enough to think about preparing dinner. So to kill time, Sander quizzes him about Bowie and his lyrics, the year and a half of them being a couple pretty much skyrocketing Robbe’s knowledge about this man, so he knows the answers to 3/4 of the questions, Sander's eyes gleaming with pride as he pretends to wipe the imaginary tear making Robbe giggle and forget about his state for a while.

Eventually, Sander’s calming and sweet like honey voice lulls him to sleep, and the last thing he registers as he’s losing the fight to keep his eyes open is Sander chuckling as he promises him quietly to paint him in all of the intense colors of those glittery paints he owns soon and there’s nothing he can do to stop him.

#wtfock

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