#i haven’t gone through my inbox in a very long time

[sirianasims]

Chapter 43.6

My mother taught me that sometimes it rains. Sometimes it pours, and you’re soaked through and miserable and it feels like it may never stop. But no matter how heavily the rain falls, no matter how drenched you get, you are not the rain.

Some day you will be dry again.

Things have been easier since I blocked Paul, the pain slowly fading to a dull ache, barely noticeable as long as I don’t dig too deep. I try to keep myself distracted, reading Lucky Girl for what must be the fifth time. It’s my comfort read, Evie reminds me a little of myself. I think we could have been friends, hanging out and agreeing that being in love is the absolute worst, actually, while we yearn for our respective idiots.

The memory of Paul is not the only thing I’m trying to escape. With all my channels inactive, even the haters have gone quiet and my views are dropping every week. I’ve toyed with the idea of simply abandoning everything and starting a new brand, but I don’t want to rebuild my follower count from scratch. I don’t have time for it. My bills are starting to pile up, and while I can still pay them for now, it won’t be long before I have to either crawl back to mom and dad and ask for help, or get one of those real jobs people keep talking about. I’m not even sure which option I would hate the most, so I hide in my book for now.

A sharp knock on the door jerks me away from Evie admiring Jude in an art gallery and back to reality.

I hesitate for a moment. I have no idea who it could be, and I don’t want to see anyone, especially not some smarmy salesperson – or worse, my landlord. With a sigh, I put my book face down on the armrest and shuffle to the door.

Miranda is leaning casually against the doorway, her high heels making her look almost as tall as Samara. At their feet, a couple of large shopping bags are threatening to fall over and spill their contents on my doormat.

“See, Samara? I told you she was still alive.”

“So you did. Then I sure hope she has a very good excuse for refusing to see her best friends for almost two months!“

I feel my cheeks get hot. “Uh, hi. I’m sorry I disappeared, I’ve just had a rough time since, you know. But I promise to call you, maybe we can make plans soon?”

“No need, we’re here now, so you won’t have to worry about that.” Samara’s smile is cheerful, but her tone is resolute. Even so, I try to object.

“Seriously, it’s not a good time, I haven’t even showered for like three days, and the place is a mess.”

“Girl, since when do we care about mess? We’re here because we love you – stinky or not.” She wrinkles her nose, making the freckles on her face dance.

“What is this, some sort of intervention?”

Miranda smirks. “Pretty much. Sorry, but someone’s gotta save you from yourself, and we’re not letting you waste any more time moping over a man who didn’t deserve you. We’ve got snacks and a box of rosé with your name on it, so you might as well get out of the way.”

“Fiiine, but no judging the absolute state of the place.” I roll my eyes and invite them in with a dramatic flourish of my arm, but I can’t help but smile. Samara bounces through the door despite the heavy shopping bags, and Miranda goes straight for my laptop.

“What’s your login?”

“It’s just my birthday, and before you come for me, yes, I know that’s bad.”

Miranda shakes her head as the laptop plays a jaunty tune and lets her in.

“You’ll get the full security lecture another day, right now it’s time to declare inbox bankruptcy. We’re getting rid of all this bullshit so you can get back to business.”

“Miranda, there are literally thousands of messages. It’ll take days to go through, maybe weeks.”

She doesn’t even look up, her perfectly manicured fingers a blur over the keyboard.

“Give me an hour. I’m going to delete anything that contains profanity, and then I’ll sort the rest into folders, so don’t worry, you won’t be losing anything permanently. But I’m going to mark everything as read and archive it so you can get a fresh start. If anyone wants something important from you, they’ll reach out again, trust me.”

I stop myself from protesting further. Miranda knows what she’s doing, and it really would be a relief not to worry about everything.

Behind me, Samara has stopped unpacking the groceries.

“Just let Miranda work her magic and get your smelly butt into a bath. And make it a nice one, soak for a bit and pretend you’re a mermaid or something. We’ll get everything set up in here while you scrub off the sadness.”

I feel a slight pang of embarrassment as I walk into the bathroom. The sunlight is creating little islands of warmth on the black tiles, but it also mercilessly illuminates the limescale in the shower and a couple of cotton swabs that missed the bin. The sink is decorated with a few dried clumps of toothpaste, each of them outlined in red from last time I dyed my hair.

How did I let it get this bad?

I turn on the taps and leave them running while I undress. Then, I lower myself awkwardly into the tub and let the water cascade through my fingers. It would be nice if it was this easy, washing away the sadness and frustration, the longing and the hurt.

The gentle sound of flowing water is mesmerising, and before I know it, the tub is full. I add a small handful of bath salts and swirl it around. A soothing scent of lavender rises with the steam.

When I lie down, the hot water envelops me like a hug. It feels like it’s thawing something in me that I didn’t even know was frozen. I close my eyes and listen to Samara and Miranda laughing about something. It’s almost like being home and hearing my parents talk softly in the other room. It always made me feel safe. Less alone.

As the water begins to cool, I scrub down, slowly, methodically, running soapy hands along every inch of my body. It feels good, like I’m massaging life back into my limbs. Tonight will be fun, I decide. We’re going to stuff our faces with junk food, get absolutely smashed on cheap wine, and pretend that my heart was never broken by some has-been actor from Tartosa.

I watch as the tub empties, imagining that all my sadness is flowing down the drain with the water and the tiny undissolved purple specks from the bath salt. Finally, I move to the shower to wash my hair and rinse off.

When I get out, I stop and examine myself in the mirror. I look a little tired and worn, like I’ve been sick. In a way, I guess I have. But the black tiles are radiating warmth under my feet and there are birds singing outside my window and I’m beginning to feel like everything is going to be fine.

Samara’s blue face glitters in the candlelight. The packaging from the masks we’ve applied is littered with adjectives like “rejuvenating” and “revitalising”, bold statements, but they do actually feel pretty good.

“Sorry, Julia, I know you love this crap, but I just can’t get over the cake tongue. Who decided cake would be the best bait for people? Are we really that obsessed with desserts?”

I look over my nails one last time and put down the file. “I’m actually more disturbed by the whole chin udder situation. I mean, who came up with that?”

Samara makes a disgusted face, but she’s not ready to change the subject. “Seriously though, even if you were absolutely starving and cake was your favourite thing in the whole world, would you really approach a plant shaped like a giant cow head with huge teeth? Really? And then try to grab what is obviously its tongue?”

Miranda giggles tipsily. “No, but can we talk about how Ned’s relationship with the cow plant is super toxic, though? I mean, it always starts out slow, right? Oh, so it eats meat, little bit of a red flag there, but it’s probably fine. And before you know it, you find yourself luring your neighbours to their deaths just to keep it happy.”

“Yeah, it’s classic, the way he keeps making excuses for her? She didn’t mean it, she’s just misunderstood! She only bites me because she loves me! I’m like, Ned, your girlfriend is eating people, you need professional help.”

Samara laughs. “I guess some men would literally rather feed their neighbours to a plant than go to therapy.”

My phone vibrates on the armrest behind me.

“Sorry, it’s Marten again, I better let him know I’ve got company. He’s been super busy with his exams so we haven’t had much time to play lately.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow.

“And he’s still fine just being your friend, is he?”

“Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, he was fine being my friend even though I was dating Paul. Besides, I haven’t even seen him in person since GeekCon, it’s been almost a year…”

I stop. Almost a year since I met Paul. It feels like a lifetime ago. I wonder what would have happened if I’d cosplayed as someone else, or if Paul hadn’t been there that day. Maybe I could have been dating Marten instead of having my heart trampled by some fickle celebrity. Nice, normal Marten with his mousy hair and his robot facts. I smile.

“Anyway, there’s nothing between me and Marten. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Miranda sends me a mischievous grin. “That reminds me, you know that hot bartender from The Rooftop? Super flirty, cheekbones that could cut glass?”

“The one who gave us free refills on Samara’s birthday? Shane or something?”

“Yeah, him! He asked about you last time, wondered why you hadn’t come with us for like three weeks in a row.”

“How does he even know my name?”

“He didn’t, he just asked about our red-haired friend but you’ve clearly made an impression.” Miranda winks. “Maybe he’d be willing to help you get over Paul.”

I shake my head. “No thanks, I’m pretty sure he’s slept with like half the regulars. And I’m not looking for hook-ups, not now. I need to get my so-called career back on track, but I want to do something… different.”

I think of Paul, of late nights in hotel rooms, laughing at the most ridiculous b-movies before having amazing sex and falling asleep with his arms around me. “I don’t want to do cosplay again, absolutely nothing with movies or comics or superheroes.”

Miranda looks thoughtful. “What about just fashion stuff? I started out with just my shoe reviews and now it’s more general style advice and outfits to match your heels, but you have an eye for it and you know a lot about cuts and materials and design.”

“I guess? I don’t really know a lot about classic fashion, though, like couture and such. And it’s a really tough business to get into, plus I’d kinda like to keep the expenses down for now.”

“You could always just jump on one of the big trends. I bet you’d make bank as one of those clean girl aesthetic influencers or something.”

“That’s actually a good idea. I mean, I can probably get pretty far with just the makeup and clothes I already have. And I could move my sewing machine and rearrange the room, set up my camera and the lights…”

Miranda laughs. “We can start right now as long as it means we don’t have to watch any more terrible movies tonight.”

I reach for the remote. “Not a chance.”

beginning / previous / next

[crushribbons]

𝓈𝒾𝓁𝓀

summary: The years have been exceedingly kind to Garreth Weasley.

cw: 6.8k words, s m u t (18+ ONLY), bridgerton girlies this one's for y'all!, oral sex, penetrative sex, slight fix-it because ominis and anne are married because i love them, semi-public-ish sex, i don't know what year it's supposed to be and i refuse to choose one, fem reader. reqs open, put some filth in my inbox!

a/n: i sowwy xx laney

It was unclear why the Ministry of Magic felt it necessary to hold an annual gala for its employees; surely, the money could be put to better use. But another year had come and gone since her protestations of the last one, and her boss was very eager to know why the top-performing Auror never made an appearance at the time-honored event. So, as snow began to fall in gentle wafts from the night sky, she had forced herself into a borrowed dress of her friend Natsai’s before she had time to decide to stay home for another year. 

After checking her reflection in the mirror above her mantle and being satisfied with the way her curled hair framed her face, the witch took a deep breath, which was hard to do in the restrictive corset that Natsai had also leant her. 

“I’m not wearing that,” she had balked when her friend held up the lace and silk monstrosity. 

“You have to! It maintains the shape of the dress,” Natty insisted. “Come now, that gown was my mother’s, and she wore it to her first ball, where she met my father. It is imbued with good luck already.”

The darling story did nothing to persuade the stubborn woman with her arms crossed in front of her. “And if a troll should barge in and attack the gala? How will I fight it off if I’m confined to a straitjacket?”

“You are impossible,” Natsai declared, and left the dress laid over an armchair and the corset in a crumpled heap on the floor as she turned on her heel and clipped back through the front door. 

“Thank you!” her friend called meekly after her. It was so typically kind of Natty to lend her a dress with such a precious history without a second thought. The dress was a spectacular beauty: light violet silk hugged her torso and spilled down over voluminous netted skirts. Lace of the same color lined the neckline that swung low across her chest and shoulders, leaving her arms almost bare, and small satin violets were embroidered around the neck and hemline. It was easy to see how Mr. Onai had fallen in love with the professor after seeing her in this.

However, as the dress restricted her movement so much so that she could hardly clamber into the toilet that hid the entrance to the Ministry, she cursed Natty’s kindness under her breath. The apparating process had been hell, as it already gave the traveler the impression that they were being smothered without also wearing a bone-crushing corset, and the ride down and through the floo fireplace disoriented and oppressed her further. She tumbled several meters past the grate and into a pair of feet. “Oof.” The wind was knocked out of her, but she rolled over with as much grace as she could summon. A hand belonging to the owner of the pair of feet reached out and pulled her the rest of the way up.

“Ominis!” she breathed in intense relief. “Thank God that you’re here!” The slick Gaunt smiled in his gentle way when his wand passed in her direction and he identified her. 

“You look lovely tonight, madame,” he said, with a gentlemanly bow and an affected French accent on the final word. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Clearly, you’ve lost your knack for truth-telling,” she replied. 

“Is it just you this evening? Haven’t you come with anyone else?”

The worst part of all of this. She’d really hoped to just slip in long enough for her superiors to notice that she had come, then disappear the rest of the evening. Especially because Sebastian decided to schedule his convenient trip to Albania during this very week. She’d begged and pleaded with her coworker and friend to escort her to the gala, promising that they would be in and out in a matter of mere seconds, but he’d waved her off and insisted that this trip was of utmost importance. Their boss, Melodia Thistlewit, didn’t just hand out promotions, after all, and Sebastian was certain that this scouting trip would secure him one. 

The witch continued to curse every horrible word she knew at Sebastian as she now faced down the prospect of walking into the large ballroom that Ministry workers had transformed their central atrium into. “Just me,” she told Ominis, but then a thought occurred to her that could save her from certain embarrassment. “And are you alone, as well?”

“Don’t sound so happy at the idea of my solitude,” Ominis drawled, although his smile was still in place. At that moment, a slender woman with pale skin and chocolate hair brushed into a beautiful updo appeared behind Ominis and took his arm. 

She couldn’t find the space to be disappointed that she couldn’t poach Ominis as her own date when she looked at the couple in front of her, staring adoringly at one another. “Anne! You look so wonderful!” Sebastian’s sister blushed as she always did when complimented. Her dress was emerald green, matching the cravat Ominis wore against his all black tuxedo. They made a lovely pair.

“Yes, she does,” Ominis hummed. Anne looked ready to sink into the floor under the weight of the praise from her husband and friend. 

“Thank you. You’re too kind!” Anne looked behind her as if expecting to see someone there. “Didn’t my brother come with you?”

She sighed and shook her head. “No, he preferred the company of Albanian dark wizards,” she replied and Anne grinned knowingly. Sebastian didn’t hide the fact that he was married to his work.

“Well, he’s missing out on a nice evening. We’ll see you in there?” Ominis asked as he held up an arm to escort Anne into the throng of party-goers. The Auror was left, standing alone, watching hundreds of couples shoot out of the fireplaces and giggle to each other as they stood and brushed the soot off the other’s clothes. Though it had been the only career she’d dreamed of having since her days at Hogwarts, being an Auror was not without its disadvantages. The work was exciting and invigorated her to no end, but there were often long hours of tedious research and documentation before she was able to leave the office. And when she went on expeditions, it was cutthroat. Sebastian was one of the only people she trusted to have her back, even though he’d failed in that regard tonight. 

It had become commonplace for her to glance up at the calendar on her desk while she worked, do a double-take, and realize that it had been an embarrassing number of months since she’d gone to dinner with anyone. The streak continues, she thought as she gritted her teeth and finally began making her way into the ballroom. The shiny marble floor clicked underneath her heels, and she felt a little wobbly. Hoisting her numerous skirts until they floated above her ankles helped her awkward gait, and she wove in and out of the people dancing and chattering, champagne glasses tinkling softly in toasts all over the room. Silk skirts and starched trousers intermingled and a light strain of musical laughter floated through the revelry.

As a house elf carrying a tray loaded with flutes passed her, she reached down to snatch one and quickly take a gulp of it. Champagne was going to be a necessary social lubricant this evening. She was acutely aware of the many glances she got from men as she passed by. Natty had chosen a beautiful dress for the event, but it also showed off far more of her clavicle and décolletage than she was accustomed to showing. She was fairly certain she saw Leander Prewett stop talking to the short, middle-aged witch he was having a conversation with to gawk at her from across the room. He looked ready to start pushing through the crowd to make his way over to her. She didn’t much feel like talking to someone from the office of Muggle Relations; truthfully, she respected their work but found it terribly dull. Leander had once trapped her in the hall with a story about a rogue Puffskein that had fluffed its way through Hyde Park, spooking two Muggle children. “Couldn’t you have just told them it was a baby rabbit or something?” she’d asked. The look of smug satisfaction had slid off Prewett’s face as he considered this.

“Uh…well, I mean, it is standard practice to obliviate…” he’d muttered.

She wove through six couples that were waltzing to the tune the enchanted instruments were playing from the conjured stage at the front of the room. Many murmured “excuse me!”s and “pardon”s got her safely to a table tucked against a relatively deserted wall, and she leaned up against it, sighing in relief and scanning the room for any sign of Anne and Ominis, or the encroaching Prewett. It was then that she noticed the table she stood next to held still more glasses of champagne. She quickly downed the rest of the glass she still held and picked up another one. 

From across the room, Melodia Thistlewit caught her eye and raised a glass. “Fuck,” muttered the Auror as she put on a painful fake smile and responded in kind. If she didn’t engage herself with someone else soon, Melodia would certainly drag her into the center of the gala and parade her around to anyone with a pulse. Glancing around again, desperate to see the Gaunts and run to the safety of their conversation, she noticed a man standing on the other side of the champagne table, alone. She ducked down out of sight of Melodia, who was just under five feet tall and could not see well over the large crowd in the ballroom. 

“Alright, I know this is strange, but I really just want to avoid talking to my boss so if you could pretend that we are deeply engaged in some riveting bit of gossip for the next few minutes, I’d appreciate it so much,” she said as she sidled up to the man she’d spotted. She spoke in a low and commanding tone, as if negotiating hostages away from him. Her eyes were fixed on the spot of the room where she was sure she’d seen Melodia, but she startled and spun around when the man exclaimed her last name in a jovial tone and said, 

“Are you trying to kidnap me? What’s going on here?!”

Garreth Weasley was beaming at her. She hadn’t even registered that she knew the stranger haunting the only other empty part of the room. He’d been in her year at Hogwarts, though she’d rarely had occasion to get to know him. The realization that she knew him at all, however, was enough to make her stand straight back up and feel relief wash over her.

“Weasley! I’m so sorry, I had no idea that was you! What are you–” The question regarding his reasons for being at the gala died in her throat as she took in his appearance. In almost ten years since leaving school, she hadn’t given him a single thought, and she saw now what an utter waste of ten years it had been. Weasley was tall, taller than he’d been even in seventh year. His broad shoulders were prominent under the white dress shirt and vest he was wearing, his bowtie and collar loose despite the party having just begun. A worn tuxedo jacket was slung over one arm and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing freckled and distractingly well-muscled forearms and hands. And his hair was fiery as ever, still growing in unruly curls that hung down into his eyes and over his ears. He was grinning the devilish grin she remembered from many ill-fated potions experiments.

“Look at you, all grown up. And top Auror as well!” he crowed. She blushed darker red than his hair.

“How did you know that?”

“Everyone here knows that.”

Forgetting herself, she gawked at him. “You work here?”

Garreth raised a hand to his heart, feigning a grievous injury. “You wound me,” he mocked, but the smile never left his lips. Always good mood Garreth. “I just started a few months ago, in the Improper Use of Magic department.” When he caught the still-shocked expression on her face, he acquiesced with a chuckle. “I’m only joking. Can you imagine? Me? Trying to stop anyone from doing something improper?” He reached forward and pinched her on the upper arm playfully. Why such a simple act caused electric sparks against her skin that traveled through her entire body, she had no idea. 

She cleared her throat and took another sip of champagne. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t work here! Only that I thought you’d never be caught dead doing something so…sanctioned.” Garreth broke into a raucous laugh that, if she’d still been concerned with anyone else at the party, she would have been nervous would attract attention. Instead, she basked in the sunshiney feeling that his laughter brought and felt herself and her nerves melting away like ice cream on a summer’s day. 

“Unsanctioned is the only way I know how to operate!” he quipped, and then his green eyes fell from hers to the dress she was wearing, and she caught him falter and trip over his next words slightly. “Y-you look gorgeous tonight, Merlin’s sake.” Her heart pounded in her chest and she wondered if Garreth could see it beating from the huge expanse of skin that Natty’s dress revealed. “How long has it been?”

Too long, she wanted to say. Entirely too long and I’d like it never to be this long again. His boyish good looks had matured so much better than she ever would have guessed. Rather than tell him that he, too, looked like sex wrapped in silk, she sputtered, “Nearly ten years, I believe. How is your aunt? Dear lady.” 

He smiled appreciatively at the question. “She’s wonderful, thank you. Actually, she’s the entire reason I’m here tonight. Had an extra invitation and she wasn’t exactly about to take Professor Sharp.” The image of the two kind but stiff-upper-lipped teachers arm in arm on the dancefloor made the two of them giggle, Garreth leaning in conspiratorially to grumble in a poor imitation of their potions professor, “Why, Matilda, you dance divinely.” She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle laughter as he did the same. 

“Well, I must say hello to her before the night is over.”

“I’ll see that it happens.”

The two lapsed into comfortable small talk as they continued scanning the room, making remarks about anyone they recognized from school. “My God, that can’t be–it is! Prewett!” Garreth exclaimed, but before he could wave and shout for Leander to come join them, she grabbed one of his arms in a death vice and pleaded with him not to.

“Noooo, not Prewett, not right now,” she begged, and Garreth looked down at her in surprise, his gaze then drifting to where her hands were wringing his arm. She flushed and dropped it quickly, hoping she hadn’t been too familiar with him. “He’s just so dreadfully boring and I am having so much fun right now,” she explained in hushed tones. 

“I’ve never been one to prevent a lady from having fun,” Garreth muttered, so lowly that she almost missed it. She would have noticed the heat growing in her chest at being tucked away so close to him, but at that moment, she saw that Leander had caught Garreth’s call after all, and she groaned as she saw him making his way over to the both of them. 

She cursed. “Prewett’s coming over. Ooh, he’s going to ask me to dance.” She looked up pleadingly at Garreth and begged, “Please don’t let him, Weasley. I have two left feet and frankly, so does he.” He gave a winning but somewhat awkward grin back.

“Where’s your escort for this evening? Surely, such an accomplished witch didn’t attend alone…?” His question was open and hung between the two of them as she stared into the depths of his eyes. They reminded her forcefully of sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees in the Forbidden Forest, green and gold and endless. 

“I tried to arrange one, but couldn’t.” She also tried to inject a tone of disappointment into her words, but couldn’t. Sebastian’s trip to Albania was now possibly the greatest thing that had ever happened to her, and she made a mental note to bake him a cake or something to thank him for the enormous favor he’d done her by fucking off for the week. 

Leander was almost upon them now, so she did not have time to react when Garreth slid his hand around her waist and pulled her gently so her back rested against his chest. “Prewett! How are you!” he cried when Leander finally stood before them. The stuffy Muggle Relations officer looked between the two of them with confusion. 

“Nice to see you, Weasley.” He turned his attention to the Auror and started to ask, “Are you–” but Garreth interjected loudly over top of him,

“My love, you must say hello to Aunt Matilda soon or she will be in a right state.” 

Her stomach flipped in a perfect circle and her head spun as she tried to make sense of what Garreth had said, but there was no time to process as Garreth bid the bewildered Leander goodbye and tugged her by her waist away from him. “You’re welcome,” he muttered into her hair as they squeezed through the crowd and found refuge near a table of desserts. Ah, he’d been trying to prevent Prewett from asking her to dance. That was all. 

“Thank you,” she said with a small smile, too embarrassed at her body’s reaction to his few featherlight touches to make eye contact with him. Wetness was pooling between her legs by the second, and visions of Garreth pressing his mouth to her ear or running his fingers over the ribbons that laced her dress shut were flooding, unbidden, into her mind. My love. Fuck, it had sounded all too lovely when he said that. She needed a breath. “The champagne is making me a bit light-headed. I think I’ll step out for a moment.”

Garreth didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll join you. If you fall down, I can catch you,” he winked, and she wanted to groan in defeat. 

It’s not the champagne, you infuriating delight. It’s you. “Alright.” The redhead trailed behind her as they slipped from the cavernous room into an empty hallway. Lamps lined it, flickering softly and providing only dim illumination without the daylight that usually filtered through from the atrium. She rested her back against the wall and took a deep breath, hoping Garreth couldn’t tell how silly and flustered she looked. A man she hadn’t seen in a decade pops back into her life, and half an hour later she could think about nothing but him taking her clothes off. And vice versa. 

Next to her, Garreth was talking, and she only realized this in time to hear the tail end of what he was saying: “...mind-numbing. I’m glad for my own loudmouth sake that I didn’t land in an office. I’d drive everyone up the walls.”

She laughed. “You’d do wonderfully here, Garreth. We could always use clever people like you.” She didn’t expect his cheeks to turn pink at her words, but they did. He waved her off and looked bashfully down at his drink.

“Potions is my lot in life for now, and I’m quite happy with it,” he said. “Although…” He tapped his chin and she found her eyes sliding out of focus as they gazed dumbly at his soft, pink lips, also splashed with freckles. “Mr. Pippin has been considering opening a shop in London and having me run it. Perhaps I’ll be seeing more of you then.”

Oh, he’d probably be seeing too much of her. She wracked her brain for the name of a potion that she could believably purchase once a day.

They stayed in the hallway, chatting aimlessly, for what felt like hours. Every time Garreth launched into a new story about the unusual and zany clientele he catered to in Hogsmeade, she was sure that she’d hear the sickening sound of the music halting or the magnified voice of the Minister thanking everyone for attending the gala. But neither came, and as the hours ticked on, she found herself falling into dangerous infatuation with the Weasley boy who’d once set his own hair on fire at six o’clock in the morning.        

His tuxedo jacket was thrown carelessly on the ground, and they’d long since slid down the wall to a seated position. The witch was trying her best not to crease Natty’s gown as she told Garreth the story behind it.

“It looks as though it was made for you,” he murmured when she had finished, and felt the silk of the skirt between two of his fingers. They’d each had three glasses of champagne at this point and were working on their fourth, and she couldn’t recall if his hair had been that tousled when they’d first run into each other, or if he was just running his long fingers through it quite a bit. And his bowtie had most definitely still been on his neck, but it was now cast down beside the jacket and the stiff collar of his shirt was open to expose a kissable swathe of neck. Her body felt hot, uncomfortable as it was from the corset, and even more so due to the looks Garreth kept giving her as they talked, an uncharacteristic darkness in his gaze.

“Thank you,” she whispered back. Absently, she ran her hand along the neckline of the dress, feeling the delicate lace that lined it while she took a sip of champagne. Over the rim of her glass, she swore she heard Garreth make a low, choked sound in the back of his throat. “Mm?” She lowered the glass and cocked her head at Garreth inquisitively, looking much more innocent than she felt.

He turned to face her directly, and she inhaled sharply when she saw the way he was staring her down. Like a man who hadn’t drunk water in eons looking at an oasis. Come to think of it, she hadn’t “drunk water” in eons either, and the thought made her want to burst. “Stop that,” he said, glancing down at where her fingers were still trailing over the lace lining. His voice was hoarse. 

Her fingers dropped in dumb obedience to her lap and she set the glass aside. Before she could speak again, Garreth’s fingers replaced hers, ghosting over her neckline and making her skin burn in their wake. “So pretty, so fucking pretty,” he muttered under his breath. She decided then and there to wear that dress every single day of her life. 

“Garreth,” she breathed. It seemed impossible to misread the way he was touching her, his fingertips just missing contact with her breasts as he played with the lace. But her nerves were alight and she had to be sure. “Garreth, what are you doing?”

In answer, he trailed one finger up from the lace, over her cleavage and neck and crooked it under her chin, lifting her face to him. She felt exposed in the most wonderful way as he thickly said, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” His eyes had lost all trace of humor. “Letting me see you in this…this fucking scrap of fabric? Merlin’s beard, you were always beautiful in school, but I never…I didn’t know how…” He trailed off and her cunt pulsed and begged for him, her body moving closer to his in unconscious desperation. 

“What about you?” she whispered against his lips. Heat was rising in her chest once more. “Teasing me senseless for most of the night? You’re no cherub, either, Weasley.”

“A cherub, no,” he agreed, his signature smirk appearing briefly before the lust in his eyes won over. “I’d actually like to do some truly hellish things to you.”

“I bet they’d feel heavenly, though.”

They both snapped at the same time. Garreth buried his hands in her hair, upsetting the updo that Natty had painstakingly helped her pin, and groaned while she clutched him by his vest and pulled him to her lips. The kiss knocked the breath out of her. Tiny, whiny moans escaped him when she began fumbling around the buttons on his shirt. “Off,” was all she could huff out before she dove back to his mouth. Garreth somehow managed to laugh while still kissing her.

“Right here? Like this?” he panted, glancing around the hallway, still empty but only steps away from the bustling party. 

They stopped discussing logistics for a moment to resume their fevered pawing at each other. Garreth’s hands wove back into her hair and pulled her with force against him, and she obliged by crawling the last few inches that separated them and onto his lap. The voluminous dress pressed and bunched between them, causing an irritated grunt to spill from Garreth. “Decide where you want to go now, angel, or I’m laying you bare on the carpet right here and ruining this gown.” She moaned with need, pleasure building in her core and spreading through her entire body at his touch. He kissed her like he’d been waiting to do so for a thousand years. His lips were every bit as soft as they looked, and he tasted like champagne and peppermint, a slight spice on his tongue that made her go mad with craving.

“Anywhere,” she whined, and meant it. The hallway was lined with closed offices, so Garreth pulled her up to stand on wobbly feet and they ran down the hall, trying every door to see if any happened to be unlocked. She would have used alohomora, but breaking into someone’s office for what promised to be a highly illicit act (if Garreth’s dark emerald eyes and the large bulge pressing against his trousers were any indication) just felt too indecorous. If a door happened to be open, however…it was practically an invitation.

It took turning down two more hallways, one stairwell, and yanking on probably twenty doors to find one that finally, blissfully, turned under Garreth’s hand. Mere seconds later, he had cleared every possession from the poor Ministry employee’s desk with a sweep of his arm and threw her onto it. “Gods, I’ve not been able to think about anything except this since I saw you,” he slurred through kiss-swollen lips as he grasped her shoulders and ran his featherlight touch down her bare arms, sending a cold shock through her body. He moved in between her legs and pressed himself, as best he could with the gown still on, against her. She could tell even with all the fabric that his cock was impressively hard and that she would certainly feel this in the morning. 

“Fuck, yes, you will, you naughty little thing,” Garreth breathed against her teeth. For Merlin's sake, she’d said the last bit out loud. Oh, well. “If you don’t, I haven’t done my job.”

With this, he dropped to his knees in front of the desk and grabbed as much silk and netting as he could, shoving it up around her waist. She clutched at the silk as best as she could and fought to remain upright, but once Garreth had pulled her undergarments down so they pooled around her ankles, the feeling of his hot breath against her core had her arms going slack. She slumped against the desk and felt his fingers grip her by the thighs.

His muffled voice reached her buzzing ears through layers of fabric: “Bury me here, darling, promise you will.” A wretched cry tore from her throat as Garreth laid his tongue flat against her cunt and began moving it in circles, alternating light flicks and kisses against her clit that had pleasure ramping up wildly inside her stomach. She reached forward, desperate for something to steady herself with, and made contact with his strawberry locks. Using them as leverage, she yanked him closer to her until nearly his entire body was engulfed by her dress.  

“Garreth,” she moaned. The pleasure was making her stupid, and words were taking extra long to form in her brain and exit her mouth. “How did we never do this back at–”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he panted, coming up for air and replacing his tongue with his pointer and middle fingers. He drew fast, hard patterns over her clit and her back arched. “Not thinking about back then because I have you now, and I never want this to end.” He was so genuine and earnest, his eyes pleading with her to let him stay in this position forever, that she pulled him up by his shirt collar into another kiss. The taste of herself on his lips made her blush prettily.

It was all happening so fast that it made her thoughts rush in a frenzied whirlwind around her head. She didn’t want it to end either, but what it was, she wasn’t quite sure. Would they go their separate ways again after tonight? Would she find herself staring glumly at that pesky desk calendar on Monday, starting the count over from zero? Was it a terrible idea to fuck him anyway? Her drunken mind produced one coherent thought: Who cares?

As Garreth ghosted his lips over the shell of her ear, whispering pure filth while he began undoing the laces of her dress, she wondered if perhaps she had been gifted with a touch of legilimency. Hadn’t she envisioned this very moment earlier while fighting to stay prim and proper against his flirtiness? Never again, she decided, would she doubt her excellent instincts. The dress fell away from her shoulders and chest, leaving her in only her corset, gown and undergarments discarded on the floor. “Oh, for fuck’s safe,” huffed Garreth as he noticed the corset. “You don’t need to wear one of those.”

He said it in such a matter-of-fact tone that she colored and muttered, “I don’t ordinarily but…it maintains the shape of the dress.” She glanced sheepishly up at him and he rolled his eyes. 

“That gown should thank its lucky stars that it ever graced your body. My God, you’re just…” He trailed off, taking in every inch of her that was exposed to him. She was quickly losing her capacity for embarrassment or shyness as her need for him to ruin her overtook everything inside her.

“Take this off and fuck me, Weasley,” she tried to order, but it came out more as a breathless plea. Despite this, Garreth obeyed. He turned her over so her hips were digging into the front of the desk and began haphazardly yanking at the ribbons restricting her torso. The corset fell away after a few seconds, and she barely had time to crane her neck around and see that he was shedding his dress shirt, vest, and trousers with the urgency of a madman before he placed one strong hand at the base of her neck and directed her to bend over the desk. She tried to protest, having very much been looking forward to seeing his cock freed from its restraints, but she found the protests dying in her throat as she felt it.

Holy fucking–! Every impure word and expression she knew flooded from her brain and out her mouth as he pressed his hard length against her ass and bucked his hips involuntarily, groaning with the effort of holding himself back. “How does it feel?” he rasped against her ear, leaning over her to do so and inadvertently making his cock brush against her dripping wet center. She cried in shocked pleasure, and more incoherent begging and pleading followed. “Are you ready for me, darling?

“Yes,” she half-sobbed, half-demanded. She didn’t think she could hold on much longer. Garreth ran his hands down her bare back and rested his forehead against the back of her head, sparing one more second to worship her before he braced himself on her waist and pushed into her. 

Their moans intermingled deliciously as he fully sheathed himself inside her. He was fucking huge, and she gritted her teeth against the initial stretch. After a moment, he asked if he could move and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His cock dragged against her walls, lazy and heavy, stoking the fire inside her and causing obscenities to fall from both their lips.

“You do feel fucking heavenly,” Garreth panted, picking up his pace after a few languid strokes. He flattened her more completely to the desk and moved his hands to her ass, kneading and using it to pull her harder back onto him. Sweat was beginning to pool on the back of her neck, and she felt a drop of it drip from Garreth’s hair onto her spine. “Shit!” he spat. “I’m not going to–fuck, not gonna last long. Are you close?”

Questions? At a time like this? He expected too much of her. She moaned vaguely, trying to indicate that she was close. He picked up his pace even more, fucking her in a ravenous way she’d never felt before, hitting deep and high points that made stars burst across her vision. Her fingernails dug into the mahogany desk in front of her, curls of wood left behind in long trails as her fingers curled. Through their frenzy, she managed to ask a question of her own that had been burning in her mind since she saw his shirtsleeves rolled. She tossed it over her shoulder with a grin, panting: “Does it have…Are there freckles on your–?”

Garreth’s hips stuttered as a hysterical laugh cut through him. “Plenty of time to find out for yourself, darling,” he retorted, and snaked a hand around to her clit. The second he applied pressure there, she found herself coming. Her orgasm rolled over and through her and burst out of her like she’d been filled with an uncontainable light. She cried Garreth’s name, tears rolling down her face, and felt herself clamp around him.

“O-oh, fuck.” He faltered, not expecting the silken sensation of her to take his breath away. “Where do you want me, sweetheart?” 

She was still caught in the arms of ecstasy, and only had the energy to pant, “Inside.” That was everything Garreth needed to be pushed over the edge. He came with a strangled yell and fell on top of her, filling her completely. With his last remaining strength, Garreth rolled off of her and laid next to her, on his back. The desk was far from comfortable, but at the moment, it felt like a king-sized bed at the finest hotel.

They caught their breath for several minutes. She tried to make sense of it all; Garreth Weasley, who gained a reputation in sixth year for being a wildly damp kisser, had just given her the best sex of her life and she was ready to beg for more. Her heart hammered even as her breathing returned to normal, because she was very sure now that she could fall for her old classmate. Not to even mention his godlike sexual prowess.

Her face was still pressed to the desk, and as she waited to regain the ability to walk again, Garreth’s cum dripping steadily down her thigh, she turned her head to the side. The man was still panting, propped up by his elbows and staring at the ceiling in disbelief. Her gaze wandered southward and she couldn’t help but smile. It sure did have freckles, and even while softening was larger than any other she’d ever taken. Sighing, she turned her head the other way and caught sight of one of the pictures that he had thrown to the ground when clearing the desk.

It was a picture of her. 

The confusion made her bolt upright. She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand and crouched down to pick up the photograph in its brass frame. There she was, smiling and laughing with her arm around Ominis Gaunt and–

“Oh, shit!” The frame clattered from her hands and Garreth sat straight up, startled, as she frantically raced around the room, taking in its contents. A bookshelf, filled with books by and about famous dark wizards. Several stained tea cups that needed to be taken home and washed. And worst of all, a gilded name plate cast onto the ground that read “S. Sallow, Auror.” 

“Fuck! Fuck, oh no! How did this happen?!” She wailed, clasping her head in her hands. The scratches she had left in the desk glared back at her, their position making it far too obvious as to what had been done atop the piece of furniture. She snatched the ball gown from the ground and dug around in the skirts for the sewn-in wand pocket. When her fingers brushed against the yew wood, she pulled her wand free and frantically cast Reparo! at the desk. The scratches stayed resolute. She swore and cast the spell a second time, again to no avail. 

“Er, it’s not really broken,” Garreth chuckled, watching her efforts as he yawned happily. He was reclining, his long legs stretched in front of him and arms clasped behind his head, showing off his toned chest and stomach. She wished he would have a smidgen of decency. Not because his body wasn’t spectacular, but because she found herself frustrated and turned on almost immediately. And now was not the time, not when they’d just accidentally fucked on top of Sebastian’s desk and left undeniable evidence that someone had done so.

“But this is–!” She began, but Garreth had spotted the nameplate and reached down to grab it.

“S. Sallow,” he read, then thoughtfully put a finger to his chin. “Hey, that’s not ‘Sallow’ as in–”

“Yes, EXACTLY as in Sebastian Sallow! I can’t believe I didn’t read the doorplate before you opened it!” she yelled. They’d been so blind with desire that she hadn’t even noticed they had landed in the Auror offices. Sebastian had told her that he was leaving his office door unlocked so that she could access any files he had while he was away. She wanted to sink into the ground. Her own office was just the next door down. 

She could feel her hair falling free around her shoulders in her upset state and remembered with a jolt that she was naked. Snatching her undergarments from the floor, she began to pull them back on, but Garreth leapt into action when he sensed that clothes were entering into the equation once more.

“No need for that!” He shushed her frantic rambling that Sebastian was going to notice and he was going to put two and two together and wrapped his arms around her. “You can tell him that you, uh…” He squeezed his eyes closed while trying to come up with a believable lie, and she melted a little against him, recalling how he used to do the same thing in their shared classes when he was called upon unprepared. His eyes flew back open. “I’ve got it. You can sit that fantastic little cunt on my face.”

She spluttered, not sure if she was more indignant or approving of the proposal. “And how is that going to help this situation?” 

Garreth grinned. “This won’t seem like such an ordeal when I’m finished with you.”

When he was right, he was right. It took no more convincing for her to push him down onto the soft carpet and swing a leg over the side of his face. He ate her out like it was his last meal, which, she reasoned, if Sebastian ever figured out what they had done in his office, it may be. 

They stayed in Sebastian’s office and did all sorts of things that made Garreth turn the portrait of Anne that Sebastian kept on his bookshelf facedown for several hours more. It wasn’t until they were lying on top of the violet gown, legs tangled and whispering to one another while she ran her fingers through his hair that Garreth shot straight up and cried, “Aunt Matilda probably had to go home without me!”

She tried to stifle laughter at his genuine alarm. “Weasley, I’m sure she can make it there just fine without you.”

“You haven’t seen how she can put away champagne when it’s free and offered to her.”

They both laughed, and Garreth leaned over to kiss her, sweet and soft. “When can I see you again?” he murmured. He suddenly looked lost, like he wasn’t sure what he’d do next depending on her answer. It charmed her to no end.

“I’ll need an escort to this gala next year, I suppose.”

“And in the meantime?”

She smiled. “I’d like someone to go to dinner with.”

masterlist

[whumpsoda]

Rate the name "Peepeepoopoo"

JUST KIDDING HAHAHAHAHA

Joke's aside... how about a whump prompt?

Caretaker finds Whumpee months after they had a fight. Caretaker hugs Whumpee, relieved that they finally found them and apologized to them for saying all the nasty stuff to them.

Whumpee just looks at them, confusion etched on their face.

"Who are you...?"

-- @whumperofworlds

10/10 name, would name my kid that!

Here’s a drabble!!! Trying to actually work on my inbox… I hope you like it! Sorry it took so long :3

cw: amnesia/memory loss, implication of past abuse

———————————————————————

“Who are you?!”

Caretaker recoiled, hands flying off of her once closest friend. At least, that was a good amount of months ago, anyway. Now he was shouting at her in the street as soon as she had tried to embrace him. For a second, like a fool, she had thought it could’ve been just like old times. For a moment.

“Whumpee, it’s…” Was he still angry? Did he not recognize her? Nervously, she chuckled. “Oh! I guess I did change my hair, and we haven’t seen each other in forever, but-!”

Baring his teeth and taking an offensive position, he growled. “Who? Are. You.”

Brows furrowed, she reached out to place a hand to his shoulder. It was only her. Why was he being so hostile? There was no reason for him to be so terrified of her. “Whumpee, hey. It’s me, it’s just Caretaker.”

“Hey! Off!” He hollered, swiftly and harshly slapping away her arm. For a moment, Caretaker just watched him jump back with a stunned expression.

Seemingly, he surely was still upset with her. And she was just an idiot for even thinking things could’ve just gone back to normal.

“S- sorry.” She whispered, taking a step away.

Whumpee’s face was flushed red with a sour concoction of anger, confusion, and embarrassment. “I don’t…” he stood almost hunched over, hiding himself inside of a hoodie five times too big, when she clearly remembered always seen him stand so tall. So bright. Like now he didn’t want to be seen. “How do you know me?”

Something was off. Something was very off.

Her mind was spinning in circles with puzzlement, desperate to get a grasp on the situation. “Whumpee… what’s wrong? Is something wrong…? I don’t understand-” Yet again she had made the mistake of unconsciously moving closer, an action he obviously didn’t take kindly to.

“Don’t come any closer! Stay back!” Whumpee sloppily swiped something from his pocket, holding it out as a means of a weapon. Unfortunately for him it was a mere credit card, but Caretaker positioned her hands above her head, anyway. Anything to make him feel a bit safer, maybe even trust her more. 

“Okay, okay. I’m not gonna hurt you, y’know. It’s Caretaker.” She chose her words carefully, ever so slowly speaking. Not taking a single movement that may put him more on edge.

“Are you…” Eyes wide and limbs jittery, distressfully trying to keep up his aggressive facade, Whumpee’s voice dropped to no more than a murmur. “Are you one of… one of Master’s friends?”

Master? 

Caretaker’s stomach churned as soon as he spoke such a title, overcome with shock and disgust. 

For a moment, as her expression twisted with horror, Caretaker took the time to look at him. To really look at him. To take notice of his bundled up frame on a humid day, to note his greasy, sweat dripping hair that contradicted his usually strict ideology against allowing himself to go unwashed, and the rich, raw marks of cracking red that circled his throat. She’d never seen him so disheveled. 

“Master? Whumpee, what are you talking about-”

“Who is Whumpee?! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He was howling again, still pointing the useless object toward her with an iron grip, and most passersby were watching with unease and fascination. 

Whumpee’s passion was only getting his former friend riled up as well. “You-!” 

“Stay. Back.” He snarled, fiery rage flashing in his eye. From that alone she could just tell that he’d been through something Caretaker would never know the severity of. Something that broke the gates of his soft kindness, shriveling him into the trembling, vicious man she was faced with. 

“What… happened to you?”

He swallowed, and for a beat his face softened. “I…”

“I mean… Whumpee,” she huffed a bitter chuckle, carefully and slowly outstretching her hand. This time, he didn’t reject it. “Where have you been, all this time?”

[musical-shit-show]

isn't it delicate?

Pairing: Musical!Beetlejuice x Reader

Inspiration: Prompts #1 (“did…did you just kiss me?”) and #2 (“i didn’t mean to say that but yeah, i love you.”) from Prompt List 2, requested by @animetattoochick

Warnings: cursing, sexual innuendo, fluff

Word Count: 2,701

Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience on this one! I really haven’t been feeling very inspired lately, but I’m so glad I was able to finish this request. I have one more in my inbox currently but after that I think I may be able to get a couple other one shots out before the end of the year. I always love this time of year and I tend to feel more inspired around the holidays, so hopefully I’ll have the time to write more! As always check out my Masterlist, About Me page, or Prompt Lists if you’d like to submit an ask! Happy reading :)

“So…any men in your life I should know about while you’re up there?”

“Mom! That’s…no. Not…really, no.”

“Well, alright. That wasn’t very convincing, but I’ll take it,” your mother mused over the phone, only slightly teasing, “Just, tell me: are those people being good hosts? What were their names again—?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your mom was always the forgetful type, “Charles and Delia. And their daughter, Lydia. She’s about sixteen, I think? Cute kid.”

You didn’t feel like you should mention the fact that your new teenage counterpart only wore black and was incredibly morbid, or that two ghosts occupied the attic, or that you were frequently plagued by a literal demon.

If you told your mom any of that, odds were that she’d drop dead from shock.

Ever since you started renting out the Deetz’ third bedroom in their Connecticut home, you tried to keep the details to a minimum when talking to your family. All they knew was that you had moved hundreds of miles away for your dream job, which was true; what they didn’t need to know what that you practically lived in a haunted house.

For the first few weeks you lived there, everything was relatively normal. Delia and Charles were in the city most days, and when you got home from work, Lydia was usually at the kitchen table doing her homework or in the attic. One day, you were headed to your room when you heard concerned whispers coming from the other side of the attic door.

“I just don’t know if now is the right time to tell her, you know?” you heard an older male’s voice say, his tone clearly distressed. You couldn’t help but wonder who Lydia was talking to given that Charles had been gone for a few days.

“Adam, it’s been weeks!” Lydia shot back, “Besides, I’m worried if we wait too long, you know who might show up and scare her away. You know how he gets.”

“She does have a point, hon,” this time, a sweeter woman’s voice spoke, “Besides, I think she’ll take it well. She gets along with Lydia just fine, doesn’t she?”

“Of course! If I just explain—”

“Okay, okay,” the voice now identified as Adam cut in, “I was getting a little sick of hiding up in the attic again.”

You heard the old door creaking open and bolted to your room, shutting your own door as quietly as you could. You stood at the foot of your bed, utterly confused.

Who were those people?

When did they manage to sneak into the attic?

And why the fuck was Lydia keeping some huge secret from you?

You thought you had a good rapport with her, given that you were several years her senior and were getting along with her alright. You maybe even could see yourself taking on an older sibling role, especially since she didn’t have any of her own and few friends at school.

Plus, you could tell she had a hard time opening up. As your mind slowed, you realized she would only come to you when she was ready. Whatever weird shit was going on would become your business when she finally told you.

It didn’t take long after your adventure in snooping.

A few days later, you heard a soft knock on your door and Lydia’s small frame peaked through the door. “Come on in,” you smiled, closing your laptop, “I was just checking out dinner options, how does pizza sound?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” she replied, uncharacteristically timid, “Pizza sounds great.” An awkward silence filled the air as she sat down on the edge of the bed, the buckles on her black chunky boots jangling slightly, “So…I have to tell you something.”

“I figured.”

“It’s just…I don’t want to freak you out or anything,” she began gingerly, “I haven’t told anyone about this, but since I like you and you’re living here, I thought it’s only fair—”

She was very sweet for beating around the bush, but you couldn’t keep it in anymore, “Is this about your two friends you’ve been sneaking in? Because honestly, Lydia, it’s completely fine if you have people over, you’re not bothering me—”

“What, no, I—” Lydia stared at your incredulously, “How did you—?”

“I heard you all talking the other day,” you confessed, finding her teenage antics a little endearing, “You aren’t exactly the quietest bunch, but like I said, I don’t mind.”

Lydia shook her head, not wanting anything about her situation to be misconstrued, “No, you don’t understand. Adam and Barbara, they aren’t friends from school or anything like that. They live here.”

You blink stupidly.

“Or, I guess lived here.”

You grew even more confused.

“I’m not sure I understand,” you said, a small laugh escaping your lips.

“They’re dead,” Lydia finally stated, unsure how to make herself any clearer, “Ghosts. They died here before me, my dad and Delia moved in. And…since you’ve been here, they’ve been staying in the attic.”

You laughed involuntarily. You couldn’t help it.

Surely this teenager was fucking with you.

But as silence once again permeated the room, Lydia stared at you earnestly, not breaking into a mischievous smile or shouting a good “gotcha!”.

“Oh,” you muttered, “Oh, you’re serious.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Cool. Ghosts are real. I can handle that.”

“Yeah, you seem really calm right now. It’s kinda freaking me out.”

“I’m good,” you reassured her. Or maybe you were just reassuring yourself? “I am. Just…processing.”

The existence of ghosts didn’t surprise you that much, but you were obviously way off when it came to Lydia’s secret. In your defense, you were busy with the move and your job and everything else, how could you notice anything strange going on?

“There’s something else too,” Lydia said quietly, swinging her chunky black boots off the bed and landing on the floor with a thud, “Or, I guess, someone. His name is, well, I usually call him Beej. He’s like a super chaotic ghost or demon, I’m not really sure. It’s a long story…”

She shifted on the bed again. “Anyways, I met him pretty quickly after we moved here, and, well, he’s kind of…a lot. And he left for a bit, but he and I are actually friends. Real friends, not like before. Like I said, long story, but I just wanted to tell you in case he shows up here and—”

Before Lydia could finish, a flash of green light illuminated the room, and the figure that appeared before you was the strangest man you had ever seen.

He donned a hideous black and white striped suit that appeared to be falling apart at the seams, and his hair was a violent shade of green that actually made you wince. His skin was sickly pale, and the tattered overcoat he wore to round out the ensemble shed dust and dirt particles with every movement.

“Lyds!” he shouted, his voice grating and coarse, “My ears were burning; were you talking about me, oh best friend of mine?” He tousled the teen’s hair, much to her dismay. Before Lydia could answer, he turned his attention to you.

Eyeing you up and down, the man cocked his head to this side. You felt a light tingle on the back of your neck; why did you suddenly feel like you were being hunted?

“And who do we have here?” he purred, a Cheshire cat smile spreading across his face, “Babysitter?”

“I’m sixteen, asshole. I don’t need a babysitter,” Lydia chimed.

You told him your name, and considered extending your hand in formality. That idea quickly disintegrated when you saw how grimy his hands looked, fingers black at their tips in a clear indication of decay.

“I, uh, live in the guest bedroom,” you choked out, “And your name is…?”

“Wish I could tell, ya, babe,” he said with a chuckle, running his tongue across his slightly jagged teeth, “I like to say I’m the ghost with the most, but you can call me whatever you like—”

Lydia was quick to cut him off from the incessant attempts at flirting, and you learned his real name was Beetlejuice. He winced at the sound, and the more he and the younger girl told you about their escapades, the more enthralled you became.

Before you could fully process all the insane information the duo was throwing at you, Beetlejuice left, citing a bio-exorcism that needed attending to. You made a mental note to have Lydia explain that in greater detail later. With a *pop* and a puff of green smoke, he was gone.

But not for long.

Over the next few months, Beetlejuice’s visits became more and more frequent, much to the dismay of everyone else in the house, living and dead.

Except for you.

You found him utterly fascinating, despite his shocking outward appearance and often lascivious gaze. Yes, he was a dead guy, but he always made an effort to ask you about your life, even if it was followed up by a crude joke or bad pick-up line. When he wasn’t tormenting the other inhabitants of the Deetz residence, he was almost…sweet to you.

Of course, his sweetness was usually undercut with his sleazy tendencies; Though you knew he liked getting a rise out of you and you would often bicker with him on purpose. Even as you performed mundane tasks, you could tell he was leering at you, studying your every move.

You thought you were alone while on the phone with your mother, but Beetlejuice had become sneakier; this time he was listening outside your room, floating inches above the floor so his shadow couldn’t be seen under the doorframe.

“Anyways, no, there’s, uh, no guy,” you said sheepishly, your tone coming out more bitter than you intended. “You know I’d tell you, Ma.”

“I know, honey,” she said, her voice comforting you, “Just, try to make some friends, okay? We miss you and I don’t want you to be lonely.”

For some reason this made tears well up in your eyes. “I miss you too,” you choked, masking your sob with a cough, “And uh, I’ll try, don’t worry. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” There was a pause on the other end. Your mom knew you were crying, which made you want to cry even more.

“Okay,” she said, not wanting to upset you further. She knew you too well, “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Your phone beeped and then returned to your home screen, and you let out a heavy sigh. A few tears dropped onto your jeans, the salt stinging your eyes.

“Who made you cry?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Beetlejuice materialized next to you, a few strands of his hair sprouting red at the roots. You shook your head in dispute.

“No, it was just my mom—”

“Oh, typical mothers. They really are the worst sometimes. Y’know, did I ever tell you how my mom—”

“Beej!” you cut him off before he went on another one of his rants, “I know. I’m sure you’ve told me. But no, she didn’t make me cry.” You wiped a stray tear away from your face and sniffled, feeling pathetic. “I guess I’m just a bit homesick.”

His hair instantly reverted back to its original state of vibrant green as he sat down on the bed next to you. “Oh…right,” he said, twiddling his thumbs, “You breathers can get so…sensitive sometimes, huh?”

You laughed dryly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” It didn’t take long at all for you to see that Beetlejuice was a big softy, even though he liked to tease and scare you on an almost daily basis.

You didn’t mind, not even a little bit. Because against your better judgement, you found yourself developing feelings for him. Weirdly strong feelings. And you weren’t sure what that meant with him, well, being dead and all.

That fact didn’t seem to matter when he took your hand in his, your warm palm contrasting with his almost frigid skin. You felt yourself shiver, and you weren’t sure if it was from the sudden temperature change or the physical contact.

“I’m uh, not really good with this shit,” he said indelicately, “But I like having you around. Usually, I spend all my time either in the Netherworld or scaring the life outta breathers but…I didn’t want to come back to this house that much until you showed up. So…thanks for that.”   

He ran his thumb across the back of your hand, the gesture making your insides churn.

“Plus, if you were gone, I’d lose my eye candy,” he added, making you instantly blush and let out a laugh, “Adam’s hot and all, but you might just have him beat—"

You couldn’t help it. You kissed him. Your eyes were still red from residual tears, and he was a demon, and you tasted the faintest earthy flavor on your lips, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about any of those facts.

It was a fairly chaste kiss, only lasting a few moments before you pulled away. Instantly Beetlejuice’s hair started sprouting a light pink color.

“Did…did you just kiss me?” he asked in disbelief. He was usually the one doing the kissing, or groping, or endless propositioning.

A sheepish laugh escaped your throat, your palms instantly moistening with nervous sweat. “Uh, yeah?” you croaked, “Is that alright?” Beetlejuice looked utterly dumbfounded.

“Alright?” he laughed. If he were still alive, his heart would’ve fluttered. “Babe, more than alright, I loved it! Shit, I’ve loved every second you’ve been in this boring ass house…because I love you.”

The realization came to the demon as soon as the words left his lips. He didn’t even register what he had said until you muttered, “you love me?”

Fuck.

‘Well,’ the demon thought, ‘no going back now’. He couldn’t detect whether you were pleased or creeped out by the sudden escalation, but decided to trudge forward through the emotionally honest deep end he had unwittingly dove into.

“Erm…” now it was his turn to be sheepish, “I didn’t mean to say that but yeah, I love you. Sorry to one up you, babe, but if you wanna go back to making out, you won’t get any complaints outta me.”

Even as he cracked jokes, he could feel his anxiety rising to his hair, which was slowly turning a sickly shade of yellow that mixed with the pink strands. He held his nonexistent breath as a wide grin spread across your face.

“Oh Beej, I love you too,” you said, finally able to put words to the ache you’ve felt for him for weeks, “Even though you’re a complete perv who shouldn’t have been spying on me in the first place.”

He scoffed at the accusation. “Look babe, let’s not forget who kissed who first,” he reminded, tracing his fingers along your arm. His hair was now a vibrant pink. “Though I wouldn’t mind going in for round two—”

“Round two of what, exactly?!” Lydia burst through the door, causing the two of you to jump away from each other on the bed. “Or do I even want to know.” The young girl looked disgusted at the thought.

“Jesus Christ, Lyds, ever heard of knockin’?!” Beetlejuice admonished. It was so big brother of him it almost made you burst out laughing.

“Yeah, I wonder where she got the spying from,” you deadpanned, your gaze flickered between the both of them before landing on Lydia, “We’ll meet you downstairs in a minute to talk, alright?”

She crossed her arms across her chest before stomping down the steps, yelling out a “No funny business!” for good measure, utterly embarrassing you and tickling Beetlejuice all at once.

You made a mental note to banish him the next time you talk to your mom; the fact that you were now dating a literal dead guy would not be a topic of discussion on the next phone call, and you didn’t need Beetlejuice butting in to introduce himself as her future son-in-law.

----

thanks for reading! please like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed! :)

[in-my-feels-probably]

hello! how are you? I hope you have a good day! can you please do “you drew stars around my scars but now im bleeding” with sirius but ends with fluff please? thank you sm!❣️

Cardigan

Request: hello! how are you? I hope you have a good day! can you please do “you drew stars around my scars but now im bleeding” with sirius but ends with fluff please? thank you sm!❣️

Hi! I’m so sorry for the long wait, it took me forever to make it through my inbox to get to this request. Thank you for being patient. I went a little bit literal with this one, but I think it turned out alright. Cardigan is my absolute favorite Taylor song, and I literally have this lyric on my phone case in a design I had made. I haven’t written for Sirius in a little bit, but I very much enjoyed writing this. I hope you like it!

(Warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries and scars, mentions of sirius’s home life, insecurity, mentions of trauma and panic responses, let me know if i missed anything)

—

Sirius had good days and bad days. 

It hadn’t been that long since he had run away from home, and he was still learning how to cope. Although he had his friends by his side, adjusting to his day to day life and accepting what the future held for him was hard. Getting through the day without a hiccup was quite the feat for him. 

He could go from smiling and laughing one minute, to shutting down completely and harshly snapping at someone in another.

Trauma isn’t pretty. 

It never is, and it probably never would be, but it was something Sirius was learning to process and work through. Luckily, he had you by his side to help him. He knew he would never be alone as long as you were there.

Still, that didn’t stop him from trying to push you away when you got a little too close for comfort. Having someone that close meant that you knew him well. You knew every part of him, including the darkest parts, and that terrified him. It was his instinct to run when he felt you near. Like you were burying yourself under his skin, and there was nowhere left inside himself where he could escape to.

He fought that instinct every day.

You knew when to leave him alone. Over time, you had picked up on all his tells, and it was easy enough to tell when he needed some time to himself. Giving him the space to breathe was important, and you were happy enough to do so. 

But you couldn’t let him be truly alone. 

In the moments where he’d push you away, you’d just cling harder. If you didn’t cling, he would forever keep you at arm’s length, regardless of if he knew it was bad for him or not. He didn’t know how to do what was best for him, so he had to trust that you and his friends could do it for him until he learned how to do it for himself. And while he knew it was best to let you all do that for him, he’d still fight it sometimes. 

Today was a bad day. 

It had started alright. He’d even woken up with some pep in his step, his usual grin plastered on his face as he joined you in your first class of the day. He sat next to you with a smile, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head. 

“Hello, love.”

You smiled, raising a brow. “You’re unusually cheery today. Did you sleep well? I normally have to wait until at least noon to speak to you if I don’t want my head bitten off. What’s different?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, reaching for your hand under the table. “I’m just happy today.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Good.”

—

You weren’t sure what had happened. 

You had gone to your next few classes, sitting in your last one while you waited for it to start. It was the one class you and all your friends had together, and you seemed to have gotten there first. Your table was empty as usual, with three vacant stools next to and across from you.

You were beginning to worry just as James walked through the doorway alone, a frown set on his face as he took a seat on the stool next to you. 

You turned to him, confused. “James? Where are Remus and Sirius? Is everything alright?”

“No,” he said quietly, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “Something is wrong with Sirius. He showed up to Potions in a panic and wouldn’t tell anyone what happened. He bolted for the dorms the second class ended and wouldn’t stop for any of us. Remus followed him back, I came to tell you.”

Your eyes widened, and you felt a sense of dread wash over you. You quickly stood, haphazardly grabbing all your things. You carried them over to Lily, who was at a nearby table. 

“Would you mind holding onto these for me? I’ve got to go.”

She nodded, sliding them closer to her. “Of course, love. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you rushed out, already pivoting on your heels to leave. “Thank you!”

You hurried out the door, James hot on your heels. You tried not to let your mind wander to the worst possibilities, choking down your fear as you approached Gryffindor tower. James took the lead then, guiding you up the stairs to his dorm. You found Remus at the top, banging on the door with his fist. 

“The dickhead locked me out,” he huffed, banging on the door once more. “My wand is in there, I can’t unlock it. I think he blocked it with a chair anyways.”

“We could knock it down,” James suggested, already preparing himself to kick the door in. 

“Or we could do the smart thing,” you countered, pulling your wand from your pocket. “Alohomora.”

If Sirius had barricaded the door, that was a problem for later. It didn’t matter whether he had or not unless you could actually open the door. You heard the door unlock, the click prompting you to wave your wand once more.

“Evanesco,” you mumbled, making the chair vanish from behind the door. 

“Huh,” James said, more to himself than anyone else. “I didn’t think of that.”

His words would have made you chuckle if you weren’t already preoccupied. Your anxiety was stifling any other emotion you could have felt. You quickly pushed open the door, peering inside. You found Sirius in his bed, the curtains drawn. 

He was shutting you out. 

It was eerily quiet. You realized he had casted a Silencing Charm, preventing you from hearing anything. The room was dead silent, as if your hearing had completely disappeared. James and Remus stood on either side of you, exchanging nervous glances. 

“Should we talk to him?” James asked.

Remus shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s better to let him cool off for a little while.”

You sighed in frustration, hesitating. After a minute of waiting, you couldn’t take it any longer. You marched towards his bed, trying to open the curtains. But as you tried to tug them open, they wouldn’t budge. Not even a little bit. You groaned, taking a step back. 

“Sirius? Sirius, open the curtains,” you asked sternly, trying your best not to let your voice waver. “I know you can hear me. Please just open the curtains, don’t make me have to do it.”

You knew your tone was harsh. But it had to be. You had no idea what had happened, and none of you could help unless you knew what you were up against. He was already beginning to block you out, and you couldn’t let him. 

You tugged on the curtains again, speaking softer. “Sirius, please.”

All of a sudden, you heard the sound of blankets being tossed and a muffled shuffle. It was like your ears had popped, as if you had been underwater the whole time you were in the room and you had just now reached the surface. There was a spell mumbled, and then Sirius’s head was peeking out from in between his curtains. 

“Go away,” he spat, before sinking back behind the curtains. “I don’t want you here, I don’t need you.”

“Pads!” James quickly scolded.

“Oi! Watch your tone with her,” Remus snapped at the same time.

You ignored the twinge in your heart, pushing down the sting of his words. “It’s fine, guys. Just help me.”

Sirius heard your words, and you could hear another shuffle as he reached for the curtains. He tried once again to spell them, but James was quicker. James held onto one end, while Remus held onto the other. You stood at the foot of the bed in between them, silently scanning Sirius for any visible injuries or signs of distress as he gave you all a few colorful choice words. You let him get it out of his system before you spoke.

“We’re not going anywhere, love. Are you going to tell us what happened, or are we going to sit here? I’m happy to do either.”

When Sirius was defensive like this, one of you had to lead. It may not have been the kindest way you could have said it, but kindness isn’t what was going to get him to talk. First, you had to get through to him. Afterwards was when it was time to be kind. And he certainly wasn’t going to give you an easy time.

He was being childish. You couldn’t blame him, you knew it was just an involuntary response. But it was hard to work around it sometimes. It was one of his many reactions to being upset, and your second to least favorite—only ahead of finding him in tears. 

James, ever the worrier, placed a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “What’s going on, mate? Do I need to hit someone?”

“I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself, Potter,” he muttered, shrugging him off.

“Alright,” Remus said, stepping around the bed to grab onto James’s shoulder. “You let me know when you’re done being a git. We’ll be downstairs. Call if you need us.”

James gave you a concerned look, but he let Remus pull him away. You gave him a small reassuring smile, and he took that as enough reason to follow Remus out the door. 

You sighed, turning back around. Sirius was looking up at you with dull eyes, a frown on his face. Slowly, you crawled up onto the edge of the bed. He watched as you sat, crossing your legs and folding your hands in your laps. You settled in, and it was becoming clear to him that you really weren’t going anywhere.

“Hey, sweet boy,” you murmured, trying a gentler approach. “You gonna talk to me?”

Sirius’s face softened as you spoke, but he didn’t move to speak. You reached for one of his hands, and he absentmindedly began playing with your fingers. 

“You were alright when I saw you this morning. What happened? James was quite worried when he told me.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” he said quietly, slipping a ring off one of his fingers to slip it on yours, beginning to twist it around. 

You quickly nodded. “I know. He just doesn’t know what’s happening, love. He doesn’t know how to help you if you don’t tell him what’s wrong. None of us do. I think it upsets him more than it worries him. He doesn’t like seeing anyone sad, but especially not his best friend.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, only humming in response. You let him twist his ring around your finger a little longer, before you laid your free hand on his knee.

“If you don’t want to talk, we don’t have to talk. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here until I see that pretty smile. And if that’s tomorrow? Well it looks like I’m staying the night, then.”

He finally looked up, tugging your hand closer. “What’s this from?”

You looked down to see a little white scar at the base of one of your fingers, with lead stained underneath the skin. You nearly laughed at the memory. 

“I got stabbed with a pencil.”

“What?” He asked, inspecting the scar. “Why is there gray?” 

“It happened when I was a kid at school. Muggles don’t write with a quill and ink. Especially when you’re a kid, a pencil is easier to use because you can erase all your mistakes. I was playing with a friend, and they had their pencil in their hand. It slipped, and the point stabbed my finger. I tried to wash it out and clean it, but some of the lead stayed under my skin I guess. And when it healed, you could still see it. I actually forgot that it was there.”

“You never tried to heal it once you got here?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“It is healed,” you shrugged, placing your hand back in his. “But if you mean the mark, then no, I never tried to get rid of it. I don’t mind it. I hardly ever notice it, but when I do, it’s just a reminder of something silly that happened to me as a kid. It’s a good laugh.”

You pulled your legs out from under the covers, showing him the raised skin on your knee. “Remember when I did this one?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a person as clumsy as you,” Sirius mused, resting his hand on your knee. “You managed to trip not once but twice in the stands down at the Quidditch Pitch.”

You shoved his shoulder, feigning offense. “It was raining! And I seem to remember someone laughing quite hard.” 

“I couldn’t help it, love. The first time looked like it hurt, but the second time was just funny. Don’t look at me like that, I took you to see Madam Pomfrey. You didn’t let her fix it?”

“I let her patch me up and give me a bandage,” you said, running your finger along the raised skin. “But I said no when she offered to try and make sure it didn’t scar. What, you don’t think it’s pretty?”

Your tone was playful, but Sirius seemed to take your words to heart. He shook his head, his face pensive. 

“I think all of you is pretty. All of you, the scars too. I just thought they might bother you a little bit.”

You smiled, shaking your head. 

“As silly and small as these two are, I don’t mind any of my scars. They’re all reminders that something happened to me, and I made it through. These little cuts and scrapes aren’t much of a memory worth retelling, but I’ll tell you the same thing again if I ever manage to hurt myself worse. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, no matter how big or small a scar is. They’re part of you, and I quite like the idea that they’re physical representations of a moment where you were strong. They’re unique to you and your life, and I think they add a lot of character.”

It was a long while before Sirius spoke, seeming to be lost in thought. He took your hand in his, flipping it over so he could see the scar on your finger again. 

“I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it.”

“I don’t blame you,” you said, looking at the mark on your skin. “I forget about it myself unless something reminds me. I forget about most of them honestly, you know? Out of sight, out of mind and all that.”

He nodded, and you suddenly realized what may have been going on. When you walked in, Sirius wasn’t wearing his full uniform. He didn’t have his robes on, and his sleeves were rolled up. You figured he had just thrown them all off when he got back up to the dorms, but you were starting to think that may have not been the case.

You tried to gently coax out what you thought may have been troubling him. “What’s going on, love? Are scars on your mind? Did something happen?”

The way his face fell confirmed your suspicions. His vision began to cloud, tears stinging his eyes. He wouldn’t look at you, despite you gently asking him to. He was embarrassed, and you knew it. Eventually, you had to hook your finger under his chin, tilting his head up to make him look at you. You cupped his chin with one hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone with the other. 

“Talk to me, darling. I’m here to listen,” you spoke, wiping away any stray tears that fell.

Sirius sighed in frustration, holding his arm out for you to look at. You gently took hold of him by the wrist, carefully looking him over. You were pretty sure what he was referring to now, but you stayed quiet. It was better to let him tell you on his own.

“Evans saw the scar from the curse Mother used on me the night I left,” he mumbled after taking a breath.

You winced, but didn’t overstep as you coaxed him to continue. “How? What happened?”

“It was hot in DADA, so I rolled my sleeves up. I wasn’t thinking about it, I just did it. She noticed it and apparently knew what it was from. I guess she figured it out from the look of it. I had almost forgotten it was there until she pointed it out.”

You frowned. Sometimes, Lily was too smart for her own good. Of course she would know what it was, everyone had studied curses similar to the one used on Sirius all year in preparation for exams. She took these lessons quite seriously in case she’d ever have to put them into practice.

Some spells leave a distinct mark, even if they’re healed soon after they’re inflicted. In all the chaos, it took Sirius quite a while to get it looked at, so it was sure to scar. There were things he could do to lessen its intensity, or he could use a Glamour charm to mask it, but it would always be there. 

A parting gift from his Mother.

“What did Lily say? She wasn’t rude about it, was she?”

“No, it wasn’t anything like that,” he murmured, watching as you ran your thumb over the scar. “She was just curious how I got it. I froze up like an idiot when I looked at it, and couldn’t focus for the rest of class. I went to Potions, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. I panicked, and bolted for the dorms the second we were let out.”

Your heart broke as he spoke. 

It wasn’t often Sirius talked about the night he left home. He hardly let himself think about it, let alone tell anyone about it. He always found it easier to block out those types of memories instead of confronting them, but this time his memories decided to confront him. And he had no choice but to sit with them. Your face fell as you imagined him sitting in class, panicked and working himself up as he remembered the worst night of his life. 

Unlike most of your scars, his had a much heavier weight to them. He had a much harder time accepting them than you did with yours. He didn’t want them to be a part of him.

You felt him reach for your hand again, turning it over to look at the scar on your finger.

“You said your scars are a part of you, and a reminder of how strong you were,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Well, I wasn’t strong. If I was, I wouldn’t have gotten mine. They may be a part of me, but I don’t want to remember them. They don’t have any good memories attached to them, or any stories I want to tell.”

He may as well have slapped you in the face. It would have hurt less than the burn in your chest as you listened to him degrade himself, knowing there was little you could say that would make him feel better. He had the idea that he wasn’t strong ingrained in his mind, and it would take more than just this one conversation to make him understand just how strong he was.

He was one of the strongest people you had ever met. Brave enough to stand up to his family, and even braver to get himself out of it. He was so young, and he had already lived through so much. He woke up and managed to drag himself out of bed every day, and he did it with a smile on his face—once he was fully woken up and no longer grumpy, at least. That took more strength and courage than you’d ever have.

But he didn’t see himself as strong. He didn’t see his scars as a reminder of how strong he was. You’d just have to show him until he figured it out for himself.

“Well, we can change that,” you said, hopping off his bed to rummage through his trunk. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking over the side of the bed as he watched you. 

You pulled a bottle of black nail polish out of his things, smiling in victory as you showed him. You crawled back into bed, setting the bottle in your lap. You silently held your hand out for his arm, and he reluctantly placed it in your grip. You opened the bottle with your free hand, dipping the brush into the polish.

You traced the scar, stopping at every curve to place a big dot of polish. “I know you didn’t take Astronomy, so bear with me for a minute. See all the points? It’s shaped like the constellation Hercules. He was known for his strength and resilience. He was cursed by the goddess Hera to a life of misery and constant trials, and he did some bad things while under her control. But when he realized he had done wrong, he asked the Oracle what he could do to atone for his sins. He spent the rest of his mortal days trying to make up for what he did through a series of terrifying tasks, and he eventually paid for his sins with his life. After his death, he became immortal, and he joined the rest of the gods on Mount Olympus. Zeus placed him in the night sky with stars to represent each of his victories, and now Hercules is remembered as a hero. His strength and determination is what defines him, not his past. His stars shine bright, just like he did in life.”

After you dotted along each major point of his scar, you carefully connected the dots with a thin line of polish. Sirius watched you with soft eyes as your face twisted in concentration, your brows furrowed as you worked. When you finished, you casted a drying spell, carefully touching the edge of the polish afterwards to make sure it was completely dry. 

“There,” you smiled, closing the bottle and setting it down. “Now you’ve got a story to tell if anyone asks. I think it would look really cool as a tattoo. I just might have to see if I can hurt myself so I can have my own constellation.”

Sirius mustered a laugh, making you grin as you looked up to see him giving you a watery smile. You were kidding of course, but the sentiment still made his eyes well with tears. Before you could speak, he had already hooked an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him.

“Don’t hurt yourself, silly girl. We can get you any tattoo you want without actually scarring you.”

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around his waist. “What’s the point, then? Where’s the fun in that?”

Your smile widened as he continued to chuckle, and you pulled away to cup his cheeks in your palms. You held him steady, tucking stray hairs behind his ears.

“There’s that pretty smile.”

His cheeks flushed as you spoke, and you felt your heart swell. It’s criminal, really—how pretty he is. Just looking at him made you want to burst into tears sometimes. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said suddenly, his hands resting on your knees. “I didn’t mean it.”

You had nearly forgotten about how he had snapped at you. The twinge in your chest from his words was long gone, replaced by the warm comfort of knowing he was alright and voluntarily opening up to you. 

You just shook your head, waving it off. “I know you didn’t, my love. If I took everything you said when you were grumpy to heart, I’d be a lot worse off.”

Sirius gave you a sheepish smile. “Still. You didn’t deserve that, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, I didn’t. And you were being a git. But I’ve already forgiven you for it, so don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m sure James and Remus will do the same. Speaking of which, we should probably go tell them you’re alright. We can show off your pretty little design, too. James will be jealous.”

“We can figure out one for him. He’s got plenty of scars from falling off his broom, the clumsy bloke. He’s nearly as clumsy as you are,” Sirius teased, dodging your attacks when you picked up his pillow to smack him with. 

“Be nice!” You scolded, continuing your attack. “I haven’t even gotten onto you for stealing my nail polish yet.”

Sirius finally raised his hands in surrender, taking a breath as he snatched his pillow back. “Alright! You’ve made your point, darling. Quit it, you’ll chip the polish.”

You gasped dramatically, raising your hands in surrender as well. “Well, we can’t let that happen, can we?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but smile. Your expression mirrored his, and you leaned back, resting against one of the posts of his bed. 

“What were you so cheery for this morning anyway? I’ve been wondering all day,” you asked, watching his cheeks flush once more.

“Oh, uh…I had a nice dream is all.”

“Yeah?” You asked, raising a brow. “What about?”

He gave you another sheepish smile. “You.”

You cracked a grin, stifling a chuckle. You could feel your heart fluttering in your chest, a warm feeling spreading across your chest. 

“You’re such a sap, Black,” you teased, but you were smiling all the same.

“Says the girl reciting Greek myths to me. Kettle,” he said pointing to himself, before turning his finger towards you. “Pot.”

“Shut up, or I’m grabbing the pillow again.”

—

A/N - Hi! I’m so sorry again for the long wait, I really appreciate you being patient. I wasn’t too sure what to write, hopefully this is what you were looking for. I hope you liked it! Let me know :)

[hughiecampbelle]

72 Hours (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,409

Warning/s: hospital, hospital tw, mental health, mental health tw

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: This is something different lol. December of 2020 I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital :) It was scary and new, but it was definitely necessary. I don't think it should be a taboo subject. It's definitely not something my immediate family will or likes to bring up, but it's also not something to be ashamed of, y'know? Idk. I've been feeling bad again. Not like in 2020, that was- it was very bad, but still not great. It happens. Meds stop working. The heaviness sets in. I use writing to get through it, those bad feelings, so that's what I'm doing. Just know you're not alone when you're feeling bad. My inbox is always open, I am always willing to talk 💜💜💜💜💜💜

They are terrible thoughts. Horrible, repulsive, aching thoughts that feed off everything you are. They see the worst in you. When you’re done, that’s all there is left. The most repulsive parts of you. The bare, naked, scarred bones. You used to fear you were a bad person. A truly sinister, evil person. Now you don’t have to worry. Now you know. You are. Selfish, and evil, and a burden. Unlovable, unkind, undesirable. He doesn’t love you, not really, and he wouldn’t miss you. No one would. You’re sure of it. You’re so sure of it your bones ache. They long for the soil, muddy and rich. Your whole body wishes to be put to rest. To finally find peace. Being alive hurts. It hurts so bad sometimes. It takes everything out of you to roll from one side to the other. Things have taken up space in your bed. Books sleep soundly next to you, begging to be read. Notes, loose paper, begging to be written. You hope, in nestling with them, loving them even in rest, that they will save you from yourself. They will drag you out of this abyss you’ve found yourself falling in for a long time now. If there is a bottom, you haven’t found it yet. Every second of every minute you flinch, expecting your head to crack open, expecting your neck to snap on that solid ground. It never comes though. How much darker can things get? How much longer do you have before the light, the shrinking light, clouds over? You fear, when this is over, that everything will be gone. You will be gone. Forever. Your own mortality hangs in the balance. You claw at the rocky walls, your fingernails bloody, ripping apart. You scream so loud, for hours, but no one is near enough to hear you.

Is it my fault? Those are the first words from his mouth, the first thought behind those puppy dog eyes. You hold his face, his stubble scratchy in your palms. Did I do something wrong? You make sure your words are stern, but not scary, not angry. He bruises too easily, your peach. No. None of this is your fault. I just, I have to go away for a few days and figure things out. That’s all. 72 hours. Then I’ll be home. You muster a smile, the edges of your mouth heavy in their upturned state. He looks so small, so worried, shaking hands at his side. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Neither do you. It’s always been something in your life. An endgame. An option when you run out of options. You talked it over with your therapist, loved and trusted, and they too believe this could be beneficial. Your bag is packed for three days. Three days apart. Basically a weekend. You can do that, right? You can manage, he can, too. You don’t think you have any other choice. Standing there, your bag at your feet, you feel the heaviness. The weight. You want to finally collapse inward like a star, bright and burning and suicidal. He looks you over, your expression, your body, everything you are. You will understand him to understand, to get it, but you don’t need to. He already does. It wasn’t an easy decision to come to. None of this has been. But if you want the hurt to stop, if you want to stop falling, then you need to leave and get help. 

He picks your shirt from the laundry, holding it against his chest. He wanders around the apartment, massive, lonely without you by his side. It smells like you, the fabric. You hadn’t changed out of it in a week, week and a half. Sweaty, you’d argue, but he likes it. It’s familiar. Roaming like a ghost, restless, trapped. Mostly you sunk into the mattress, the sheets melding into your skin until you were one singular being. The tears, silent, hidden, but not quite. Coming home from work, finding your cheeks freshly wet, your eyes red and glazed over. The thoughts unsaid, but screaming. Screaming and wailing and willing you to step over that edge. Nothing about it is easy. Nothing about it is gentle. Nothing about this you could stand for much longer. Dinner, so sweetly prepared, goes uneaten. Everything sits like rocks in the pit of your stomach. Threatening to come back up again. Mostly, you push the food around your plate, managing a smile, managing interest in the conversation. You spend all day in bed, but you are unable to sleep. The bags under your eyes look like they hurt, aching, pulsing. The hollows of your eyes seem deeper, darker, haunted. Your body is so heavy. You never knew flesh and bone could feel like concrete. Every step, every movement, it is unthinkable. You curl into yourself, hoping tomorrow will be better, hoping this will go away. It won’t. It never does. 

Roman didn’t know things were this bad. Even as he watched you wave from the check-in desk, even as he watched the doors close behind you and an escorting nurse, even as he waited for you to come back, a voice in his head told him things weren’t this bad. They were. You’ve been sick for a long time. He thought if he was home more, if he cooked dinner, real dinner, and cracked jokes and held you so tight at night, then it wouldn’t get this bad. Cyclical. Things got like this. But it always went away. It got bad, yes, but then it got better. Why wasn’t it going away? You didn’t have the words to describe it. He’d find you laying in the tub, the water cold, shivering, crying, unable to get out. It took too much energy, too much determination, none of which you had. Unchanged from the pajamas you wore for days at a time. He blamed himself. He wasn’t doing enough. He wasn’t there for you enough. If, if, if. You told him it was just your brain, your mind, getting a little lost. When it got lost, it was hard to find its way back. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t you, it wasn’t anyone or anything, just your brain. It would be like this for the rest of your life. You couldn’t bargain or bribe your way out of this. It had to be done. He saw the scars along your skin from the times before, when things were bad, very bad. He didn’t want anything like that from happening again. 

He called you as soon as he could. Roman’s voice was shaky, unsure. You were the one easing his fears, his worries. If you didn't, no one would. He didn’t ask how it was going, he wasn't sure if he should. You sensed the curiosity, telling him your new routine. You’ve been sleeping better, easier. The food is terrible. There are doctors and therapists who are going to help you, make your brain better. He breathes a sigh of relief. Not because of what you say, but how you sound. Your tone was so scary. Scared of your thoughts, scared of what you might do. You sounded lighter. You talked as long as you could. When you hung up he went to bed with your shirt, one arm reaching out to your side of the bed. Wanting you. Needing you. Knowing this is what had to happen. Everything his father had taught him, you had he retaught. This wasn’t taboo. It wasn’t evil or wrong or anything to be embarrassed of. It’s just something that is. He counts down the hours. 48. 47. 46. . .

Soon you will be home. You will have medications, different pills, pills that will work. You will be in your own bed again right next to him. You will get better. You will feel happiness again. You will laugh and smile and it will be so genuine it hurts. And when this comes back, when everything gets dark again, because it always does, he will be there like he is now, like he has been. He will be there. Because when he made a promise to you, he made it to all of you. The good parts, but the bad parts too. The scary, mean, lying parts. The parts that tell you you aren’t worth it, that you won’t be missed. He’ll spend every day proving them wrong.

[bots-and-cons]

Hey a while back I sent in an ask that wasn’t an ask it was more like a submission. I didn’t think about it getting deleted when I re-deleted my account. I do that during collage semesters to fight the adhd urge to scroll and put off schoolwork but I pop in from time to time to check on old friends and interact.

Long story short this is the inspiration for the asking each respectable mech to take care of their tortoise Shelldon when they are gone. (Thanks for writing that btw😄) I went with an African spurred tortoise because it’s own-able. The real life Shelldon is an endangered and federally protected gopher tortoise that I think is about 3 years old now because he showed up in the spring of 2022 and mother gopher tortoises have been observed allowing offspring to hunker down in their burrow for their first winter.

But yeah dude showed up when I was replanting lettuce in my greenhouse and he started rummaging through the plants I just tossed on top of the compost pile, then he dug his burrow against my fence, and in a cat like fashion I have tortoise now and thus can never move 😂.

Due to him being a wild and protected tortoise I don’t want him to become dependent so I feed him only every so often and avoid dropping food (and I do a ton of research on what he can and can’t have) at the same time of morning or afternoon. I typically give him stuff most during the dry season since we’ve had droughts and in the winter when things die back. I will sprinkle stuff in the yard occasionally so he gets assorted veggies, I bought a small cylinder of grassland tortoise pellets, and he gets calcium fortified tortoise treats to find when out foraging every so often. But my biggest thing has been planting native grasses and a little patch of dandelions and wild pea plants against the fence.

I mean I probably shouldn’t interact with him at all legally but he moved into my yard and seemed to have a rough first year on his own, I had to move him back to his hole a few times because he got lost in my yard in 100 degree heat at the hottest part of the day when tortoises or really any animals avoid being out and started pacing in circles by the walkway because he knew he couldn’t get back to his hole in time and his shell was scalding hot those times I had to pick him up but he has seemed to have learned his lesson on what time of day is appropriate to be out and I haven’t had to move him since.

But yeah thank you for answering my ask, sorry for the ramble, and I hope you have a great week! 😄

I was wondering what happened to the ask, I thought tumblr was just being tumblr, because the amount of asks in my inbox didn't change but the ask itself disappeared. At least now I know what causes the phantom ask thingy to happen.

Anyway, I love all kinds of tortoises/turtles, and I think they're super cool, and Shelldon is also very cute. All of that is also really interesting, honestly I don't know much about tortoises in general even though we used to have one when I was a kid. Shelldon has a cool story to go with him too I see :D I think the way you're taking care of him is very reasonable and it's good you're not making him be dependent on you. Idk about the legality of it, but I don't think it's a bad thing. He looks very cute in the pictures, one hungry boi :D

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

Comfort in a Wish

Summary - Part 17 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic), Reader x Bobby (father-figure)

Warnings - mentions of miscarriage, mentions of drowning

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N - G’day guys, I just wanna start by thanking you for all the likes, reblogs and follows since my last post, I really appreciate it. I hope you like this one too. And remember my inbox is always open for requests or even if you just wanna chat. Until next week, enjoy! 

“Hey, what’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone out here upset?” 

You look up to see who’s talking to you: it’s a tall man, probably around Dean’s height, he’s bald with tribal-style tattoos running up his neck and over his head and face. You offer him a weak smile and mutter out an excuse, “Rough call with my fiance, that’s all. I should get inside.”

“Sorry about that. Here let me help,” the man says as he offers you his hand. As he stretches out his arm you can see there are tattoos running up his arm too. Against your better judgement, you take his hand and let him help you up. As your hand touches yours, his tattoos and eyes glow bright blue and you black out.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You wake up in a soft bed in an unfamiliar room. You roll over and come face-to-face with Dean, but he looks more relaxed than ever. As if he was lying there waiting for you to wake up he kisses you.

“Good morning, Sweetheart. How’d my girls sleep?”

“Girls?”

You feel him reach his hand down and rub it over your stomach, which you now notice is the size of a basketball. “You sleep so well you forget about all the grief this little one’s been giving you?”

“Oh yeah, best I’ve slept in a long time,” you lie. 

“That’s good to hear. I was thinking how about I finally put the cot back together today? You’ve been riding me about it for weeks and you’re right, she’s gonna be here before we know it. But I finally have a day off and I’m gonna make it all about my girls.”

“A day off? Right, from hunting…”

“Are you still in your dreams, sweetie? A day off from the garage. I haven’t hunted in years, not since before Sammy jr was born.”

Just as he says that a little boy that perfectly resembles his father runs in and jumps on your bed. “Mama! Dada! Morning!”

“Good morning, champ! How about we go make Mama some breakfast?”

“Yeah!”

Dean gives you a quick peck on the lips before getting up and picking up the small child and carrying him out of the room while they laugh the whole time. The sight warms your heart, this is your ultimate dream but you can’t help but feel like something is wrong. You stand up and walk around the room looking for anything that could give you more information about your situation. You find a photo album in the cupboard as you flick through the pages you see photos of you and Dean standing in a field – you in a fancy white dress and him in a black suit with a white bow tie – with your arms around each other and the widest smiles on your faces. That’s when you notice the rings on your finger, one is familiar but the simple white gold band that sits above it is new. As you keep flicking through the album you see various photos of you with a gradually growing belly and then there are photos of you and Dean in a delivery room holding an infant who you can only assume is the boy downstairs with his father now. As you finish flicking through the book the absence of some very important people stands out to you. You put the album back on the shelf and pull on a dressing gown and join the boys downstairs. 

“Hey, honey, I was thinking maybe we should invite Sam and Bobby over for dinner before the baby’s born.”

Dean stops whisking and rounds the bench putting his hands on your forearms. “The baby brain’s bad today…I just never thought you’d be able to forget that…” You stare at him blankly so he continues, “They’re gone, baby. They sacrificed themselves so we could get out remember? This better not be a prank, it’s not funny. You know how guilty I feel and how much I miss them.”

“I’m really sorry, Dean,” you hang your head feeling bad for upsetting him, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t know where my memories at today.”

“It’s okay, it’s the baby. You were like this with Sammy jr too, maybe not this bad but you always forgot where you put anything. It’s part of the process, it will all be worth it when she’s in our arms.”

He kisses your cheek and goes back to the kitchen where the toddler is making a mess of the ingredients. You smile weakly at the mess and walk out of the room. You find an office off the kitchen and go in and sit at the desk in front of the big desktop computer. When you turn it on you’re met with a photo of you, Dean and Sammy jr all smiling in a park. You open the internet browser and start searching for any demonic omens or strange occurrences recently. There’s none. The last signs you can find are from four years ago. You find articles talking about a range of apocalypse-level disasters that came and miraculously cleared within a few months. You’re interrupted from your research when you feel tapping on your leg. 

“Mama, breakfast ready.”

“Thank you, uh, Sammy. I’ll come out in a second.”

“You okay, mama?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m okay. Let’s go have some of that yummy breakfast you and daddy cooked.” You shut off the computer, stand up and pick up the toddler by your side. He starts laughing as you carry him with you to the kitchen where Dean’s serving out three plates of pancakes and bacon. 

“That smells amazing, honey. What do you think little guy?”

“Yeah, smells yummy!” he laughs out as you place him on the stool at the kitchen island. He starts happily eating the pancakes that Dean sliced into bite-sized pieces for him. You take a seat beside him and start eating in an attempt to appear normal to them. Dean rounds the counter and takes a seat next to you rubbing your back before digging into his own breakfast. As you eat you look over at the boy and man next to you; this is your dream, so why does it feel so wrong? 

Once you finish eating you get up to do the dishes but Dean stops you and takes your plate. “Nope, I got this. You go rest.”

“You cooked, I can’t sit around and do nothing.”

“You’re eight months pregnant, yes you can. Plus, you always do so much for us, so today while I’m home you’re not to lift a finger. You can take a nice long bath, catch up on that book you’ve been complaining you haven’t had time to read, watch a movie, whatever you want. Today is about you. So you go relax, I’ll tidy up here, build the crib and then I’ll take Junior to the park and wear him out so we can have a quiet afternoon on the couch, where I’m gonna give you the best foot massage of your life.” You open your mouth to protest but he stops you with a kiss, “No excuses, go relax.”

Defeated you go sit on the couch. You surf through the channels absentmindedly. This is the treatment you’re used to – Dean taking over and telling you to rest, although his reaction to you bringing up Sam and Bobby concerns you. Generally, whenever you bring up a lost one it ends in a fight. Where’s the arguing that’s always been such a significant part of your relationship? And how can Sam be gone? You were just with him in Illinois on a hunt. And you were at Bobby’s house days ago. The sinking feeling in your stomach grows.

Moments later you’re stripped from your thoughts. “Mama, can we watch cartoons? Scooby please?”

“Uh…sure, honey.” You flick through the channels looking for the cartoon channel. As soon as you find it Sammy jr climbs up on the couch beside you and snuggles into your side intently watching the TV. You run your fingers through his short brown hair and down his back. “You know, your daddy used to like Scooby Doo. I didn’t know him then but I’ve heard stories of when he was a kid, a few years older than you, he used to love watching this show. His favourite was Daphne, who’s your favourite?”

“I like Scooby!”

“Yeah, Scooby’s great.”

Dean comes in and joins you, sitting beside Sammy Jr. “Oooh, Scooby-Doo. I know we just had breakfast but I brought you two some snacks. I’m gonna go upstairs and put that cot together, you enjoy,” he says as he hands you a bowl of assorted fruits all cut into shapes. He places a kiss on Sammy’s head and then gets up and goes upstairs. 

Just over an hour later Dean returns downstairs and sits down beside you and Sammy jr. “The cot’s all done, the nursery is ready for our little girl,” he says as he rubs your massive tummy. “I’ve also run you a warm bubble bath so you can go relax while I take this one to the P A R K to wear him out.”

“You’re the best husband ever. There’s no way you’re real.”

“One hundred per cent real and all yours, baby. You enjoy your relaxing bath and we’ll be back soon. Come on, Bud, do you wanna come on an adventure with Daddy?”

“Yeah! ‘Venture!”

“Alright, go upstairs and I’ll help you get ready for our adventure.”

The little boy jumps up and bounds up the stairs. Dean stands up and helps you up slowly, leading you to your shared ensuite. When you walk in you’re met with an overwhelming scent of roses and the flickering lights of candles. He helps you undress and get into the tub. Once you’re settled he kisses your lips softly and stands up to find the little boy. 

You let the warm water and relaxing scent wash over you. Before long you hear the door open and shut downstairs, after that, your mind wanders back to your earlier thoughts. An image of the blue light and tattoos flashes in your mind. 

“Son of a bitch! It was a djinn!”

Knowing the best way to save yourself from a djinn is to kill yourself in the dream world to wake up, you pull your head underwater. You let all the air out from your lungs. Your throat and chest start to burn, your lungs screaming at you to pull up for air. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to push through the pain needing to return to the real world; to your real Sam and Dean. You want this dream so badly, but not at the expense of Sam and Bobby. You’re determined to find another way to escape without losing them. The burning in your lungs grows as you fight against it. You start to feel your pulse slow as you struggle to control your mind.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Tag list: (Leave a like or comment on this post or let me know below if you want to be added to the tag list for this series)

@bitchwitch1981, @muhahaha303, @justrealizedimmascifygurl, @mcdowell-123, @leigh70, @marvelsmarauder, @losa12308, @tapedeck-hearts, @luvjaida, @peachtxa, @ambearsstuff, @shadow-of-a-cloud, @slut-for-buck, @iprobablyshipit91, @sassy-pelican

[fifteenleads]

Can I get a connection?

Twelve Kingdoms (Juuni Kokki) | Taiki, Youko, Enki Oneshot, gen, 2.1k words, complete.

Based on this very wholesome selfie art.

-

They had found it among the Tai Taiho’s personal effects from Hourai: slim and lightweight with a dark, mirror-like surface on one side and a thick ring on the other. The sages had almost dropped it when the mirror lit up with small Kaikyaku text that blinked several times before darkening once more. Out of extreme caution (or maybe out of terrified deference to the Taiho after all he’d gone through), they decided to seal it away for the time being until he returned to retrieve it someday.

Youka brought it up in passing to the En Taiho on one of his visits to Mt. Hou, briefly wondering if there was a way to make sense of this strange thing that had been in their care for months now. "The shrill sound it makes on occasion scares us to this day, and we haven’t figured out how to make them stop," she added defeatedly, having been its most recent surprise victim last week.

Enki was mildly amused as he fiddled with the device with relative ease. "People in Hourai use these for communication nowadays," he grinned, holding up the lit-up surface to Youka. The mirror contained different words and shapes now, rather than the simple picture that accompanied the sound that disappears after a short while. While it did answer a lingering question in the minds of most of the sages, they would sooner return it to its original owner, if only for their collective peace of mind than anything.

"Fine, I’ll see what I can do," Enki reassured Youka, pocketing the item as he got up to leave. “Maybe The Royal Kei will be able to help. I think she used to have one of these things herself.”

-

"I didn't think these phones would get any lighter, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised." Youko considered the weight and feel of Taiki's phone in her hand, while holding her old one in the other. The model she had was not really much older in comparison, but it was much less durable and sadly hadn't survived the trip. Youko squashed the growing twinge of jealousy she felt, avoiding Keiki's wary gaze the entire time.

"For now, the people at Houro Palace just want it silenced," Enki passed on the concern, peering over her shoulder as she unlocked the phone; luckily it did not have a passcode. "They didn't mind holding onto it if needed, of course, but..."

"I understand where the sages are coming from. Even my grandmother did not like the whole idea of cell phones everywhere." Youko became a little wistful at the memory, which she also promptly removed from her mind as she curiously swiped through the phone's contents.

It was actually pretty empty, with only the basic apps like Clock and Calculator on the home screen. Only Taiki's family members (or so they presumed) were on the Contacts list. No messages in the Inbox. As for the Photo Gallery:

"Whoa! The pipsqueak drew these?!" Enki exclaimed as he leaned in to take a closer look. Youko slid the phone over to Enki as he browsed the rest of the folder's contents. The paintings all had dark, supernatural motifs—is what she would probably have said, had she not encountered every single one of them herself in the years she had been in this world so far. Instead, the drawings carried a feeling of terrible suffering and isolation, as well as a longing for a homeland he couldn't remember no matter how hard he tried.

Youko shook her head. That was all in the past; all that mattered was that Taiki was safe, and that everything was all right now.

Her gaze briefly flitted over to Keiki's. The Kei Taiho’s expression was unchanged, but the flash of reassurance in his eyes was unmistakable.

"I guess that's everything in it." Enki withdrew from the table and crossed his arms. If Youko had to guess, they were probably thinking of the same thing right now. "Do you think he'll want it back?"

Despite being Taika contemporaries, Youko could not completely say she understood Taiki. While she still held some degree of fondness for Hourai, it was only because she had a typical, uneventful childhood, as empty and uninspiring as it had been. Her phone contained the usual photos of things she liked, as well as of various milestones and memories, and she was a little saddened when it was ultimately broken.

Taiki must have left his behind for a reason.

Then again, they never really knew that for sure.

Youko chose to be truthful. "... I can't really say. It wasn't really something that had come up the few times we had talked about Hourai." Not that they both even wanted to think about their old world, either, when there were so many other things to do. Tai was still barely recovering from the long civil war it had suffered, and Kei was not really doing much better, either. The road to recovery for both their nations was still long and far, far ahead.

"I guess so." Enki accepted both Youko's answer and the phone she handed back to him. "I'll be holding onto this, then. They'll be coming to next month's summit, right?"

"They've confirmed their attendance, yes." Both of them stood up to leave, Youko motioning for Keiki to join them. "See you next month, then?"

"Got it." Enki went out ahead of them, striking up a conversation with the guardsman stationed at the corner. Youko stopped at the doorway, still deep in thought. Keiki dutifully stood behind her, ever watchful over his liege. At that moment, it felt as if she were only Nakajima Youko once more instead of the Royal Kei, uncertain of many things and her own capacity to make sense of what mattered. "What do you think, Keiki?"

"I think you already know the answer to that, Your Majesty."

His smiles were as rare as they came, and that assured Youko she was on the right track.

-

The old phone contained literally nothing, and was therefore of no value to Taiki.

He still remembered to detail all the paintings he'd taken pictures of. Those were supposedly for his portfolio for when he applied to art college in his senior year, on his club adviser's insistence—not that he needed it anymore, though. In hindsight, it was probably for the best that he didn't bring all that baggage with him to Tai, especially now that his country needed him and his king more than ever.

To say he was pleasantly surprised, of all things, when the En Taiho and the Royal Kei brought out his phone some hours after the summit had ended, was an understatement. "I... I thought it had been lost in the Void Sea."

"Apparently this is the only thing that washed up with you that day." Enki gently pushed the phone into his hands. It lit up at once, and he unlocked it on instinct. Everything was the way he remembered it, but the battery was about to give out—permanently, now that he had nowhere to charge it.

It should still last a while longer, though, since there was nothing that would sorely drain it. 

Just a little while longer.

Taiki held the phone close to his chest. "I see. Thank you for bringing it back."

"You're welcome," the Royal Kei answered. "Shall we rejoin the others?"

The small banquet was still in full swing when they had returned; the Royal Han and the Royal En were still arguing about their usual things, with the Royal Ren playing mediator. Hanrin and Sourin were in a similarly eager discussion, with Renrin nodding along. Keiki sat across Gyousou, both of them silent as they nursed their respective drinks.

It was a sight that reminded Taiki of one time in his childhood, when eight of the twelve Taiho had gathered on Mount Hou at the behest of the Lady Genkun, to cultivate their bonds with each other as fellow kirin. A couple of arguments had almost broken out then, but it was afterward that they were reminded of their siblinghood, connected through their shared divine nature and mission in this world and to their respective nations and kings. One of the few memories that had brought him much joy, he recalled with a smile as he took a candid photo of the scene before him now.

The loud click of the shutter stunned everyone into silence, Hanrin turning visibly pale as she held onto Renrin. Enki tried not to burst into laughter, while Gyousou looked bemused as he studied the phone, and then him.

Taiki audibly gulped, feeling his face flush in earnest. His king's piercing gaze still unnerved him sometimes. "I-It's... I did it on reflex..."

The whole table laughed, the tension dissipating at once.

Everyone soon gathered around him, asking to see his phone. Of course, they were most intrigued by the camera; there was nothing else in it. Soon, his gallery was filled with different shakily-taken pictures of everyone at the banquet, with Enki gleefully enabling the group and the Royal Kei helpfully explaining where she could. 

At one point, someone had accidentally toggled the front camera, and dozens of selfies joined the previous pictures that had been taken. Some time later, Taiki himself was immediately dragged into a selfie with a grinning Enki and a confused Keiki. That was probably the first time he had done a peace sign for a picture, with Keiki awkwardly copying him.

It was the clearest of the selfies in the gallery folder so far, Taiki smiled to himself in relief. It wasn't like he would see any of these photos again when the phone died for real, but he would always remember each and every one for the rest of his life.

-

When the banquet finally ended a few hours later, Taiki walked behind his king on the way back to their guest chambers. They had chosen to take the long way back, admiring the gardens at night as they strolled.

Taiki took a picture of the garden, followed by closeups of a couple of flower arrangements. Gyousou was watching him the whole time, smiling contentedly. After everything they had gone through, apart, they had survived and managed to find each other.

Connection really was a surreal thing.

"Master Gyousou," Taiki began, and he shyly held up his phone. His king understood at once.

The battery was about to die, but it should hold out for one last photo. Taiki managed to snap it and show Gyousou for a split second before the phone screen blacked out forever.

Later in their pavilion, Taiki did not take his tea, instead turning his phone over in his hands absentmindedly. It was now nothing more than a common paperweight, like the Royal Kei had referred to hers. Still, it was something he still called his own, empty as it had been. 

Perhaps he was mourning, just a little. 

"I apologize for today, Master Gyousou." Taiki looked into his king's eyes, basking in the wordless consolation he was already offering. "I was never really this sentimental, but..."

Gyousou gently put down his teacup. "There is nothing to apologize for, Kouri. Everyone desires to have a connection, a bond. It is in our very nature, you could say.

"That... device you hold in your hands. You may not be able to see what is inside anymore, but that does not mean they aren't there anymore. It is the same with life, I suppose. With memories and forged bonds. I am certain the others think the same, as well."

His king looked far into the distance as he said this; perhaps he, too, was thinking of people he had known before. Of one, in particular, whom he killed with his own hand.

Their friendship had been real—even if it had ended the way it did. But they did what they had to do. For Tai.

Taiki released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding all this time. He could still not make full sense of how exactly he felt. Bitter experiences he barely survived. Conflicting thoughts of Hourai. Things he thought no longer mattered. Things he'd been wrong about. Everything that connected to him, and connected him to everyone. 

He probably wouldn't have realized and pondered on all these things had today not happened. 

It made him grateful for the closure, in a way.

Taiki put the phone down on his lap, its light weight a reassuring anchor as he breathed in the air of this world once more and let himself move on. “Thank you.”

[every-raindrop77]

Writer’s game: first sentences!

Tagged by @poppypopp because @fogsblue didn’t know my tumblr (how shocking!)

Rules: post the first sentence of your last ten fics. If you haven’t written ten fics, share as many first-sentences as you have.

I have more than 10 fics, so I've filtered to completed on AO3 and worked back from there! 

1: All Dressed Up Fashav and Nil had cheered with their fellow Tenakth when news came that he was to return to the Sundom.

2: One for Sorrow, add Two for Joy “Are you the witch of the woods?”

3: A Bloom Amongst the Bloodshed There is a quiet, as dense and as thick as the deepest groves of the forest when the blood and the burn of the battle is spent.

4: Kisses, Cookies and a Very Merry Christmas Hekarro woke slowly, and stretched as best as he could, while the pleasant weight of his partner pressed him down into the couch.

5: Flowers in the Glade... The journey back across their lands had been gruelling, and Kotallo’s pre-occupation with the outlander had not gone unnoticed - all of the soldiers persistently teasing him - only for it to roll off of his back unnoticed half the time.

6: Heated Dreams Hekarro smiled contentedly, certain he was dreaming as he replayed the events of the day.

7: The Chief and His Champion It was almost inevitable, most would say - that when all was said and done Aloy would return to Memorial Grove and hope to make her life there.

8: Finding Fortune... It wasn’t long after Nemesis has been eliminated, that Aloy had brought Kotallo to the gauntlet runs - he’d been increasingly bored and restless after they’d eliminated the last of the rebel leaders.

9: This Old House Aloy hadn’t questioned her luck when the modest brick townhouse placed in a quiet suburb had arrived in her inbox on a quiet Saturday morning, the email blank with only the link and the subject line bolded with a red priority flag.

10: The Fall of Paradise Things had seemed so bright last year Ted thought absently, he had absolved himself of ending the world with a few quick commands from his consoles, watching through the holo-meeting as the Alphas slowly died in front of him and the Apollo protocol was relegated to a digital graveyard. 

I didn’t tag anyone - because I think they’ve all been tagged already :D

[marshiestars]

Tag 9 People You Want To Get To Know Better

thank you @scrawnytreedemon for tagging!! let’s begin, shall we? :3c

Three Ships: ughhhhh this is real hard because I JUST invented the most horrible, wonderful “why does it work” crackship a few weeks ago, but if I want to include it, I have to ignore one of my three big zelda ships :C

1. Ghiralink. because of course. I feel like it’s illegal to leave this one out or put it any lower. it’s the good food. it’s well-established. I can afford to be picky with my content. it’s great :D

2. Astlink! sorry Kohlink, but Astlink is less likely to scare half my audience away 😔.

tbh I’m still VERY surprised that Astor and Link aren’t paired together nearly as often as Zelast (Astor / Zelda). don’t get me wrong, both are rare pairs, but somehow Astlink is even *rarer* shksjhdjhsshs, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. either way, it's 'moody goth bitch rejected by society (or maybe he rejected society first, it's a chicken or egg situation tbh) with the perfect golden person that everyone admires who secretly has their own issues'!! and it's about how they're on the complete opposite sides of this huge conflict and yet they find unexpected parallels in each other! and having everything fall apart but deciding to be a better person, even when the rest of the world says it's too late, because that one person believes in you and is willing to give you a chance! darkness and light! it's GOOD FOOD

(...man, I really gotta finish chapter 3 of swordsman and the seer.)

3. ...fuck it. scrawny, I hereby challenge you for the title of Weirdest Fucking Crossover Ship. Ghirahim x Godrick? Sephiroth x the Hollow Knight? I'm intrigued, but not crumbling to ash at the thought.

and so I give you this in place of gushing about Kohlink, which is unbelievably rare, but damn it, at least they're from the same source material! besides, I wasn't the first person to pair them by a long shot, no, no, no.

but there’s a special, lonely sort of pride in knowing you’re probably the first of 8 billion people in the world to ever even think of a pairing. ready? here it is:

R*x D*ng*rv*st x S*np*i from FNF.

(censored their names like that because if this shows up in the tags I’m gonna jump out a window)

yeah, man. I don't even know either.

I mean, I do know, somewhere, and my original train of thought is buried in the memory slush of a few months ago, gone forever. so now we're here. fuck. kill me. why am I writing shit for these two. girl what the hell is this

everyone who reads this post, I want a brick emoji in my inbox to simulate getting one through my window

First Ever Ship: ANYWAY, fuck, I don’t even remember at this point, I've been in greater fandom for so long. wait... oh, son of a bitch, nevermind, I do.

*sigh*

it was Billdip.

DO NOT COME AFTER ME, I DON’T SHIP IT ANYMORE. haven’t for years. I was 12. but I loved Bill Cipher (still do, he's my funny meow meow blorbo <3) and was very upset when the finale happened even though I knew that was how it had to be. but every time Billdip art came across my screen, I saw cool art where he: # 1. was still around and # 2. was more often than not a pretty human / humanoid (this was at the height of his sexymanification). hell, I didn't even give a shit about Dipper honestly, I just wanted more Bill content. and again, being literally 12, I didn’t really stop to think abt any moral implications. but yeah.

(also nowadays I hc Bill as ace sooo)

Last Song: 'She Had The World' by Panic! very nice to sing to, it's right in my range <3

Last Movie: does ‘My Little Pony: A Very Minty Christmas’ count? it’s a childhood film and practically tradition for me to watch it every year for christmas lol. although this year I’ve been replaying it for... research purposes. yeah. totally not for a lethally cursed fanfic, no sir.

if that doesn’t count, then ‘The Lego Movie’!

Currently Reading: nothing atm!! even as my 'to read' pile gets taller by the day, hhhh

Currently Watching: Minty Christmas, again, but definitely not so I can copy the dialogue verbatim to use as the base for a coked-up christmas crack fic

Currently Consuming: soup <3

Currently Craving: instant ramen, good god, especially if it’s spicy. they have cups for sale in vending machines around campus but they’re all beef and chicken flavour :C

I won't tag anyone else in this because nine people is a lot; far too many to bother with this wall of personal nonsense shdhdj but thanks anyway for tagging me scrawny, my beloved mutual!!! <3

[babygirlgiles]

📓

Omg thank you for the ask and the opportunity to rant about my all time favorite daydream fic!

I have been daydreaming about this one forever, it's gone through so many iterations and morphed so much since the first time the idea "omg but what if Willow and Tara had a gay little farm" popped into my head, but it still is The Gay Little Farm fic in my mind until I hopefully come up with a better title lol.

The Gay Little Farm is a gothic horror-y story set in a canon-divergent AU where Willow doesn't go back to Sunnydale after season 6. The fic itself is set several years down the line, after Sunnydale has been destroyed, when-- after spending some time learning more about herself through traveling, living with various covens, going to community college in San Francisco, and eventually getting a degree in computer science and working for a robotics lab-- Willow has recently bought a small farm in New England (I was missing Massachusetts when the idea was first conceived, don't judge lmao. Plus you can't really beat the ambient horror vibes of rural New England).

By the time the fic starts, Giles is the only one of the group that still talks to her. Buffy and Xander were pretty pissed about her decision to not come back, but Giles supported it ultimately because he felt all her emotions in Grave, so he understands the depths of her anguish and understands that she really doesn't know herself anymore, and supports her trying to figure out who she is on her own terms. (Also, he supports her because I asked the very essential question: "what if the btvs writers had decided to leverage how similar Willow's trajectory is to Giles's backstory even the teeniest tiniest bit?" lmao).

Throughout this time, they've emailed each other extensively, like nearly every day, but when Willow's emails start to become less and less frequent after buying the farm, Giles doesn't really think much of it; he knows she's busy trying to get everything set up to be an operational growing season, and that she doesn't have an internet connection at her new house yet so she has to go into town to email him.

It's explicable, so he doesn't worry about it until one day he gets several increasingly bizarre, almost unintelligible, concerning emails in very quick succession.

(lol I'm gonna put a read more because this got long lol. But if anyone else wants to send me one of these ask games : Put “📓” or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I’ll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven’t written but daydream about.)

She doesn't reply to any of his emails, doesn't answer the phone so he gets on the first flight across the Atlantic to go check on her (it's partly panic, but partly because he's not really pleased with where his life is at the moment anyway, but I won't get into that, this is already getting too long lol, just let it suffice to say he's glad for the excuse to just pack off to somewhere else suddenly). But when Giles gets there, Willow seems perfectly fine. She says she doesn't even have any clue what he's talking about when he tries to bring up the emails, and he figures she must just be embarrassed or something and not want to talk about it, so he drops it.

He decides to stay at the farm for a bit to keep an eye on her and make sure she's okay, but the longer he's there, the more and more weird things start happening. Even as he falls into the rhythms of life on her little farm and gets comfortable there, he can't shake the feeling that something is very wrong. He's having bizarre dreams that are becoming increasingly prophetic, even though there's absolutely no way he should be having prophetic dreams. He starts remembering things-- or at least they feel like memories, but they're certainly not things that ever happened to him. One night, he catches Willow in the middle of what looks like a blood magic ritual, but when he stops her, it's like she wakes up from sleepwalking and has absolutely no recollection of what happened. He's suspicious of Willow and what she might be doing, but also increasingly convinced the house is working some kind of dark magic on them both, so he sets out to research the place. But the nearby town clerk's office, the town's historical society, everywhere he can think to check has absolutely no record of this house existing.

Anyway, I won't spoil what is actually going on with the house because I am for real going to write this (I sort of started a while ago, but as I watched more of the show, my plot and ideas changed SO much). But really, at its core, everything that's going on with the house is about processing their grief, about building a life, about them repairing their relationships, and about the two of them having to come together to do all that by working together to figure out what's going on (although, Willow already suspects what's going on long before Giles even arrives, she just doesn't want to accept it...). The whole story is just like, what if Willow and Giles reconnected in adulthood and finally worked through some of their immense baggage about each other but also just their baggage in general? :) And also there was a farm. :)

[twdmusicboxmystery]

Suspicious IG Stories of Late

I could have sworn I posted about this, but I’ve gone through all my posts for the previous 2 weeks, and apparently, I didn’t. Such is the life a writer who has ten zillion things tumbling through her mind all the time, lol. I either think I’ve posted and haven’t. Or think I haven’t posted and double post. Lol. So glad you all bear with me.

For the record, I was probably thinking about @mindynichole​’s excellent post about recent IG stories and actors being in Paris. You can read it HERE.

SOOOO.

Last week, Norman posted this in his stories:

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Also, I noticed this in Norman’s story today.

Not only is it green, and it stands out against his dark vest (sidenote: he’s filming the spinoff and back to wearing no sleeves; I’m totally side eyeing that. Yeah, it might be very warm where he’s filming, but it’s been a long time since he had no sleeves. The last time might have been S5?)

Anyway, this really might be Norman being Norman. I thought of that semi-famous interview from Georgia where he pointed to a ladybug that landed on his arm. This is similar. But at the same time, the ladybug is a symbol of Beth, and now this is green. So, I can’t help but be mildly suspicious. Thoughts?

@wdway:

I'm so happy to see Daryl's arms again. I believe we haven't seen them since s7. I just know that his costume changed, and he began wearing sleeves or rolled up sleeves when he got to Hilltop after escaping the Sanctuary. The insect is green on his shoulder, but I am pretty sure that that's a Praying mantis. Might want to check that out but I don't think it's a grasshopper and the next thing would be a Praying Mantis. Which opens up I whole other symbolic meaning of Greene and praying.

I actually checked out a book on insects from the library the other day. What is on Norman/Daryl's shoulder is a Praying Mantis. I circled it at the top of the page. Below is a Grasshopper. No mistaking the two.

@galadrieljones

Just need to say it. This man’s shoulders are a work of art, lol.

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Totally agree!

@galadrieljones:

I like the notes on the praying mantis. Also, didn't somebody mention the other day that Norman was in Cleveland or something? I wanted to reply but got side-tracked. Is it possible he's filming in Ohio...?

@twdmusicboxmystery:

People are saying both Christian Seratos and Cassidy McClinty (Lydia) are in Paris, and therefore must be part of the spin-off. Still conjecture, of course, since neither has been seen filming. But then again, neither had Norman. We know about him because it’s been announced and he’s posting about it. Both of them being there while he’s filming and NOT being part of it would be an awfully big coincidence.

Haven’t checked on the truth of this yet, but I don’t think it would have been sent to my inbox if it isn’t posted online somewhere.

@wdway:

Three TWD actors in Paris at the same time seems very suspicious. Then again, it's hard for me to believe that their acknowledging they're in Paris if they were in fact trying to be on the down low about filming. Then again, it could be a way of peeking interest. Then again, haha, I keep going back and forth. It would ruin things for so many if we knew for a fact that these characters, Rosita and Lydia will live on in the spinoff which means they survive the end of the series.

I would so like a solid Emily hint right now. To say she's on her way to Paris would be too much but just something that raises eyebrows. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently it is. I just think Emily has already been in Paris in those weeks where she disappeared but showed airport shots. That was roughly around the same time that Norman was filming Ride and I just think they might have filmed on the down low during that time and if people saw Norman with a film crew the assumption would be it was for Ride.

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Agreed! I think she’s already done a lot of the filming as well. I hear ya about going back and forth.

@wdway:

Just saw on a TWD site that pops up on my Facebook feed the picture of Norman with the praying mantis on him he actually reposted it, it was originally posted in 2015. That's during Beth s5 right? Which makes me even more excited. Downside it means his arms could still be covered. But we cannot have everything in this lifetime.

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Interesting! Yeah, true about the sleeves, but I like that it’s a repost from S5!  

XXX

So, long story short: Norman posted this last week. Our conjecture about him going back to no sleeves was, sadly, unjustified, because this was a repost from years ago.

However, I think it’s significant that he reposted something from S5, as well as the praying mantis itself, given the symbolism @wdway dug up. It was a conscious choice on his part to post this now while he’s filming.

So, just something I wanted to point out.

[tallmantall]

James Donaldson on Mental Health - 'It can happen to anyone': Mental health professionals Response To Murder-Suicide Investigations

Mental health professionals are responding after another Green Country family lost their lives in a murder-suicide in Broken Arrow.  Kaitlyn Deggs BROKEN ARROW, Okla. - Mental health professionals are responding after another Green Country family lost their lives in a murder-suicide in Broken Arrow. In Broken Arrow alone, there have been at least five murder-suicide investigations in less than two years. GRAND Mental Health says there are several factors that could play into someone wanting to kill themselves and their loved ones, but the best way to help is to stay in contact with your family and friends. Friday’s triple murder-suicide in Broken Arrow is at least the second in the city this year. Kimberly Hill-Crowell, the Chief Clinical Officer at GRAND Mental Health, says more people are now struggling with their mental health. "Just after COVID, I think we saw an increase in depression, isolation, a lot of people using substances,” said Hill-Crowell. She says, in general, people need to look out for any noticeable changes in their loved ones, especially if they start trying to isolate themselves or have angry outbursts. "If you haven't heard from someone, check in on them,” said Hill-Crowell. “If you think of a friend you haven't spoken to in a long time, check in on them. If you have a family member that you think, 'Man, I know they lost their job a couple of months ago, and I haven't really heard from them in a while,' check in on them.” Hill-Crowell says suicide can happen to any family, so it’s important to educate yourself about signs that someone might be struggling. "Mental health and substance abuse know no boundaries,” said Hill-Crowell. “There's no discrimination when it comes to mental health and substance use. Mental health is just like any other disease; it's just like cancer, it's just like diabetes. It can happen to anyone." She says no one should feel ashamed to ask for help, and there are resources available for those who might be having these thoughts. "I'm very thankful that the stigma is reducing, but it's still there,” said Hill-Crowell. “I think that folks are still worried that they're going to be judged if they reach out for help. The more people that ask for help, the less stigma there will be attached to it." If you are struggling with thoughts of suicide or harming others, you can reach out to the 988 hotline, where you can talk to someone and be connected with local resources that can help. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleFind out more about the work I do on my 501c3 non-profit foundationwebsite www.yourgiftoflife.org Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com Link for 40 Habits Signupbit.ly/40HabitsofMentalHealth If you'd like to follow and receive my daily blog in to your inbox, just click on it with Follow It. Here's the link https://follow.it/james-donaldson-s-standing-above-the-crowd-s-blog-a-view-from-above-on-things-that-make-the-world-go-round?action=followPub Read the full article

[kimtaegis]

AHHHH ANNIE BABYYYYY😍😍IM CRYING WDYM IM TEXTING U AFTER A FKN SEMESTER😭😭😭

bby i missed u sosososososo much! in my defense i rlly haven't been using tumblr at all, i feel very disconnected. :/

anyways, HOW IS EVERYTH FOR YOU MI LADY? are u okay? how's ur health?

also yes, im not letting anyone ruin my kolej experience.. it had bothered me for a long while but i slowly got over it... im just a smol girl i wanna go hooooommeee :(

lately i've been oBSESSING over hello kitty for some rzn lmaoo its fun hasjksj anyways TAE'S LAYOVER? JUNGOO'S GOLDEN? what are ur favs on the album?

other than that, hm, what can i say, turns out i wasn't the only one who felt like this https://kimtaegis.tumblr.com/post/725188524572377088/

(us getting drunk tgt when🥺💗)

love love, i hope u remember the 🐯 anon

ahhh hey you sweetie!! I’m happy to hear from you, even though the cute and exciting tone of your message was a little funny yesterday, considering that bighit notice being uploaded just shortly before ahdjjg 😭 but nevertheless I’m glad to see you back in my inbox, it’s so sweet that you always come back for updates and haven’t forgotten about me by now (how could I not remember you btw tsk…) 🥺🤍 I hope your semester went well, both academically and socially! please enjoy this chapter of your life to the fullest, and yes please don’t let anyone ruin it for you <3

ahhh hello kitty, that’s so cute, I love it 😭 and yes we got some treats with those last two solo albums for now, my favourites of tae’s are love me again and rainy days, and for jungkook’s it’s definitely his title track!! and regarding that link to the ask…. girlie I hope you had your taehyung-induced impulses under control and didn’t do that! 💀

I’m doing okay, it could be better; I have a lot of work to do and it’s really exhausting, plus the rest of the tannies leaving us next week.. it’s all a bit meh. but I’ve gone through worse, so I’ll also make it through this 💪🏻

I’m sending you all the love back dear, stay healthy and enjoy the Christmas/ winter/ year end time as much as you can! I’m already wishing you nothing but the best for the next year 🤍

[letsgoravendors]

Soft Anne headcanons because we need more not just a chaotic dumbass content in this fandom!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anne has a had time expressing her love for the other queens so she does it in material ways, she does little things and hopes she's showing how much she truly cares.

Aragon

Anne has the hardest time with Aragon, often times leaving things undone or unsaid for fear of crossing boundaries and driving her away their fickle friendship they've built up. So instead of saying I love you and going on long winded rants about her she makes tea after a bad at work and leaves a warning note that it might be poisoned. Instead she cooks Aragons favorite meals on her death day. Instead she reminds Cathy to say good bye when Lina heads out. Instead she backs off on quips when her self-esteem issues are acting up. Instead she grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze when someone brings up Mary.

Jane

With great shame she admits she was awful to Jane in the beginning. Resented her, she'd go as far as to say hate, all misdirected at Jane. Anne hates herself for it, Jane only did to her what she did to Aragon, she had no choice. Anne's scared to be gentle with Jane but she's terrified to be rough, so she's neither. She tries to stay out of her Cousin's way and just leave her alone. So Anne does but she cares too, when Jane's extra stressed she'll do the dishes. When Jane is having a rough day with Henry's manipulation and abuse she takes extra care in stessing he was an ass to all of them. When Jane racks out on the sofa she carries her to her room and tucks her in. When Jane is missing Edward more than usual she shuts up and let's Jane mom her without a word.

Anna

Anna and Anne were bros, fellow agents of chaos, they didn't do soft feelings. They racked up nicknames amongst the queens like Anne squared, devil duo, goblins, double trouble, Christmas Bitches(that was dubbed by Kat much to Jane's despair) and more. Sometimes they dragged Kat into their chaos but that was it. They played video games and joked around, they weren't close like that. So Instead when Anna was having issues with her appearance she'd bit her lip and called her hot playfully and went on a dramatic rant about her being gorgeous. Instead she went into her room and played games. Instead she went on Anna's runs.

Kat

Kit-Kat her darling cousin, Anne was known to be protective of Kat, they became close quick and everyone joked about her being a Mini Anne. Kat was easiest to express her love for but the hardest at the same time. She'd send simple "gn I love you kitty" texts to her. She'd help her with school and remind her that she isn't stupid. She'd Listen to Kat pace and rant out the pent up emotion she struggles to express. After she has a nightmare Anne will stay, remind her of reality and sing her to sleep, let Kat hang onto to Anne as a lifeline.

Cathy

Cathy and Anne had a complicated relationship. They had feelings for each other but both unsure of how to make it official. Cathy was a little shit, an angsty tired little shit. The famed nocturnal Cathy Parr was a sleepy koala and would not sleep unless she was cuddling something and Anne was happy to be that something. She'd remind Cathy to eat and well- of basic self needs. She'd remind Cathy that what Happened with Liz wasn't Cathy's fault. She'd proof read Cathy's writing and be a critic when Cathy was scared to show it to others. She'd replace Cathy's coffee with water half way through the day(Cathy pretends to hate it but drinks it anyway)

Anne cares for the Other queens and she hopes they know

OOOOO YESS I LOVE THIS!!!!

this is exactly how i see her expressing her love for the others since she’s not the best at being emotionally vulnerable (her love language is definitely acts of service). deep down she’s just a big ol’ softie who loves her family sm

(YES i totally agree, we need more chaotic dumbassary from anne)