#i wrote this at 3 am don't @ me

[anlian-aishang]

Levi with an (Episodically) Depressed S/O

Tags: levi x reader, angst, hurt-comfort, gn!reader Word count: 900

Levi invites you to shower with him, making the obstacle less daunting and much more attractive. In his black robe, leaning on your bedroom door, two towels slung over his arm indicate the knowledge that you will say yes and accompany him. The way that he looks, the low plea in his voice, how could you say no? 

It would be more accurate to say that he was bathing you, but he does not phrase it that way. Instead, he is humble, letting his actions speak louder than words. He does not tell you that he will shampoo your matted hair, does not flaunt how deliberately he exfoliates your limbs, he just does them for you. Some days, even just tipping the bottle or pumping some soap into your hand can seem mountainous. On those days, he sees those activities not as tasks, but as privileges. It is his honor to be the one looking after you in your most dire time. He would always prefer someone to take care of rather than someone to miss. 

Showering together not only ensures that you stay clean, but his company prevents you from those timeless sessions sat on the tile floor. At the moment you look refreshed but before you become sleepy, he jerks the handle to the left and halts the devastatingly relaxing rain. 

Always, your clean clothes are already folded atop the bathroom counter, waiting for you. Some times, you fail to remember that you did not put them there. Other times, you notice the sign of his relentless consideration, but are artificially silenced from expressing your gratitude. No matter in his mind. You are clean, clothed, and out of bed, and that’s already better than you were before. 

Without one complaint, Levi scoops your dampened towel and old clothes from the wet bathroom floor and drops them in the hamper for you. He has seen the piles that can amass, and if it were anyone else in any other circumstance, the clean freak would be quick to chastise, but any sight or thought of you disintegrates any instinct to discipline. You are sat in the living room, admiring the ivy that swirls around the balcony’s posts, thumbing the petals of the bouquet vased on the coffee table. White-gold rays move just a tad west to cast your figure in therapeutic light. You’re too tired to move away from the sun, and for once, Levi finds your fatigue favorable. As the morning temperature rises, he can see that your resting smile does as well. 

While you are entranced with the scenes of summer, Levi swiftly searches for and alleviates the areas you have left neglected. He dumps your sock drawer upside down and mends the pairs that you have discarded as singles. In your closet, he finds the clean pile and dirty pile and either folds it or washes it accordingly. Under your bed, on your nightstand, in your bedside drawer, he discovers the dirty dishes that have been missing the sink and returns them to their proper place. 

Between those tasks, he rolls his shoulders back or rubs the side of his neck and allows himself to sigh. It is difficult - not to bandage these tiny wounds - but to see the harsh bruises left by the illness. Sure, you were forgetful, and not quite as tidy as he was, but still - the mounds of laundry, hidden dirty dishes - this wasn’t like you. Levi lives for your joy - not the superficial smile, your peace - not the misleading silence. He lives for you - in sickness and in health. The times you forget your worth, that is when he whispers it in your ear. When the world is overwhelming you, he lets his touch communicate it. 

Once your space is in order, he can start to work on getting you to leave it. Rather than annoying reminders or obligations, he mindfully manipulates the steps of treatment into desirable invitations. Rather than Do you want to… or Would you like to…, his proposals are statements, taking the responsibility out of your hands. Concerts in the park this afternoon. Let’s go to the farmers market. Apple orchard just opened.

Or even less far away. 

Plants look thirsty, water them with me? Rain just cleared, read on the porch with me? Full moon tonight, stargaze with me?

To you, with me frames the activities, frames your presence as favors for him, and even in your lowest state, you are always keen to help him with anything. To Levi, it is no framing, your relationship is the greatest gift that fate has bestowed on him, and he treats you as such. It is in his selfless actions and his careful words, but it is more than that, traits you can’t quite categorize. The near flat, subtle smile you wake up to in the morning. The tight yet painless combs through your hair that leave you feeling divine. The low, calming timbre of his voice, decorated with a tender tone that he reserves for you. 

Even before the haze you’re in now, you’ve never been able to label those qualities of his, and instead settled: it’s just who he is. 

Like the sentiment that motivates his care: it’s what you deserve. 

// masterlist //

[gauloiseblue]

[TW: implied non-con, somno, stalking, horror]

There's something strange going on in your apartment.

It had been going on for a while, but you've only noticed it recently.

Your sleeping schedule wasn't healthy per se, but there'd be the time when you felt so sleepy, you almost passed out on your way to the bed.

At first you suspected it was the calming tea you bought, but the drowsiness still came, even when you drank something else.

It happened at the same hour, too. Because the moment you hit the bed, you saw the same exact numbers on your clock.

8:00 PM

You rarely had a dreamless night, but somehow you always did when it happened. It's almost like you're sleeping like a rock, only to wake up, feeling groggy, and strangely sore.

Your neck was hurt, your shoulders were tense, and your hips felt like they'd been bruised.

Sometimes you found some strange bruises on your body. When you took a shower, you saw one in your inner arm. And later one, you discovered more on your inner thighs. You weren't that reckless to get a bruise in such places, so it was very confusing at that time.

Of course you've checked yourself to the doctor, but the result was nothing out of the ordinary, so there's nothing you should be afraid of. Though the doctor said it's possible that you've been sleepwalking, which would explain most of the odd things that's been happening.

After a night of heavy sleep, you woke up to find something that's out of place. You swore you didn't use that much tissues, but somehow they filled up your bin. You vaguely recalled putting your phone beside the pillow, but you found it on the nightstand the next morning.

One time, you felt so sleepy after a bath, that you didn't pay attention to your clothes. But you knew you had your shirt right, so why did you find it backward the next day?

There was a lingering smell that was foreign to you. It's almost like a musk, but not strong enough to be distinct. So you shrugged it off and thought of it as the remnant of your sweat. Which, you didn't know why you did, but you sweat a lot that night.

One or a few times, you stirred from your sleep and found yourself unable to move. All your limbs were heavy, as if something was weighing you down. And when you slept on your stomach, you often felt restrained, as if a large snake had wrapped itself around you.

It should've been obvious to you that something was wrong. Something was off about your apartment.

The first time you had a hunch was the moment you saw the CCTV of your floor. It was when you lost your spare key for the second time, and the security asked you to fill the form at the office. There were multiple screens in that place, which monitored each floor of the building. You glanced at the section of your floor, and saw your neighbor entering his room. The blond man has a room right across you, on the right side from the lift.

When you came to your floor, you noticed the security camera at the end of the hall was pointing at the lift. You looked back to the closing door, before your eyes went back to the small black dome on the ceiling, staring at the red dot.

It didn't click in your mind that something's off. Which you blissfully ignored as you stepped into your nightmare.

That night, you fell on the bed with your top only. Because you didn't have the energy to put on the rest of your clothes. And when you rose up from sleep the next day, you felt a cramp in your stomach. Your hip was so sore that you had trouble walking.

That's when you began to suspect something.

You had no idea what it was, but there was something in your apartment.

You tried to stake out for the night—once or twice every week, but nothing happened. Nothing was off about your room. You did doze off on one of the nights, but you didn't wake up sore the next morning. You're just… a little cold.

That was three days ago, and now you're preparing for another night.

You're drinking a glass of water when you glance at the clock. It's 7:58 PM, and it shouldn't be long before the lethargy seeps in. You finish the drink before you put the glass down on the table.

Yet it slips out of your hand before you could place it.

The glass rolls away under your bed, and you try to search with your hand, before you kneel down by the bed.

The sleepiness has taken effect on you, and you almost fall on your face when you try to peek into the darkness.

It's hard to get your eyes to focus, as you squint your eyes to locate the glass. It's near the hand of a mannequin, and you reach out to get it from under your bed.

But the hand is warm to touch when your knuckles brush against it. It was… too warm… too veiny for a mannequin.

It's not until its finger twitches, that you're hit with a delayed warning.

You don't own a mannequin.

Your body stumbles backward, as your mouth hangs open with a silent scream. In your mind, you were shrieking, it should be loud enough to alert the neighbors. Yet what comes from your mouth is a whimper.

You scramble to get on your feet, but the floor feels like sinking sand whenever you take a step.

The door is heavy when you pull it, before your knees give up, and force you to crawl into the small gap. The skid sound of your skin is drowned by the ringing of your ears, further disorienting you from getting to the front door.

Yet the moment you're close to the exit, your body collapses under its own weight. You fall flat on your stomach, with your eyes threatening to close at any time, pulling you down to your slumber.

You stretch your hand towards the door, which is a useless attempt since you can't reach the handle. The world seems to grow bigger, while you just turn smaller and smaller.

A heavy footstep awakens you from your daze, and you muster your energy to drag yourself away. Though it's no avail, since you can no longer feel your limbs.

And right before you succumb to your sleep, a pair of hands slip under your arms, before pulling you up with ease. You whine as his arms find their way around you, caging you with his strong embrace.

As your consciousness slips away, you hear him murmur something before everything goes dark.

[link7057]

SHARE YOUR HEADCANNONS ABOUT CHRISTINAAAAA 🫶🫶

First, I'm so sorry for the late answer months later 😭😭🙏 Please forgive me and second!! Actually I hadn't thought of many headcanons for her... yet... but she's one of my favorite characters so ofc I thought of some!! I might say silly ones or ones more about her personal life (and definitely not projecting some parts!) I love Christina Posabule 🙏♥️

Music wise I think Christina would like 60s music, rock, and/or synth-pop or idk genres are hard to actually get right nowadays. If it's specfic, "The Daughters of Eve" and Mitski would be part of her favorites fjjdbrbnd (then I think she'd like The Killers especially "When You Were Young" when she was in her teens :)) Speaking of Christina in her teens, she'd want to learn piano or some sort of instrument but her parents probably got annoyed by how much she played so she wouldn't have as many chances. She's definitely a bookworm or just loves reading and also writes in her freetime like little stories or poems. And when Block ended up staying with Orel's family, she was kind of the only one who missed him as her parents didn't really mind/express their emotions about it.

Andddd talking about her parents, they're both VERY controlling and kept watch on what she'd do, the polar opposite with Orel, which his parents didn't gaf where he was 💔💔 Especially Poppit, and I think with Christina's story it'd be a toxic mother-daughter relationship (mommy issues!) rather than her and her dad, and that Poppit rather likes taking charge but to be in "a woman's place" y'know sexism and even tells Art what to do but makes sure that he does what a "man has to." And she'd be veryyy persistent on Christina with how she presents herself and make sure that she was a nice church girl at all times. And Poppit would very much have breakdowns in front of her and vent to her about her own issues... yeah... And whenever Christina was getting yelled at or being told what to do the only thing she could do is not say anything back to not upset them. She was also grabbed a lot like by her wrists or something similar how they showed in the show. When she moved to Moralton, she was bummed out bc yeah she just moved to a new place where she knows no one. Then when she met Orel something about him intrigued her and she's like Oooh y'know what I like this place already... then BOOM! Having to move again :( Also I don't know if it's just me but she's probably homeschooled or she's just attending another school jfjfnntnf and about her past town she'd be doing so many shenanigans during the same time as Orel probably. Another silly thing she might be more confident than him like I think he'd be more shy when he got older fjjdjnfbfn

Also yes Christina was sadistic I had to say it bc... we remember Orel's masochist era... And same thing with her being emo/goth when Orel was and at least for a while when they were teens👍👍 It's canon bc I said so

About when she's an adult, once Orel and her got married and had their kids, she'd be really worried about repeating anything her own mother used to do to her (along with Orel who'd try to be the best dad to his kids and would ask Christina if he was doing a good job if he was too worried about becoming anything similar to Clay or just anything otherwise) and I'm not quite sure about if whether she kept contact with her parents but she probably would but obviously has a strained relationship with them along with Orel's parents... But she would give her own family all her love :D also she's definitely working in a type of job I forgot which one but something that helps people bc she's sweet like that <3 so yeah girlboss !!

I might've forgotten some things to mention or other things I had in mind for her but yeah!! Or it was badly/worded weird perdón. Thanks for reading 💕

[lover-of-mine]

nothing safe is worth the drive

Pairing: Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz (911)

Word Count: 2,1k

And, sure, it took Buck way too long to realize what he was feeling. To name it. To try to understand it. But he's here now. And can't keep not doing something about it. So he's doing something about it. He's getting in the goddamn car. Who cares if it's almost midnight? Who cares if they're just out of a 24-hour shift? Who cares if he doesn't know for sure the answer he's gonna get? He's doing it. He's gonna say it. Put his feelings out in the world. Evan Buckley is in love with Eddie Diaz. And he's gonna tell him. or Buck decides he needs to confess his feelings and drives over in the middle of the night.

read it on ao3

[cross-eyed-boy]

(@bulltuskbutch you asked to see where this was going so 🫣)

dad who gets home on a regular day, expecting the usual routine of hanging out with its son, making food for the both of them, then telling him its going out, knowing its boy doesn't ask questions, he's too old to care what his dad does on its personal time.

dad who's still ashamed it has so many one night stands each week. not ashamed of having sex, or doing it with guys, no... just of all of them being much younger boys who look suspiciously similar to its own son. it did stop for a while, after the first time it moaned its son's name when it came. but the urges were so strong it was afraid it might end up touching him for real, so it's back to a routine of fucking boys with the same skintone and dark curls. sometimes it even works up the courage to ask if it can call a boy a different name... thinking about raping your son while fucking another guy is okay as long as you never actually act on it, right?

dad who's surprised to find the house empty and dark, who calls for its son as it makes its way through the rooms, until it sees the faintest bit of light coming from the unused basement. there's noise coming from there, too, so it starts down the stairs in a hurry, afraid something might have happened to its son. something hits it in the back of the head, and the last thing it sees as it tumbles down is a pool of blood spreading on the floor in a corner of the room.

dad who wakes up some time later, tied to a chair under the bare lightbulb hanging from the basement ceiling. it blinks, vision coming into focus just as it takes in the sight before it. its son, covered in blood, hair matted to his forehead with sweat, crouched next to a few bodies slumped against the wall. it takes the dad too long to recognise the faces, left pristine in contrast to the bloody, lacerated bodies: the boy it fucked a week ago, who let it call him by its son's name; one from a couple of months back who looked so similar to its son it cried after it was done fucking him; another it had forgotten about, not even from the city. and, closest to its son who has his hand in the boy's hair, pulling his face back, the boy it was supposed to meet tonight.

'hi, dad.'

[transsongtaewon]

Blessings Abundant | Explicit | 5.5k

“Let’s get this done.” “What?” “You want my first born.” “Indeed, I asked for it.” “So we’ll need to make one.” “Oh.” - Yoojin makes a deal with a fae to find his brother and is prepared to pay the price right there and then.

Link

[trans-queen-administrator]

Honestly? I think Aisha had a crush on Taylor, and it makes her character so much more fun too. Her first meeting she gets to tease her a bunch and then the next time they meet she sees that Taylor is incredibly brutal and idk. I think she's weird enough that that would make a spark for her. Obviously Taylor barely noticed Aisha, and ends up dating her brother, so I think this crush withered a bit and likely made her kinda bitter as a whole, in large part because Aisha hurts a lot when people she wants to notice her don't. She thinks she's over it when Taylor leaves, she's been hurt enough already, and then Taylor comes back and oh no she is not over it at all and so she flirts with her a few times through Gold Morning, and she has an actual emotional moment with Taylor where she tells her it's ok to feel things, and she gave up on the crush but maybe she can still be important enough for Taylor to notice and not dismiss.

And then Taylor is barely Taylor, and Aisha is following her through portal after portal, watching as the fun-to-tease dumbass that made her heart flutter becomes more and more unhinged. Taylor is unraveling at the seams, and she's doing it all alone, even surrounded by thousands of capes for her army she's so alone. Except for Aisha. Taylor doesn't even know Aisha is there, she's never noticed her anyway, but she's alone and she's breaking down and she's still the woman Alec teased her about liking all those years ago. So Aisha does all she can to soothe her even as she stops being her, she sings soothing melodies, fixes Taylor's hair, gently rubs her back. So many things Taylor would never let happen, but that she needs to have. And then the golden man dies, and everyone is surrounding Taylor and wondering what to do with her, and she's going to attack them, and Aisha finally lets her power down and Taylor notices her for once. The joy from that hardly makes up for having her free will stolen and a knife put in her mouth as a threat, and if Aisha could move she'd let out a bitter laugh about how fitting it is that this was the time Taylor noticed her.

And then Taylor is gone. She's not coming back this time. And despite Aisha's best efforts, she can't quite move on from the crush just like she can't move on from Alec's friendship. So she does what she wishes people would do for her, she makes sure Taylor is remembered. She confronts Shadow Stalker and lets her know just how much Taylor mattered, because all those people afraid of Khepri and wanting to forget her didn't see her as tears streamed down her face and blood dried on her skin and her posture slumped like a corpse. They didn't see how human she was, how much she sacrificed. But Aisha did. Aisha saw the girl that she had fun teasing in the apartment slowly disappear. She saw someone so determined that they left their mind behind for the greater good. She saw Taylor at her lowest, and she was the only one who really saw her. She'll never get over seeing the hollow shell of Taylor Hebert breaking down as she sings to her, she'll never forget her. So she has to make sure other people don't forget her. It's her love language, and sometimes it feels like no one else speaks it.

[lloydfrontera]

male authors, writing m/m friendships: their bond will develop through hundreds of chapters, we will get to see each stage of their budding relationship, they'll constantly be in each other thoughts, their first instinct will always be to reach for the other, their first worry will always be the other's safety, they'll spend every minute of the day together, they'll be complete opposites and yet perfectly compliment each other, they will put everything they ever loved in risk just to keep the other safe, they will give their life without hesitation to save the other's, they will fight and argue and tease and joke around but they will always be at each other's side at the end of the day, they will plan to spend the rest of their lives together, sharing the happy moments and the hard times, the idea of being without the other being unthinkable, the thought of being always together coming naturally, as easy as breathing.

the same male authors, writing m/f romance: she'll like,, smile once at him and he'll start thinking of marrying her and having children with her idk

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.

[greenerteacups]

What do you think as Hermione's career would be post battle of Hogwarts? To me her being minister for magic really doesn't make sense. She does not have patience or tact to wade through murky waters of politics 😭😭

So hard to say! The Trio are so, so young when we leave them, I find it almost impossible to project their futures farther than a few years out. The job that suited me at 17 would be radically unsuited to me now. That's why of all the Trio, Ron's ending strikes me as the most realistic — he jumps straight into the save-the-world business again, burns out, realizes he's actually Done The Fuck Enough, Thanks, and pivots into a low-stress career where he gets to see his family a lot. Feels accurate! The others are weirder to me because they do seem to just... pick a lane and stay there.

With Hermione, you could spin her a couple ways. You could say that she leans into her bookish side and does research or teaching, which is not my preference for a couple reasons (namely, I don't think Hermione would like academia as a profession; she finds her classwork interesting and enjoys intellectual validation, but she'd be stifled and wasted in a DPhil program, and she'd be infuriated by the administrative politicking of your average higher-ed faculty). You could say that she gets disaffected with politics and ends up as a barrister or a lobbyist of some kind, but if anything that requires more political finesse, because you don't actually have institutional power, you're just handling the people who make decisions and trying to persuade them of your goals. This is not Hermione's preferred method of influence. She's not even particularly good at persuasion, she just happens to be smart enough (and right often enough) that people take her ideas seriously.

Or you could say her brashness fades with the years into a softened flavor of tell-you-like-it-is honesty, which some politicians actually do successfully trade on; as we see in British politics today, you don't have to be all that charming or clever to get ahead, you just need to be really driven and well-connected (which Hermione completely is; she fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the first postwar Minister and her bestie, the Literal Messiah, runs the Auror Office.) But I don't know if Hermione especially wants to be Minister, after the war. She's just watched years of horrendous bureaucratic incompetence plunge the country into a violent civil conflict. She's had not one, but two Ministers of Magic try to bully or shame her friends into complicity with fascism. Her view of government is... likely extremely dark.

But Hermione also isn't the kind of person who sees her life as a quest for happiness. Babygirl has a savior complex that makes Harry look selfish. (She basically kills her parents — yeah, obliviating is a form of murder, #changemymind — "for their own good," and justifies every batshit, vindictive, mean-spirited move she ever pulls on the grounds that it "helps" one of her friends.) She is a mean, lean, dragon-slaying machine, and she needs a dragon. After Voldemort, the Ministry is the no. 1 threat to muggle-borns and non-wizarding Beings. As a war heroine with basically infinite political capital, I'd be surprised if she didn't try to do something there. That said, Hermione is so vivacious and dynamic that she could potentially grow in a hundred different directions; it's possible that all of this, while true of her at 18, becomes completely inaccurate by 22. That's why I'm not too fussed about any particular fanon interpretation.

[ridhearts]

rest {vil x reader}

Vil comforts you after a rough day.

!! information !!

characters: vil

reader: gn

cw: none!

The Pomefiore lounge was only half-lit, a shadowed hallway leading to the far wall where Vil sat on one of the plush purple couches. The flickering candles cast him in a warm glow, bright enough to illuminate the papers on his lap so he wouldn’t have to strain his eyes to read. The scarce lighting, you knew, was meant to accommodate you; after so long of complaining about a persistent headache, even the densest of your companions (ahem, Grim) caught on.

Vil looked up from his papers and uncrossed his legs, though he made no move to stand. “Hello, sweet potato.”

“Hey,” you answered, barely stopping yourself from diving onto the couch. Still, you fell with little ceremony, laying across the cushions and resting your head on Vil’s lap. He scoffed, amused at your audacity, but didn’t say anything else about your manners.

“You’ve been making yourself scarce these days,” He commented, not unkindly. His voice lacked the usual firm and severe tone he used throughout the day, though anybody on campus could tell that he usually spoke softer around you. Still, this time he kept volume down to something soft and tender, wrapping around you, sound and snug.

“Headache.” You felt on of his hands gently rest on our head for a moment, carding through your hair and drawing soothing lines down your shoulder. “I was getting sick of being alone, though.”

“Forgive me for not offering a more thrilling activity.”

“This is perfect.” You didn’t think you could take any more than resting in a different spot, anyway. “I’m...sorry I haven’t been...much, lately.”

Vil stopped moving his hand, and you could practically hear the unimpressed expression he was giving you. Picturing that small, perfect scowl and the way he was arching an eyebrow, you almost laughed.

“You haven’t been much? Much of what?”

You shrugged. “Much of anything.”

Vil sighed before resuming the comforting pets he was giving you. “That’s simply not true. You’ve been recovering. And before that, you were going through a lot. Perhaps you still are. How are you feeling?”

After a pause, you shrugged and gave him a noncommittal hum. Those types of answers were never enough for him, though. “Better. Kind of. More manageable, at least. I’ll be back on my feet soon.”

Vil chuckled. “You don’t have to make promises to me. It’s important to take care of yourself. Take the time you need. I’m thankful that I got to spend some time with you at all today.”

You took a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds and trying to focus on anything but the pounding pain in your head: his fingers running through your hair, the warmth of his leg beneath your cheek, the raised seam of the cushion digging into your hip, all of it. Slowly exhaling, you hummed again.

“Yeah. I am, too.”

[queer-reader-07]

the worst thing about me being a Gen Z with a Gen X father is that i routinely use Gen Z slang & internet lingo around him to the point that he's able to accurately parse what it all means. AND THEN HE GOES AND USES IT AT WORK TO IMPRESS HIS TWENTY SOMETHING COWORKERS

[blizzardfluffykpop]

"I don't wanna write smut- but the parasites in me (tbz) want me to write smut."

[sysig]

He’s my little meow meow, my darling, my bbygirl (Patreon)

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Jingliu

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Haunted by the possibilities of a novel in verse.