#not great. and i feel insignificant and small constantly and anyway i have to worry about grad school LOL. pain

[pepprs]

i wish i wasn’t depressed lol

[engie-ivy]

Yes, he's in the hospital and doesn't remember anything about himself, but it's actually not that bad. His memories are sure to come back in a matter of days, and until then, he can spend time eating, sleeping, reading, daydreaming about that ridiculously attractive Healer...

(The aim is Funny and Fluffy Wolfstar)

It's Like the First Time

“Everything seems to be in order,” the Healer Trainee, Aubrey, says. “As we expected. How’s the dizziness?”

“When I’m laying down, it doesn’t bother me,” he replies.

“That’s good,” Aubrey smiles. “The dizziness and light-headedness should gradually disappear over the upcoming days, and then the memories will come back after.”

He nods. He’d be more worried about all his memories being gone if the Healers at St Mungo’s weren’t so certain they’ll all come back in a matter of days. Dizziness, light-headedness, and amnesia; it’s a familiar picture when being hit with a Confundo-charm from a defective wand, which the Healers have encountered many times before and has apparently happened to him during some friendly duelling.

It’s always the same picture: the dizziness and light-headedness slowly lessening, and the memories all coming back at once after two to at most five days. Like, one moment you know nothing, and the next you remember everything.

Well, he doesn’t exactly know nothing. His semantic memory is intact, meaning he has basic knowledge and remembers facts and skills. He knows he’s a wizard, he knows the hospital is called St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, he knows the people in the lime green robes are the Healers, he knows that since he’s a wizard he probably went to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he knows perfectly well how to perform a wide variety of charms, jinxes, hexes and curses. (So luckily those years at Hogwarts weren’t for nothing)

What he doesn’t know is anything about himself. His episodic memory, memory for any kind of life events, is completely gone. Who he is, what he does, what he has done, who he knows, it’s all gone. His own mum could walk into the room, and he’d think she was the laundry lady. (Luckily, she seemed like a very nice lady, and had thought it rather funny)

The only thing he knows about himself, not because he remembers, but because it’s the only thing they told him, is that he’s someone named Remus Lupin. Apparently, in the past, trying to fill in the gaps has proven to be more frustrated than helpful for the patient and, as the memories will come back on their own anyway, quite unnecessary. Therefore, they don’t tell him much else, and all he can do is wait.

Past experience has also shown that the patient often finds it quite stressful, and even frightening, to be surrounded by lots of people who all know him, and whom he feels like he should recognize, but doesn’t. Therefore, friends and family are only allowed in limited numbers, one new person a day, which started with his mum.

His mum had brought him his favourite novel, saying that he read it so many times, and would always wish he could erase it from his memory just so he could read it again with the same sense of anticipation. Well, she had figured this was his chance. Now, all he can do is lie in bed, read his book, and eat food, which is... Well, pretty great actually.

He doesn’t have anything to worry about. How can he worry about anything if he doesn’t remember anything? It’s like having a little break from life and all its expectations and responsibilities. (Though the fact that he’s so happy about having no worries, makes him think that this Remus Lupin normally worries quite a lot)

When a Healer comes to see him, he suddenly knows something else about himself: he’s very, very gay.

The Healer has a classic, aristocratic beauty to him, with his sharp cheekbones and full lips, and his eyes are of a clear grey, that appears silver, which contrasts quite nicely with the strands of raven black hair that have fallen from the messy bun on top of his head. And no one has the right to look that good in lime green robes, which he fills out pretty well with his lean, muscular body.

The Healer gives him a soft smile, and really, if he smiles at all his patients like that, the whole hospital must be diagnosed with palpitations. “How’re you feeling?” the Healer asks in a warm, deep voice.

He wonders whether his semantic memory has failed him after all, as he suddenly seems to have forgotten how speaking works. “Erm...” he says, very eloquently.

The Healer frowns, and looks at Aubrey. “Isn’t the confusion supposed to be gone by now?”

Aubrey looks from the Healer to him and back to the Healer, while a knowing smile appears on her face. “Don’t worry,” she tells the Healer. “He has been perfectly responsive and coherent all day.”

“Has he had some Anti-Confusion Concoction?”

“He’s had a small dose, as the confusion was already wearing off on his own.”

“Are you going to give him Memory Potion?” the Healer continues his questioning.

Aubrey shakes her head. “We have already given him Mandrake Restorative Draught against the spell’s physical effects. Adding Memory Potion might make the dose of Stewed Mandrake too high. As we can be certain all memories will come back on their own, it isn’t worth the risk.”

The Healer nods thoughtfully. “So only a daily dose of Restoration Potion until all effects have subsided, I assume?”

“Yes,” Aubrey agrees. “Based on past experience, that’ll in all likeliness be sufficient.”

The Healer turns his head back to him, and that soft smile is back in place. He opens his mouth to speak, but right at that moment, a bright flash can be seen, and a gazelle made out of shining white light is standing in front of them.

“I’m so sorry to disturb on a moment like this,” a stressed-sounding voice of a young woman comes from the Patronus, that is directing itself to the Healer. “But you’re needed back at the HADA department immediately! We’re having an emergency.”

The Healer curses under his breath. He takes a step towards the door, but then stops to look back at him with a pained expression.

“He’s in good hands,” Aubrey says.

The Healer nods. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he tells him, before hurrying out the door.

Though his mum was right, and the novel is really good, he has trouble focusing on it from that moment on. He’s constantly interrupted by thoughts of bright, silver-grey eyes. Merlin, he’s seen the guy once, and he’s acting like a twelve-year-old with a crush!

Telling himself off for it doesn’t stop him from looking up hopefully the moment he catches a glimpse of lime-green robes. It’s quite a disappointment when the Healer that walks in to check his vitals is a greying, grumpy man with a face that seems to be twisted in a permanent scowl. Asking him where the good-looking Healer went to seems kind of impolite though, so he just sits and nods whenever the Healer grumbles something unintelligible.

“So, why have I gotten a different Healer?” he asks Aubrey later, trying to sound casual.

“Different Healer?” she asks, not understanding.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling to his great annoyance that his cheeks begin to flush. “There was this older man checking up on me, while before, there was the young man with the broad shoulder, shining dark hair, sweet smile, pretty eyes...” He trails off.

“Oh!” Understanding, and a not insignificant amount of amusement, appear on Aubrey’s face. “Oh, he wasn’t not your Healer, sweetie! He was visiting.”

“Ah,” he sighs disappointedly. So the Healer had only been here for some sort of second opinion, and he probably won’t be back. It was too good to be true, to have a Healer like that around as a nice distraction.

“Healer Black works for the Healing Against the Dark Arts Department,” Aubrey continues.

“You know him?” he asks.

“I know of him. But honestly,” she adds with a wink. “Everyone working at St Mungo’s knows of Healer Black!”

He chuckles. “I suppose he cannot not catch your eye.”

“It’s not just his appearance,” Aubrey says. “Healer Black is the leading expert on healing Dark Arts-related injuries and combating curses from the Dark Arts. He has invented novel Healing Spells and revolutionized the protocol for treating curses. Healers from all over the world consult him on their cases, and patients come to see him from all over the world.”

“Wow...” he sighs again, but this time it’s a more wistful sigh. He doesn’t even care anymore that he sounds like a love-struck teenager. Maybe Aubrey will write it off as a side-effect of the Confundo-charm. He briefly wonders about that himself, but as those bright, silver-grey eyes come to mind again, he knows he’s under a whole different kind of spell.

“Yeah,” Aubrey smiles. “He’s quite a remarkable man.”

“So I guess I won’t be seeing him again then,” he says dejectedly, letting his head hang. He wonders why they’d sent that Healer to come see him in the first place, as he surely must’ve had better things to do.

He hears a choked noise besides him, and he looks up at Aubrey, who seems to be stifling a laugh, with her hand pressed against her mouth. “Don’t worry, love,” she says with obvious amusement in her voice. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of him.”

The young man sitting next to his bed has been talking about his wife and their baby for an hour straight. Though it really isn’t so bad. His stories are quite amusing, and the man is very charismatic. He has sparkling eyes, and hair so messy, he had immediately checked whether it wasn’t storming outside when the man had entered. He has a disarming smile and a contagious laugh, and is surprisingly easy to talk to. He says his name is James Potter, and he’s Remus Lupin’s best friend.

He has to give Remus Lupin a pat on the back for having made such a nice friend. Honestly, the idea of socializing with new people, trying to make friends, does not appeal to him, and he’s glad to know Remus already has them.

“And I just went to see Sirius,” James says. “Well, more like I was speed walking next to him in the two minutes he had to get from one room to another. He still managed to apologize twenty times though. Normally, I’d say he should be sorry, but the poor guy seems to hardly have any time to eat or sleep.” James shakes his head. “Did you hear what happened? Three children were playing in the woods, and they must’ve accidentally touched an unknown cursed object. They were brought in barely conscious and with a mother completely beside herself. So of course, ‘the widely renowned and highly acclaimed, capable-of-the-impossible Healer Black’ was the only one who might save them. And he has, as they seem to be recovering,” James adds, relieved. “But really, there aren’t many excuses that would justify him not being here, but having to save children’s lives is definitely one of them.”

“Thank Merlin those children are alright. That sounds- Wait,” he says, before sitting up. “Healer Black? You know Healer Black?”

James blinks at him. “Ehm... Yeah?”

“Merlin, that man is so handsome!” he exclaims. “He was here for like two minutes, before he got called away to other patients, but I just can’t stop thinking about him! He already looks perfect, and now you’re telling me that he’s some kind of miracle Healer saving children’s lives?” He sighs. “It’s just not fair.”

At first, James still looks confused. Then his eyes widen in understanding, and his mouth starts twitching like he’s trying to hold back laughter.

He doesn’t blame him. He’d laugh at himself too, with how ridiculous he’s been acting over this random Healer. He just hopes he won’t have embarrassed Remus Lupin too much once his memories have returned.

“Don’t worry,” James says, in an amused voice. “Healer Black will come back as soon as he has the time.”

Now, his own eyes widen. “You really think he’d come to see me again?”

James lets out a strangled noise and starts coughing, which he strongly suspects being a laugh quickly covered up by a cough. “Yes,” James replies, suppressed laughter still sounding through in his voice. “I really think so.”

He knows it’s rather pathetic, but as he’s got nothing better to do, he did it anyway. He practiced what he’s going to say to Healer Black when, or if, he comes back.

He’ll tilt his head slightly downwards, so he’ll look up at the man through his lashes, and then he’ll give him a coy smile, while softly saying ‘Healer Black. It’s so good to see you again. I’ve heard many great things about you, and what you did for those children is truly admirable.’ Luckily, flirting seems to fall under semantic memory.

However, when the moment comes that Healer Black enters the room again, his carefully constructed plan falls apart.

At first, he’s stunned that yes, Healer Black really looks like that, and he hasn’t made it better in his head. Alright, the man has bags under his eyes, his robes are rumpled, and his hair is slightly greasy and so much strands are peaking out of his bun, making it look more messy than what would qualify as a normal messy bun, but he still looks like the most beautiful person in the world. He doesn’t even notice Aubrey and James walk in after Healer Black.

He opens his mouth to deliver his carefully practiced lines, but the words die in his throat as Healer Black... Well, flings himself at him. He literally splays out on top of him, hugging him close and pressing his face in the crook of his neck. “I missed you so much,” Healer Black murmurs against his skin.

He freezes. Yes, he has forgotten quite a lot, but he’s still pretty sure this is not the standard operating procedure for Healers to greet their patients. “Erm...” He says, once again ever so eloquently.

Healer Black lifts his head and looks up at him in confusion, but he can’t possibly be more confused than he’s feeling.

James scrapes his throat. “Remus, may I introduce you to Healer Sirius Black-Lupin, your husband?”

“So neither one of you decided to tell him?” Healer Black has crossed his arms over his chest and is glaring at Audrey and James.

“I’m sorry, Healer Black!” Aubrey squeaks. “I know I should’ve told him, but it was just too cute, watch him be all smitten with his own husband.”

He isn’t really listening. He’s openly staring at Healer Black. Apparently, he bloody married the guy, so it’s allowed, right?

“I don’t know how you pulled this off, Remus Lupin,” he whispers under his breath. “But thank you, and kudos to you, mate, kudos to you.”

As he looks at Healer Black up and down (at some point he’ll really have to stop referring to his husband as Healer Black, probably), he suddenly really wishes for his memories to come back fast, as there are some things he’d really like to remember.

Though on the other hand, he thinks, biting his lip, maybe ‘Healer Black’ won’t mind freshening up his memory in the meantime?

“Ugh,” Remus groans, hiding his face against Sirius’ chest. “I can’t believe I was practically drooling over you!”

Sirius chuckles while he’s rubbing soft circles on Remus’ back. “You were cute.”

As a reply, Remus just groans again.

“I’m sorry, though,” Sirius says, suddenly quietly. “It wouldn’t have happened if I had been by your side as I was supposed to be.”

Remus lifts up his head to look at Sirius. “Hey, none of that! You were saving lives.” He presses a quick kiss to his husband’s lips. “You wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else, and I wouldn’t have wanted you to be anywhere else.”

Sirius smiles softly at him, and Remus lays his head back on his chest. “Besides, it was a good reminder that I should be more proud of my accomplishment to get Healer Black to marry me.”

Sirius barks a laugh, that Remus can feel vibrating in his chest. “And how exactly was me down on one knee practically begging you to become my husband ‘you getting me to marry you’?”

Remus smiles fondly, happy that that memory is safely back in his head. “And it was nice to feel like having a new crush again,” he continues. “ All exhilarated, enraptured, and in awe.”

“Oh, Moony,” Sirius sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of Remus’ head. “I feel like that every time I look at you.”

[lightsupinthenorth]

Damn it, I’m calling you mine

Read on AO3

*

When Alternate-Mobius (as Loki has taken to calling the Mobius from this timeline in his head) comes to get him out of his cell and lead him to one of the interrogation rooms for the umpteenth time in however long it is he has been stuck in this cursed timeline, Loki lets himself be dragged there without protesting.

Protesting got old fairly quickly, considering it accomplished nothing at all. It doesn’t even get on the nerves of the TVA agents and hunters as it did in the timeline Loki left against his will.

Alternate-Mobius’ grip on his forearm is firm, firmer than it usually is. As if he were afraid Loki was going to make a run for it. As if Loki were stupid enough to think it would be of any use, after all this time. Loki would be insulted if he could muster enough energy for such an emotion.

As soon as they’re inside the interrogation room, Alternate-Mobius locks the door behind them. That’s new, too. Loki’s eyebrows raise slightly, but Loki doesn’t question Alternate-Mobius. What is even the point? He’ll know soon enough what the man is trying to do. Probably.

Alternate-Mobius fiddles with his TemPad for a few seconds and a familiar orange portal opens in front of them.

“Follow me.”

Loki nods, ready to obey, but Alternate-Mobius doesn’t move. Instead, he opts to stare at Loki with a frown on his face.

“Really? You’d follow me just like that? You’re not even going to question it?”

It’s Loki’s turn to frown. Why would Alternate-Mobius ask such a useless question? Has he yet to register how Loki’s fire has died out ages ago?

He shrugs.

“Okay then, let’s go…”

Loki swears he hears Alternate-Mobius mumble “what the fuck have they done to him?”, but he doesn’t have time to think about it any further before he’s pulled by Alternate-Mobius through the time-portal.

Before Loki can blink, he’s in a living-room with Alternate-Mobius by his side. All he can focus on apart from that is his own confusion.

He hadn’t known what to expect, but he hadn’t been expecting something this benign.

“Where are we?”

“Oh, so you still have some questions then. Thank God, you had me worried for a second over there.”

Loki, instead of unpacking what Alternate(?)-Mobius just said, glares at him until he relents.

“We’re at my flat, it’s a long story, I’ll explain everything later. First, tell me if you’re okay.”

His gaze travels the length of Loki’s body, as if he’s assessing damage, and then he’s staring right into his eyes. Maybe he’s searching for the damage in his soul, then. There’s a lot to find, without a doubt.

The concern that radiates off of the man brings a realisation to life in Loki.

“Mobius?”

Of course, it’s Mobius. Alternate-Mobius is also Mobius. But what Loki is really asking is “are you my Mobius?” Because that’s how he thinks of the first version of Mobius he got to meet. He can’t ask that, though. Mobius couldn’t possibly react to such blatant (and misplaced) possessiveness in a positive manner.

“Yes.”

Loki wants to take the simple answer at face value, but he has to be sure. He has to be sure he’s got this right. He couldn’t cope if he accepted this as true only to have his fragile hope ripped away from him later.

Sylvie betrayed him, sending him to an alternate timeline where everything that had become familiar to him at the TVA was here and not here at the same time. It had been torture. Especially seeing Alternate-Mobius constantly. The other version of Mobius only served to remind Loki of what – of whom – he had lost.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

It’s not comfortable, being on this side of lies. Loki has a lot of experience as a liar and as the one being lied to. He far prefers the first configuration, it has to be said.

“What would I gain by taking you here and lying about which version of me I am?”

“Seriously Mobius, now is not the time to answer a question with another question.”

Loki is dead on his feet. He cannot fathom how he manages to stay standing. He fears it will not last much longer.

“I… I don’t know. Ask me something only your Mobius would know.”

Loki blinks a few times, trying to come to terms with this Mobius (whichever he is) saying “your Mobius” like this. Like it’s easy. Like it’s an evidence.

It turns out that Loki worried for nothing, earlier, when he kept himself from asking if this Mobius was his.

After a small eternity, Loki focuses on Mobius’ request instead of on this insignificant (but not for him) detail.

“How did we find out Sylvie was hiding in Haven Hills, Alabama?”

Loki could have asked Mobius a lot of things, but this question seems like a good option. No one knows about this but them. Loki doubts Mobius put it in the reports or mentioned it to anyone, because it’s just a detail, a clue that led them to Sylvie. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But Loki remembers it, and he’d bet his Mobius would too. The elation they felt when they reached their goal is not something that can be forgotten easily, after all. At least, Loki hopes not.

“We found out because you’re clever and we make a great team, but I don’t see how that’s gonna convince you I’m your Mobius.”

Loki feels winded by Mobius’ words. The praise, the acknowledgment of their partnership, and the “your Mobius” (for the second time in a matter of minutes). However, he can’t let himself lose his focus.

“That’s very nice of you to compliment me, and we do make a rather spectacular team. But I’m asking you about the clue which led us to the right location.”

“Oh, you mean Kablooie?”

As soon as Loki registers the words, his knees buckle and he might have fallen down if Mobius weren’t there to steady him. He extends his arms and Loki instantly grabs them. His heart is beating so fast he’d fear a heart attack if he were human.

“It’s really you.”

Loki hears his own voice crack with relief, and his eyes fill with tears.

“It’s really me.”

Loki didn’t need the confirmation, but it is so on brand for Mobius to give it to him anyway that Loki gets the impulse to throw his arms around him and bury his face in his neck. He tries to resist the impulse for a mere second before giving up entirely and engulfing his Mobius in a (perhaps overly) tight hug.

Mobius wraps his arms around Loki in return, hugging him back. That’s when the tears begin to fall in earnest. Before he knows it, Loki is sobbing uncontrollably in Mobius’ embrace. It’s most undignified and he’s probably ruining Mobius’ shirt, but Loki’s too far gone to care. Anyway, Mobius has seen most of his life when he was working for the TVA, and Loki’s done his fair share of embarrassing things. This is not the worst one, by far.

Being vulnerable is still difficult for him, but he has no control over himself right now, so vulnerability is the only way to go.

*

Mobius has an armful of crying god, and he’s taking it in stride if he does say so himself. He’s been looking for Loki for so long, he’s been through so much to find him that he’s prepared to accept anything Loki throws at him now that they’re finally reunited.

“There, there. It’s going to be okay now.”

Mobius continues to whisper reassurances in Loki’s ear until Loki’s sobs subside. Mobius is loath to break their embrace, but they can’t possibly stay like this much longer considering Loki has looked on the verge of keeling over ever since he got up from the floor of his cell. When he saw him, Mobius had to make a conscious effort to reign in a gasp (the hunters guarding Loki’s cell would have found that mightily suspicious coming from the Mobius he was then pretending to be). Loki is thinner, there are bags under his eyes, and his skin has taken a blueish tint which, rather than being reminiscent of his origins, looks sickly. Now that Loki’s finally safe, Mobius wants nothing more than to take care of him and nurse him back to health.

“We should probably sit down. Would that be alright?”

Mobius can feel Loki nod, but Loki makes no move to separate himself from him.

Okay. Mobius can work around that.

He slowly walks them to the couch without letting go of Loki. They fall on it rather gracelessly, and Loki immediately rearranges himself so he’s lying down with his head face down on Mobius’ lap and one of his hand gripping his knee. He wishes Loki would let him see his face, but it certainly isn’t the time for requests.

Mobius passes the fingers of his left hand through Loki’s messy hair and Loki shivers against him.

“Is this okay?”

Loki’s only reply is a hum. Mobius interprets it as acquiescence, so he repeats the motion again, and again, and again. To comfort himself as much as Loki.

“Do you want something to drink? Or eat?”

Loki’s grip on Mobius’ knee tightens and he whimpers. Mobius’ stomach drops.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I… I’m fine. Just… can we stay here for a while?” Loki’s voice is hoarse and tentative, as if he were expecting Mobius to turn him down. As if it were a credible outcome. Preposterous.

“Of course, anything you want. But, please let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

Loki hums again, and Mobius goes back to playing with his hair.

*

It must be hours before either of them speaks again. Loki’s turned around by now, so he’s facing Mobius while still resting his head on his lap.

“Do you have a bathtub?”

“I do.”

“I could go for a bath… But…”

He’s reluctant to voice his desires. He’s been attached to Mobius as a barnacle to a rock for longer than he can tell, and Mobius must be tired of him by now. Maybe he’s been tired during this entire display of neediness and has only tolerated it for Loki’s sake. Mobius is decent enough that it doesn’t sound particularly far-fetched.

“But what? Go on.”

“Would you… would you mind staying with me while I’m in the bath?”

“Sure.”

Mobius looks unphased, but Loki still needs to ask:

“Are you sure it’s no bother? I know I’m being clingy and…”

Mobius interrupts him:

“Rest assured, you’re only the one clinging to me because you beat me to it. I don’t want to be apart from you anymore than you want to be apart from me.”

Loki frowns, as if facing a puzzle he can’t quite solve.

“Really?”

“Of course. Why do you think I looked for you for months?”

And it makes sense, from an objective point of view. It’s a wonder Loki can’t wrap his head around it.

“Oh” is all he has to say.

“Yeah, oh.”

Loki will wonder later how exactly Mobius managed to rescue him. He’s not strong enough to deal with that conversation at the moment.

“Come on, let’s get that bath running.” Mobius says, sitting up straighter.

Loki gets the message and pulls himself up. He only loses physical contact with Mobius for a handful of seconds before he reaches for his hand and slide his fingers between Mobius’.

They walk to the bathroom hand in hand and Mobius only lets go when Loki has to undress. Mobius looks away until he’s in the bath, hidden by the bubbles. It’s a sweet, if useless (Mobius probably saw Loki naked in countless occurrences on the TVA tapes), gesture.

Loki would ask Mobius to join him if he had the courage. He can’t find it in himself. He’s been bold enough as it is. Besides, it would definitely cross the line. To be honest with himself, he’s not sure this line exists anymore, but he ought to pretend it still does. For Mobius’ sake, if not for his own.

“Can I wash your hair?”

The prospect of Mobius’ gentle hands back in his hair is a pleasant one, to say the least. So, Loki immerses himself in the bath to wet his hair and comes back up, before replying:  

“Please, be my guest”, trying for a teasing smile that probably comes out looking wrong.

*

Mobius returns Loki’s fond smile, relieved to finally see a positive emotion displayed on this beautiful face.

He grabs his bottle of shampoo from the edge of the bathtub and squeezes some of it into his palm. It’s cheap stuff, with a cheap artificial apple scent. Surely not up to Loki’s standards. However, Mobius doesn’t reckon he’ll care after his forced stay in the Alternate-TVA.

When he starts rubbing the shampoo into Loki’s hair, Loki shivers again, and then moans. Mobius puts the reaction in a corner of his brain so he can examine it later. It might be a thing.

Mobius takes his time (which is to say, he takes far more time than is necessary), before he finally requests:

“Bend forward and close your eyes for me, please.”

Loki complies without a second thought, and warmth spread inside Mobius at the display of trust.

“Good boy.” Mobius says it without thinking, as he’s reaching for the hand shower.

Loki tenses up, and Mobius instantly regrets the words. They’re out, though, there’s no calling them back.

Thankfully, before Mobius can go into a full-blown panic caused by his own stupidity, Loki relaxes again, even though his breathing is now laboured.

That’s quite a lot to unpack there. Mobius will make sure to come back to it in the future. Until then, he focuses on rinsing Loki’s hair without making a mess. He then wrings the excess water out of it as gently as he can and grabs a towel from the rack attached to the wall.

He hands it to Loki and looks away again to give him some semblance of privacy. He hears Loki get up and say:

“It’s okay, you can look. I don’t mind.”

Mobius should decline, but he’s too weak. It’s so hard to not keep his eyes on Loki constantly when he has just got him back.

So, Mobius looks at him, and instantly notices Loki’s lower torso is covered in bruises. They’re stark against Loki’s skin, which is now back to its usual paleness, sans blueish tint.

Mobius must have visibly reacted, though he’s not aware of it, because Loki takes a glance down his own body and flinches.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think…”

“Don’t apologize. Not for that.”

Loki’s mouth clicks shut.

*

Once Loki’s dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants (both black, thankfully) that he borrowed from Mobius, he brushes his teeth with a spare toothbrush.

Then, Mobius manages to talk him into eating something and having a cup of herbal tea (camomile), even though it ruins the point of the aforementioned toothbrushing.

What would he not do to appease Mobius and keep him from worrying? Loki prefers not to know.

They retire to bed soon after that, tangling together under Mobius’ fluffy comforter. Loki’s about to fall asleep, lulled by the repetitive motion of Mobius’ fingers running lines on his back, when Mobius speaks:

“I… I know I should let you rest before broaching this topic but… I won’t be able to think about anything else all night if I don’t ask…”

Loki’s tempted to tell him to spit it out, but he refrains, letting Mobius continue at his own rhythm.

“The other me… is he the one who, you know… the bruises?”

“No. He wasn’t particularly nice, but he was never outright cruel to me.” That much could not be said about many other agents of the Alternate-TVA, but Loki refuses to get into that. “Nevertheless, he was… wrong in so many ways.”

Mobius’ hand stops moving up and down his back.

“How so?”

“He was... different. He hated Josta, he didn’t care about jet skis, he was right-handed… He was cold, warier of me than you were, and a bigger stickler for the rules. He… he just wasn’t you.”

His Mobius was everything this other Mobius wasn’t to Loki. He was trustworthy. He brought him hope. Because he had seen Loki, he knew almost everything that could be known about him, and still he believed he could be someone good. The other Mobius had not witnessed any of Loki’s numerous lies and betrayals, and still he trusted him far less than his Mobius did despite every piece of evidence proving he should not.

Loki can’t comprehend the undeserved trust Mobius has for him, but he is grateful it exists.

“He sounds like a jackass.”

Loki lets out a teary laugh.

“He was. Thank you for rescuing me from him.”

“You’re very welcome. I needed it as much as you did, anyway.”

“You’ll tell me how you did it, right? Tomorrow?”

“Anything you want”, Mobius says for the second time that day.

And, by the Norns, does Loki want. He wants so much.

He raises his head from Mobius chest and places his lips on his. He keeps it brief, pulling back before Mobius has time to react. The line is crossed, annihilated. What can Loki say? He’s never been good at denying himself what he wants.

“Was that okay?”

Mobius exhales slowly, his body going lax after tensing up from the surprise.

“More than.”

“Good.”

They stop talking, then. Loki falls asleep in a matter of minutes, hopeful for the first time since Sylvie pushed him through a time-portal to get rid of him. Things are still a mess, but there’s a slight chance they’re going to be fine and, for now, that’s enough.

*

Thanks for reading ;

[etherealluminescence]

Hi there! I was hoping you could do a headcanon of the demon brothers with an Mc/reader that self harms pls? You don’t have to though!

I have 7/8 fic requests so I’ll do the headcanons first!! ((: and I don’t mind! This is going to be a little bit angsty! And I hope you’re doing okay!! I’ve never personally cut / done great self-harm so I based it off stories I’ve heard, or common knowledge. Sorry if it doesn’t sound completely okay!

I tried a bunch of ways to describe an MC who does self harm?? Does that make sense? Like for depression, for the thrill, for boredom? I’ve had friends and know many people who have self-harmed, and done it for myriads of reasons, and I sort of wanted to include all types?? I hope that doesn’t sound rude or mean-

One more HC and then it’s fic time. I’m excited to write Solomon smut.

Brothers react to GN!MC doing self-harm

Lucifer

He didn’t pay much attention to you at first, considering how busy he was. He thought of you as a bit of a nuisance, and began to pick-up on what was really going on after talking to you for a bit.

You used a lot of self-deprecating humour, which at first he was caught off guard with, and eventually realised you were genuinely serious.

You saw yourself as some pathetic and worthless creature, and the fact that those around you call you that too only added fuel to the fire. A worthless human, something weak and pathetic. You never denied it, and always agreed.

He soon found out you cut yourself, bloodlet, and do all sorts of harm to your body in order to relieve yourself and use it as a coping mechanism.

He began to worry about you, not just for the sake of the student exchange program. There were plenty of demons in the Devildom, and you were an easy victim.

You never fought back when someone picked on you, you never denied it when someone degraded your existence, and you didn’t even bother if your harming was obvious or not, so long as you calmed yourself.

He finally confronted you when you took it too far one day, sitting in your bathtub, soaked in blood. You were running late to dinner, and Lucifer’s bad feeling made him come find you. It felt good to you, great. It was addictive. The one thing you could control- the amount of agony you endured. You were so bored of life, that this is the only thrill you got.

He began screaming at you, and immediately picked you up and began to wrap bandages around your arm, and kept yelling that you shouldn’t do this, and you are taking it too far.

You were about to brush him off when he yelled out that if you’re trying to die, this isn’t funny.

It made you pause. Was he, concerned? About someone like you? But, why? Why did you a small human in this vast world matter to him?

He could tell what you were thinking and sighed. He couldn’t believe how you were raised, to think of yourself as insignificant. Even though he was known as the prideful demon of sin, he admitted to you that he does care about you, and doesn’t want to see you dead.

It pained him to see you struggle to understand him or accept that he was genuinely concerned for you. Anymore time that you were bullied, he’d scare off the demons, or anytime you talked shit about yourself, he would tell you to stop.

Mammon

The first time you met Mammon, he degraded you. He told you that you were stupid. A human couldn’t survive. Don’t talk to him or rely on him.

And that’s exactly what you did- you never bothered him. You believed every word that he had said to you. You didn’t want to be a bother, so every time you passed a demon who intimidated you, you kept your mouth shut and endured it.

You couldn’t win against one, anyways. Even if you could, what would that do? You’d just cause problems. You always caused problems wherever you go, so why don’t you be good for once?

In the comfort of your own room, you cut. You choked. You took a needle and dragged it across your arm, and poke, poke, poke. Droplets of red stained your arm and the carpet, with your tears falling down mixing in.

You hissed and whimpered to yourself, trying not to bother anyone around you with your loud whining.

It was then that Mammon entered your room, and saw what was happening. He was going to steal something, but stopped. What the fuck did you think you were doing?

He grabbed the needle from you and threw it aside and practically yelled at you. You were frozen and scared, shivering and clutching your body curling to brace yourself for the hit.

The hit never came, and he slowly eased you open again. He never knew humans were so high maintenance. He may not know you, but he’s not actually going to let you die.

You explained to him that you felt worthless, and he told you to just leave him alone. Die while you’re at it. He felt extremely bad.

He didn’t think you’d actually hurt yourself, or that you’d not go to him for help. He’s the great Mammon! If you begged, he would of let you seen a good side of him.

From that moment he apologises, sort of, in his own little way.

And he starts to protect you and comes over and clings to you, claiming this is how his human will stop their self-doubt and love themself

Leviathan

He could tell pretty early on. He saw your anxiety and the way you would curl away from people, listening to music, and how you would clench your fists when someone would talk to you.

You had severe anxiety from what he could tell, but didn’t exactly notice the self harm scars you had. He did not want to get involved, but could not just leave you like that when he knew.

He gave you some anxiety medication, which caused you to panic due to thinking you’d be yelled at again, and by a stranger no less. You started to yell sorrys and it’s my fault, and began to violently shake.

He’s seen enough anime with shitty parents to understand that you were more than likely afraid of people.

He allows you to play his games, and see his fish, but you were so scared to move, but when you came to it you were too scared to say no.

After a few minutes, he could see that you were scratching yourself to the point of bleeding, and that you were not doing okay. When he was about to say something, you got startled and fell on your face. Your shirt slightly riled up revealing bruises on your stomach.

It was a lot worse than he originally realised, and even signed up for. He just wanted to give you anxiety medication. But if he went that far, may aswell go another mile, right?

He ends up coaxing you overtime to come to his room, and slowly stops you from curling around him, or begging him for forgiveness.

He has to keep the majority of his brothers away, which is no problem, since he’s an otaku.

You finally ease up to him overtime, and feel a bit more comfortable, enough to speak in full sentences around him. He finds it as a sort of progress, and each time you end up bleeding or hurting yourself, he applies medicine and helps you calm your nerves.

He swears to summon Lotan on your parents, though.

Satan

He could easily tell something was up with you. Just not to that extent. You wore oversized clothes, never held out your handing, constantly pulling on your sleeves, and didn’t look people in the eye.

He was slightly concerned though after an incident in class. The teacher called on you and you barely whispered out the answer, and even got it wrong. You were crying and sniffling to yourself, and as he was seated behind you he could hear it.

He figured out pretty easily that you were afraid of public speaking, and couldn’t handle interaction really well. He decided to read up on a few human books, because he actually pitied you. You looked like you desperately wanted to speak, but at the same time just couldn’t.

He was finally going to approach you when he saw you behind the house, playing with a cat. You had your sleeves pulled up, and there were many cut marks covering your arm.

When the cat scratched you, you jolted back a bit and proceeded to bite your fingernails, muttering to yourself. Walking closer, he could hear you insulting yourself and saying how even an animal couldn’t like a creature like you.

He watched as you ripped the fingernail out with your teeth, and proceeded to scratch at your neck. He was shocked for a moment before pulling your hand from your neck.

This was much more serious than he initially thought. Here you were muttering nonsense to yourself, and harming yourself, he gets that you have anxiety, but why are you going to this extent to cope?

You freaked out when he grabbed you and thrashed about and started to breathe heavily. He tried to slowly calm you, and tried to show he wasn’t an enemy by telling you to wait there while he gets some bandages.

It takes a long time for you to get used to him, probably months, but he sticks by with you trying to make sure your anxiety doesn’t spike, or that you at least stop cutting yourself.

Asmodeous

He screeched when he saw you.

You were littered in scars. Bandages everywhere. Blood coming down from your thigh. You even had an eyepatch. You were grinning with a knife in hand and walked across the living room, and casually sat down.

You ignored his remarks on you, and began to watch your bodily fluids seep. Asmo was unsure how to react. Did you, do that, to yourself? But how would a small human like you be able to do that to yourself and why would you?

He was scared of you at first, from how easily you swung the knife and other forks or needles, but finally convinced you to come to his room. You figured he would bring you some sort of pain or humiliate you since he’s so beautiful, so you came.

You were wrong.

He forces you to discard your weapons and treats you nicely. It baffles you, as he puts lotion, and medicine on your wounds.

You hissed from initial contact and try to run, but he’s pining you down and forcing you to take care of yourself.

He doesn’t know how you did it, or why, but he is going to fix you. Your body had so many knife marks that it didn’t even look human! How could you do that.

He was angry and determined to fix you, and got to work for three hours despite your struggle. When he was finally done, he gasped. Now that he’s managed to comb your ragged hair, change your clothes, and rub your wounds, you actually look really good.

You were annoyed, you wanted to rip it all off. This wasnt exhilirating, only humiliation was.

He yelled at you when you touched your hair, and began to treat you everyday despite your endless attempts of running away.

He confiscated all your sharp objects, even the knife you hid in a teddy bear, and began to slowly work on making you feel better.

Although you were begrudgingly doing it, it felt nice. To gain the attention of someone around you for once, and not because you were covered in blood.

Beelzebub

You and Beel got along pretty well, but you had a dirty secret. You would cut yourself as a coping mechanism, each time you were stressed or felt worthless.

One day however, you took it too far. You cut much more deeper on accident, being startled when you heard a loud thud downstairs, and slit.

You were freaking out, you had never cut so deep, and there was so much blood. You tried applying paper towels upon paper towels, holding it to a towel, washing it, but there was no end.

You started crying and panicking, because you didn’t actually want to die. You just wanted to cut a bit, not actually die from it.

You could only think of turning to someone for help, but you had no clue who other than Beel. You never wanted to show him or tell him that you cut yourself, but you were so worried about being found dead in your bathroom that you ran to him as fast as you could.

You ran to his room, albeit it was actually like a speed walk as you were trying to hold your arm. You banged loudly and when Beel opened the door, he saw you crying and clutching your hand covered in blood.

He immediately got protective and thought someone had done this to you, but first had to calm you down. He brought you in and disinfected the wound, and started to put a gauze on your wrist. He then wrapped some bandages around semi-tightly, and got you some snacks.

He was about to ask you what happened, but you confessed it to him out of fear. You told him about how you cut- and how you took it too far. You didn’t intend to cut so deep, and you were so so scared.

You were slightly hysterical and he had to calm you. He took it in slightly concerned, but didn’t think it was right to yell at you. You seemed to deeply regret it and seemed to be so scared yourself.

He proceeded to take all your knives and weapons, and spent even more time with you. He would never let you cut around him, and if you did, he would immediately cuddle you and refuse to allow you to harm yourself again.

He felt really sad he didn’t notice sooner, but was slightly happy you came to him first and are slowly recovering with his help.

Belphegor

The first time you died you didn’t even attempt to dodge him, you just accepted your fate. Too bad you weren’t actually dead, you thought.

After the whole ordeal, Belphie apologises to you and you were just so nonchalant saying you didn’t mind, and you already have a bunch of wounds so one more wouldn’t hurt.

He sees you lifting your shirt up to show him your cut marks, and he’s just like ??? Is there something wrong with you. He feels bad for trying to kill you now.

You weren’t supposed to accept death, right? Humans are beyond strange. He knows he doesn’t have the right to tell you not to hurt yourself when he literally just tried to kill you, but he wasn’t going to just let you die. Again.

He’s very awkward approaching it. On one hand he doesn’t know you, and on the other he doesn’t want you to hurt yourself. And why aren’t any of his brothers saying anything?

His brothers are casual about it too at this point, because they can’t stop you. Even when they try, you still go back to your old habits. Slightly pisses him off.

He pulls you into his arms when he goes to sleep, and makes sure you don’t have access to your weapons. He holds you just tight enough so you can’t escape him to do who knows what.

You progressively start to lose interest in harming yourself. You only did it for the feeling, and out of habit, but Belphie is constantly sleeping and dragging you into bed with him, so you’re unable to do it.

He will never directly admit that he wanted to stop you from cutting, though. Still upset at himself for trying to kill you.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Dealing with the consequences, part 2

Summary: One day, six months after they move into their new house, Ned and Cat wake up to an unfortunate surprise. This small and seemingly insignificant event sets things into motion, and they try their best to repair what they can despite that they have messed up before. Because maybe, just maybe, they can do things a little bit better that time around. And you know what they say, third time’s the charm.

Consequences

This chapter will be entirely from Cat's POV, and I plan to make the next one all about Ned, but we'll see about that. Anyway, hope you like it <3

“Hello, Ned” Minisa said when Ned came inside.

 Catelyn was glad for that only her mother had come. It would have been a lot harder if she had brought Dad as well. He and Ned didn’t really get along. He didn’t know everything and had therefore immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was Ned that had wronged his daughter in some way, and not the other way around. Mom was kinder and for that Catelyn was immensely grateful. She loved her father but sometimes he made things a lot harder than they had to be. 

 “Hello, Minisa.”

 Minisa had Sansa on her lap and was gently bouncing the overjoyed baby up and down. Sansa had previously spent ten minutes trying to eat her grandma’s hair.

 “Is it okay if we eat?” Catelyn asked. “I’m quite hungry.”

 “I’m gonna leave soon, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

 For just a second Catelyn got eye contact with Ned over her Mom’s shoulder as he walked into the kitchen to get plates for them. The scent of something that smelled much like her favorite pasta was filling the room and she had to hold back a smile. He knew just what she liked.

 “We’re doing fine” she assured her mother. 

 They were doing fine. A bit of uncertainty, a dash of conflicted feelings, a few unsolved problems. But fine. Maybe no more than fine, but definitely fine. They did their things, raised their kids, lived their lives. 

 “Except for the kitchen, of course” she added.

 They were definitely not doing fine on that point. 

 “Yes, what is your plan for that?”

 “I’ve been looking at some options today while Ned was at work, but we’re gonna talk more about it.”

 It had been deadly dull and she wasn’t looking forward to sitting down with Ned and look into it more, but it would probably be a little more bearable than doing it alone. Sansa really hadn’t been of much help. 

 “Would you like any help with that?” Minisa asked and smiled.

 She smiled like Catelyn was a child who had no idea of that she was doing. Sure, she had no idea at all of what she was doing sometimes, but she was an adult and could figure it out. 

 “No, we have this.”

 The last thing they needed was family members coming with more or less, most often less, helpful advice. It would only stress them. The only one she took advice from was Cersei, which was strange considering where that had taken her. But at least Cersei didn’t pretend that her advice was great advice and that she always knew best... Who was Catelyn trying to fool, she definitely did that. Maybe she was just supposed to stop taking advice.

 “Okay.”

 That smile didn’t go away. 

 “Don’t look at me like that” Catelyn said firmly.

 Perhaps a little bit firmer than intended, but that pitiful gaze was driving her nuts. 

 “I’m not looking at you in any particular way” Minisa said, raising her eyebrows. 

 “But you are” Catelyn sighed. “And I know all of you doubt everything I do, and that you have done so since I had Robb, but can you please not? Because I’m sick of it.”

 It wasn’t doing any damage to anyone. Her son was a happy child, her daughter would be as well because no matter what she would be loved and cared for. And she knew what her situation must have looked like from the outside, but she was so goddamn tired of people judging without knowing a damn thing. 

 “Oh Cat, we don’t doubt you. We know you always try to do the right thing and that you’re doing your best, as we all are...” she paused, waved a hand through the air, and when she spoke again she had lowered her voice. “But are you really fine? Are you happy?”

 Catelyn had to keep in a number of angry responses. She couldn't really be angry because of course her mother would be worried. That was what mothers did, they worried. Catelyn worried for Robb, she worried for Sansa, she understood. But the small difference was that her kids were still kids, while she herself was a grown woman.

 “I am” she said. “My kids are happy pills and I have the luck to live with a man who is probably a better person to live with than most. And I have a good job, and friends, so I don’t have much to complain about.”

 She definitely wasn’t unhappy. Of course everything didn’t feel great all the time, but she was building with what she had. And that was fine. Not fantastic, but fine. She had a few things to complain about, but not enough for there to be a serious problem. Okay, there was a pretty serious problem, but she couldn't acknowledge that without Ned and he pretty much refused to acknowledge that.

 “Okay.”

 Her mother was smiling again. But it wasn’t the same smile as before, and that was a relief.

 “I think I should get home to your father now, but it was nice to see you and little Sansa again.”

 “It was nice seeing you too” Catelyn said.

 Seeing her family was always nice, her mother’s timing just hadn’t been ideal. There was a lot of feelings going on. 

 “You don’t need to hide anymore, she’s gone!” she shouted at Ned once the door had closed behind Minisa.

 He had been in the kitvhen for much longer than necessary and she knew perfectly well why.

 “Oh thank the gods!”

 She had to laugh at that. 

They discussed what she had been looking at during the day while they ate. She had been right about the pasta, and it was just as amazing as usual. They got somewhere with what they were going to do an everything felt a little better when they agreed about it. She wished that could have applied to other discussions as well, but she had to do with what she got. At least the kitchen would be fixed.

 “We’ll have to take everything out tomorrow or Sunday if they’re gonna be here Monday” Ned said.

 “We should turn off the electricity in the kitchen as soon as possible, so I think we should do it tomorrow” Catelyn responded through a mouthful of pasta. 

 “We’ll have to move the fridge and the freezer out here.”

 “Ah, damnit, as if the table wasn’t enough.”

 After dinner she handed their daughter to Ned and then she had a shower. She had been longing for that shower all day, there hadn’t really been time for it and Sansa was never too happy when Catelyn showered. 

She came down the stairs half an hour later to a sight so perfect that she had to stop for a moment. It really was a dangerous thing, living together. Because then she could see stuff like that and be hit straight in the face with the desire to have it like that always. They were a family, that was true, but she wished it could have been full circle. She wished she could have looked at the man lying on the couch with their baby and think “that’s my husband and our baby”. Instead it was just “that’s the man I have a messed up relationship with and our baby”. She wished they could have been something to each other as well, she wished things had been different. 

 “Say whatever you want about the mess we created, but we do make cute babies” Ned said, looking at the small bundle sleeping on his chest. 

 When they had been together long ago he had never expressed a wish to have children. He had actually seemed quite opposed to it. That had been one of the reasons for why she had done as she did. But just that second she couldn’t understand how she had ever thought that, because the way he looked at their daughter was so soft and loving. He was a great father. What she was looking at was the way it was supposed to be.

 “Yeah. We do.”

 The knowledge of that they could make good things as well, that not everything they did together ended up being terrible, made her happy. They had made Sansa. And Robb, but Robb was different. Robb was hers. Sansa was theirs. And she was perfect, Catelyn could look at her for hours. She had looked at Robb that way when he was a baby as well. 

 “I’m a bit amazed by it” she added. “That we created her.”

 “I’d love to take some credit for this lovely little thing, but it was mostly you.”

 “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

 He had given her Sansa, and he had been with her through almost everything despite that he had been very angry at her. And she most likely wouldn’t have been able to take care of another baby completely on her own, no matter what she had thought in the beginning. Or, well, she would have been able to do it, the question was about whether or not she would have been fine while doing it.

Catelyn sat on the edge of the couch and laid a hand on Sansa’s back. She was so tiny. Robb had been much bigger. 

 “I had almost forgotten what it feels like to have a small baby” Ned said. 

 “Me too. She’s entirely dependent on us. We are necessary for her survival.”

 “That’s crazy.”

 She looked at him. He turned his eyes from Sansa and to her. But that thing in his eyes, the one she associated with how he watched her daughter, the one she associated with love, that thing was still there. 

 “It’s nice though, isn’t it?” Catelyn said softly. “Being that important to someone.”

 “It is.”

 She couldn’t help but smile, and when he smiled as well she had to look away. Damnit. What was she playing at, what was she trying to do? What was he trying to do?

 “I should put her to bed.”

 When she reached for Sansa he took one of her hands and held it. She met his eyes once more.

 “Ned. We really shouldn’t...”

 “I know, I know.”

 She carefully took their daughter and held the still sleeping baby to her chest. She could feel how Sansa breathed steadily. It was always calming to feel that since she was still in the phase when she was constantly terrified of that her baby would just stop breathing and die. 

Ned sat up. That brought him much closer to her, she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. 

 “Why do you want to?” she asked, keeping her gaze on Sansa. “You haven’t forgiven me, we haven’t fixed anything, why do you want to?”

 He was quiet and Catelyn was just about to leave the couch and take Sansa upstairs when he answered. 

 “I don’t know. Why do you want to?”

 She could answer that question in a heartbeat. 

 “Because I miss you.”

 She did. She missed him. He was right there, but not like he had been before. And that was her own fault. Everyone could have been happy if it had not been for what she did. 

 “I miss you too.”

 Why had he said that? Anything else would have been better, anything else would have made it easier to stay away. 

 “How can you do that when you hate me?” she asked. 

 “I don’t hate you. I hate what you did, I’m angry and I won’t forgive you, but I don’t hate you.”

 “It sure as hell would have been easier if you did.”

 He chuckled at that. But it wasn’t a happy sound. 

 “I don’t know if I’m able to. Sometimes I wish that I could, but I can’t. You did something to me that hurt me and still I can’t hate you. Maybe that is the reason for why I want to.”

 That made no sense at all. But nothing ever really made sense. Or maybe it did and she just couldn’t understand it. At least she wasn’t alone in that, she had a strong feeling of that he probably understood nothing as well. 

 “Because you can’t hate me?”

 “Clearly there is something about you that stops me from that, no matter if I like it or not.”

 Despite that everything in her screamed at her not to do it, she leaned a bit closer to him. She couldn’t do that, she couldn’t, but she wanted to. It felt like she had never wanted something more.

 “I can’t” she forced out. “This won’t make anything better.” 

 If anything it could make everything worse. 

 “No, but what can make things better?” he sighed.

 She had asked herself that question a million times. What could make it better? She didn’t know. He almost refused to talk about it, gave her nothing on what she was supposed to do. It felt like she was walking in a dark room with no way of knowing where the light switch was. What she did know was that she was incredibly tired of it. It was draining. She was the one who had turned off the lights, but she was still tired of it. 

She moved away from him again. 

 “Am I supposed to answer that? I’m not the one who won’t talk.”

 And suddenly his face was no longer soft, but hard and cold as the northern winter. 

 “Have you considered that maybe trusting you is a bit hard after you kept a child secret?”

 “I’m not asking you to trust me, I’m asking you to talk to me. This is the closest we have been to a meaningful conversation in more than a year. I just want to know what you want me to do.”

 “I don’t want you to do anything. You have messed up enough as it is.”

 All that worked as quite a reminder of why she had not said anything about that earlier. They wouldn’t get anywhere with that, there was no point in trying. And she didn’t want to fight, she didn’t have the energy for that, so she simply stood up and took Sansa upstairs to her crib. 

Catelyn stayed in her room for the remainder of that evening. It was better than risking anything. He didn’t want to fight either, she was well aware of that. But it was hard, and multiple times she found herself almost going to him. To apologize, or try to talk again, or anything, really. She didn’t know what she wanted to do, but she wanted to do something. The fact that she had no idea about what to do ached in her. She hated not having a grip of the situation. 

And when she heard him come up the stairs she just couldn’t stop herself. She opened the door, but he walked right past her. 

 “I would take it back if I could” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “And I’m sorry.”

 Ned stopped. He didn’t turn to look at her, but he sighed. 

 “I know you are because I know you’re not a bad person. You never meant to hurt anyone, but here we are.”

 It was slowly killing her to see him hurt so. It hurt in her as well. Because she loved him. She had denied it for quite some time, but she did love him. Otherwise it wouldn’t have hurt so much. Otherwise the guilt wouldn’t have been eating her up from the inside. 

 “Here we are” she mumbled and once again wondered where they would have been if it had been different.

 “Loving you is undoubtedly the hardest thing I have ever done.”

 She could say the same. Loving him was the hardest thing she had ever done. But she loved him all the same. 

 “Don’t you mean it was? It should be past tense.”

 “No.”

 That didn’t make any– oh. Oh. 

 “Ned.”

 He loved her. And she loved him. Catelyn had never experienced a stranger emotion than the mix of joy and sorrow that filled her at that realization. It was supposed to be a good thing, and to some extent it was, but at the same time it kept them from going forward. 

Ned just continued to his room, not looking back at her. That time she didn’t hesitate before following him, she couldn’t leave it there. 

 “Ned” she repeated, laying a hand on his shoulder to stop him. 

 “Cat” he responded.

 When he turned around he was so close to her that she could almost feel his breath on her face. 

 “I’m sorry” she whispered and turned her gaze to the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

 She didn’t know what she was apologizing for. For keeping the secret for so long, for showing up at his house one day without a warning, for partaking in the affair, for that he still loved her. Maybe it was all of it. Maybe it was something entirely different. 

He leaned his forehead against hers and she could feel the tears in her eyes. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t it be easy? She was exhausted. 

 “I love you, and I miss you” Ned said. “That is why.”

 The only thing Catelyn could do in response to that was kiss him. It wasn’t accidental, it wasn’t something she did in confusion, she did it because she wanted to. Because she believed he wanted to as well. And it felt just as good as she had imagined when he pulled her closer to him and deepened the kiss. 

 ~*~

 She had not meant to fall asleep afterwards. She had meant to go to her room and sleep there. But still she woke to the sound of Sansa’s cries and did not realize where she was at first. It took her a moment to understand to who that warm arm around her belonged to.

Ned stirred when she moved away from him and climbed off the bed. She began gathering up her clothes from the floor. It definitely was time to move back to her bedroom and she might just as well do it when she had to go to Sansa.

 “I can take her” Ned offered.

 “No” Catelyn said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I’ll do it. I should get back to my room anyway.”

 She left before he had time to say anything else. The night before she had been too caught up in the moment to feel ashamed about it. But after that sated bliss had left her she could look at it in another light. Last time things had ended so terribly bad. And the circumstances were very different that time around, sure, but still something tightened in her chest. How would he feel about it? Would he regret it? Would he regret sleeping with her again after what she had done? She didn't want to go back to how it had been between them mere months earlier.

She held Sansa in her arms and kissed the top of her little head. She wasn’t hungry and was quite quickly soothed back to sleep. But Catelyn wasn’t quick to put her down. 

She half expected Ned to come after her. Or maybe she just wished he would. She didn’t know. But he never came and in the end she put Sansa down and crawled into her own bed. And she couldn’t help but thinking of that morning in the kitchen when he had made her pancakes. It had been more than a year since that. And a lot had happened. But she felt the same as she had felt then. She wanted to be with him. All of him. They were living together, she had been in his bed just minutes earlier. It was more than she had had back then, before Sansa. But she still didn’t have every part of him. And she was very sure of that he would never give it all to her. She understood that, and she was aware of that she had fucked up badly. But it still hurt. 

 Catelyn had slept little when morning came, Sansa had refused to sleep longer than an hour at a time, which was unusual. But Catelyn still wasn’t that tired. And she heard when Ned passed her door and walked down the stairs. Always the early riser. Even up earlier than the baby. 

She wanted to stay in bed longer. Because she had no idea about what to do or say when she saw him. It had been fine. Why had they decided to throw sex into the mix as well and shake everything up? She didn’t know. But it had felt so damn good that she was almost ready to take every consequence there was just for more of it. And they loved each other. 

After a while Sansa decided that it was time to get up for them too. So Catelyn fed her and then took her downstairs. 

 “Mornin’” Ned said when she came downstairs. 

 He didn’t look up from the newspaper he was reading. Was he as stressed about all of it as she was? Or was he as calm as he seemed? She genuinely had no idea. Lately it had been very hard to understand his feelings and what he wanted. She just didn't want them to hurt each other because of it.

 “Good morning” she responded as she put Sansa in her chair. 

 It felt a bit weird to have the kitchen table in the living room, but they would have all of their kitchen in the living room in a day when they started renovating the kitchen. 

Ned put away his newspaper and directed his attention towards Sansa instead. He was great at keeping her in a good mood. 

The morning slowly passed. They did some cleaning, which was a hundred times easier when Robb and Jon weren’t home. Lovely lads, but terrible at putting things away. And Catelyn had not even reflected over that they had baby stuff literally everywhere, but she did when she was picking it all up. She could only imagine what it would be like once Sansa learned to walk. 

It was actually quite nice. They didn’t talk much, but it didn’t feel bad at all. He even smiled at her occasionally so he couldn’t hate it too much, right? It could go well. 

After lunch they took boxes down from the attic and began packing down things they had in the kitchen. Catelyn was surprised by how many things they had after only having lived there for half a year. They were just taking a break when she got a messege

 haven't seen you in a while, wanna take a walk or something?

 The timing for that couldn't have been better and an hour later Catelyn found herself walking towards the little coffee shop a few blocks from their house so that she could get some desperately needed coffee before meeting up with Cersei. Ned had happily taken Sansa for an hour so that she could go out for a walk, he was probably glad to be rid of her for a while. He probably needed some time to reflect, just as she did. It had been hard to do so while being just a few meters apart.

 “Well, don’t you look miserable?” was the first thing Cersei said. “Baby keeping you awake?”

 “Among other things” Catelyn responded and took a sip of her coffee.

 She regretted it when she burned her tongue and pulled a face. She should have known that she had to wait until it cooled down a bit. But she should have known that last night as well. And that hadn’t exactly stopped her. 

 “And your kitchen flooded. You’re really living the dream life.”

 Catelyn had to smile. She was living quite the opposite of the dream life. 

 “Fucked up relationship, flooded kitchen, kids that won’t sleep, people wish they were me.”

 Cersei snorted. 

 “You still call that a relationship?”

 She hesitated for a moment. Was it a good idea to tell Cersei about it? She didn’t want to keep it to herself, but it was still so new, she didn’t know what to do with it. But what would change if she told Cersei? Nothing. So she decided to go for it.

 “I don’t know what else to call it.”

 “Have you considered dating or seeing someone else?”

 She had absolutely not considered that. Who would have wanted her anyway? She was living with an ex and three children between the ages of ten and five months. So even if she had been interested in that the situation really wasn’t ideal for it.

 “No. And he told me he loves me last night. I don’t know what that makes it, but it sure is something.”

 She had expected some sort of reaction from Cersei, but the blonde only shrugged. 

 “Huh, I thought it would take longer.”

 And what exactly did Cersei mean by that?

 “What?”

 “I knew it would come sooner or later, but not this soon. Ned’s a stubborn son of a bitch.”

 Catelyn had to stop and look at her. That it would come sooner or later? Had she not listened when Catelyn told her about what had happened before? Ned had barely spoken to her for weeks, had refused to meet her eyes. There had been no sign of love, no sign of that they could ever be what they had been before. How could she have expected that?

 “How could you have known that?” she exclaimed. 

 “Because I’ve been observing this relationship for years now, darling” Cersei laughed. “And no matter what happens you two always manage to snake your way back to each other. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not, I’m just saying that’s how it is.”

 It would have felt better if she could dismiss that as something that wasn’t true, but Catelyn knew it was. Nothing had ever stopped them before so she probably should have expected it to happen. She should have been ready. She hadn’t been ready. Not for him telling her that he loved her. 

 “I don’t know if it’s a good thing either” she sighed. “It just feels like we’re digging through rock bottom together.”

 “That’s not great.”

 “No. I thought that maybe it was about to get better now, that maybe we could finally move forward, but instead we just fell down the hole. Again. And I can’t even be mad about it because I love him.”

 She didn’t want to feel that way, but she did. It should have been a good thing, love was a good thing, and how many nights had she not dreamt of them being happy with each other again? But that was the thing, she had dreamt of happiness. And at the moment their love didn’t make any of them happy. At least Ned wasn’t happy. And how could he ever be? When he loved the woman who had wronged him so terribly. It would have been a lot more welcome if they had talked more first, and actually started fixing their relationship.

 “Maybe admitting that you love each other is what it takes for you to start digging upwards instead of downwards” Cersei said, sounding way too optimistic for Catelyn’s liking. 

 She couldn’t escape the feeling of that his feelings for her made him unhappy. That he disliked it. And it was hard to blame him for it. She just didn't want to hurt him more. She couldn't stand the thought of making things worse for him.

 “I guess you could fix this if you want to. But the question is whether or not it’s a good idea.”

 Catelyn had to believe it was a good idea. For the sake of her children. And for hers and Ned's sake. She wanted it to work so badly that it ached in her. And if they fucked up yet another time she would never forgive herself. 

 “I don’t know if he wants to. We’re in the same house because of the kids, not because he wants a relationship.”

 It was fully possible that it had made him realize that he didn't want it at all and that he didn't want it to be more than a thing that happened once. She didn't want to dive right into it if he was going to back out as soon as it was brought up again.

 “You haven’t talked to him?” Cersei asked, seemingly surprised.

 “No. We tried to talk, got irritated with each other, I apologized and he told me he loves me and then–“ she stopped herself from finishing that sentence. 

 Cersei laughed again.

 “I knew it!”

 “Oh shut up, that’s really not important.”

 The important part was literally everything but that. But she would have to talk to Ned about everything, she understood that. He understood it as well. Because they couldn’t just leave it there. Some things they just had to deal with as soon as possible. 

They should have had that conversation the first thing that morning, but they hadn’t. They had had a good time instead. 

 “The mood was good this morning though, so maybe I shouldn’t be so pessimistic” she added. “I don’t know, I’m not brave enough to hope for anything because if I get my hopes up and it falls apart yet another time I’m gonna lose my mind.”

 “I believe you shouldn’t think too much on it before you have actually talked about it with him. Because worrying isn’t doing anything good for you.”

 “You’re probably right. I just don’t want us to go into it too fast and end up messing things up for ourselves and our kids.”

 “I get that, Cat. But you really should talk to each other. I’m definitely no relationship expert, I have my fair share of mistakes regarding that, but even I can see that you two fucking suck at talking.”

 "Oh believe me, I know."

 But she was going to talk to him because walking around and being uncertain was quickly becoming unbearable.

[elizoearn]

HOME AT LAST

CHAPTER 1

Summary: Harry has finished his fifth, and worst, year at Hogwarts, and he now has to face a summer from hell at the Dursleys, until Albus decides that it is time to get him properlytrained. Harry will finally have the mentors and the family he had dreamt of, so many times.

I’M POSTING THE FIRST CHAPTER HERE, TO GIVE YOU A TASTE...

Harry sat in his room at Privet Drive. The clouds had covered the sky. Thunder was making his windows tremble. He sat watching the rain — frankly it matched his mood. A month almost had passed since Sirius was taken through the veil. He couldn't even get himself to say that he had died. Who was he fooling? He wasn't the chosen one! He couldn't even get his life in line. How could he save the entire wizarding world? He replayed the conversation with Dumbledore over and over in his head. He would have to kill or be killed. That was his destiny. Right now the latest seemed his preferred choice. Maybe Voldemort was the way to get out this miserable life of his. Otherwise he was too coward to do it himself. Damn the Gryffindor spirit of his. Where was it when he needed it most?

He held his quill in his hand, a bit of parchment in his desk.

Dear Professor Dumbledore, I am leaving and never coming back —no scratch that—he drew a line over the sentence. I hope you're doing fine. I'm not. I can't sleep, nightmares you see, I can't eat, or rather I'm not allowed to, I can't leave this godamn house. I feel like the walls are closing in. I don't think I can take it much longer. I was writing to apologize. You were trying to protect me and I couldn't understand that. I just wish things were different. I wish... Sincerely Harry James Potter The Boy who never had the chance to Live, and will Die. ******************* He left the piece of parchment on his desk and sighed deeply. He really felt like he was going in circles. He wasn't going to send it. He had just wished to put some of his thoughts on paper, maybe ease his heartache. Little did he know that the headmaster was feeling as sad as he did right now. Said headmaster was watching the fog out of his office's window. Harry was constantly on his mind. He had avoided the boy all this year for his good only to find out he had done him more harm with this decision. He had seen how devastated Harry was when he left Hogwarts a month ago. He had began searching for the horcruxes. He had an idea of where to find the ring. He was just debating if he should tell Harry or not. A voice in his head told him that he had already hidden too much from Harry. But it crashed his heart even the thought of having to tell Harry that ultimately he would have to die. Both Minerva and Severus had insisted that he should bring the boy at Hogwarts. Severus had learned about Harry's fate. He was so angry with him. But it seemed that he didn't want to give up hope. As much as he disliked Potter, he didn't hate him, he knew that the boy had a lot on his shoulders and that his life wasn't easy. But he was forced to pretend in front of his Slytherins. He was a spy after all. Severus almost pleaded with him to bring Harry over the summer, let him learn Occlumency correctly, train him, prepare him and maybe he would stand a chance. Minerva told him so too. Mind finally made, he took a piece of parchment.

Dear Harry, I hope you're as fine as you can be. I have a situation to discuss with you so I will come tomorrow morning at 11:00 am sharp to retrieve you if this is acceptable. Please answer as fast as you can. Give your message to Fawkes, he will make sure I receive it immediately. Yours, Albus Dumbledore

"Give this to Harry, Fawkes. You know where to find him." The Phoenix hooted in agreement, took the small piece of parchment in his beak and let the flames surround him as he departed straight to Harry's room in Surrey. ***************** Harry was startled when flames erupted in the middle of his room. The flames dissolved and he saw Fawkes. "Hey, Fawkes..." He caressed the head of the Phoenix who let out a sound of satisfaction. He took the letter from his beak and read it. He wondered what the Headmaster wanted to discuss. He put some treats for Fawkes to eat and gave some to Hedwig too. He sat again in his chair and turned the letter around.

Professor Dumbledore, I have no problem. Either way I have nowhere to go. I will expect you tomorrow at 11 am sharp. Respectfully, Harry Potter

He let Fawkes eat in peace and then watched the phoenix as he disappeared again. Albus received the letter of approval from Harry. He felt his guilt overwhelm him. "I have nowhere to go". The phrase played through his head. He firecalled Severus and Minerva. Once they arrived Severus asked:

"What may seem to be the matter Headmaster?"

"I will go to retrieve Harry from the Dursley's tomorrow. He will be staying here, from now on. We have to make a plan. You Severus,will train him. Teach him Potions and Occlumency, anything he has to know. I know you despise him, but we are at war. I can't afford to lose either of you. You Minerva, I want you to show him the art of Transfiguration. Teach him how to become an animagus. Study with him books with tactics, useful spells, healing. Me, I'm going to teach him how Voldemort thinks, his story and I will practice with him defense. I want him to be as prepared as he can be." Severus, as much as Dumbledore's decision displeased him, understood his reasons and agreed with them. Minerva too. It was time to show Potter that he had the upper hand. Let the magic inside of him finally reach its fullest potential.

"He will be ready Albus, I'll make sure of it." He said to Albus.

"Me too." Minerva promised too. They departed from his office to make their plans each.

"Severus, could you stay for another minute?" The Potion's Master turned and faced Albus.

"I want Harry to stay with you. He has endured great psychological pain. He was neglected, abandoned, he has suffered loss that no one his age should ever have to. Only you can help him heal from that."

"Albus you know, I'll do more harm,than good."

"I don't think so Severus. If you want this war to be over, you have to make amends."

" With all due respect Headmaster, Minerva or you are far more capable to help the boy than I am. We don't get along and I don't trust his arrogant and far too stupid thinking."

Snape was barely managing not to yell at the Headmaster.

"You have never had the chance to get to know Harry. The real Harry,Severus, the one that resembles yourself a lot, the one that resembles Lily. Now my boy, I think that if you give Harry a chance, you and will get along just fine." Severus tries were futile. Once Albus had a plan thought out, he always executed it. ******************* The next day Albus went to retrieve Harry. He apparated to Privet Drive and knocked on the door. Sure enough Harry answered. "Harry m'boy! How are you?" Albus' tone was soft as he put a hand in Harry's shoulder.

"I've been better sir, thanks for asking though. Please come in. Will you mind if we talked to my room? The Dursley's will be back soon and they don't like people like us a lot, I'm afraid."

"Don't worry Harry. We will not be staying here. You are coming to Hogwarts with me. Let's go get your stuff, shall we?"

"To Hogwarts? To stay? For the summer?" Harry asked surprised.

"Yes Harry. With me and some teachers. It's time you trained for what it's coming. Come on now, we don't have a lot of time!" Harry showed Albus to his small and almost empty room upstairs. Albus with a flick of his wand made all of Harry's belongings go in his trunk. He shrank it then and put it in his pocket. As Harry let Hedwig out of the window with instructions to meet him at Hogwarts, Albus picked up the small piece of parchment addressed to him on the desk and put it in his pocket. He turned to Harry then.

"Keep your cloak and wand ready Harry. Do you wish to grab anything else? I'm not sure if you'll ever be coming back home again. I'm instructing your relatives to leave as fast as they can, I wrote them a letter."

"No sir. This was never my home anyway." Again Albus was overwhelmed with guilt and sadness.

He left the letter somewhere to be found by the Dursley's and then instructed Harry to grab his hand and apparated with him at the gates of Hogwarts.

"Welcome home Harry." He said to the teen softly as he put a hand on his shoulder. Harry let a small smile form in his lips. He was indeed home. He followed Dumbledore to his office and took a sit as the Headmaster instructed across him.

"I know it seems sudden but, it occurred to me, that you're just as safe, if not more here,than in Surrey. Do you know why Harry?"

"I can guess. It's because of Voldemort's strength that's growing and the blood yards are failing. They never loved me or cared for me so the wards stopped working."

"They haven't stopped but they have weakened very much indeed. There is another reason. I think it's high time we train you . And by we I mean Severus, Minerva and myself included. You have to be prepared for everything that is to come. Dark times are ahead of us Harry. Very dark. For your stay here, you will live with Severus, for the remaining of the summer, in his quarters. Maybe sometime we will go to my cottage outside Fraserburgh. I know you and him don't get along. I know what happened last year. But for both of your shakes and survival, you need to learn to work together. I want you to start and get to know each other. Your real selves."

Harry knew he couldn't protest and he wouldn't either. What had transpired between him and Snape was insignificant in front of the war. He knew he had done something he shouldn't last year with the pensieve and just for this once Snape was rightfully mad at him. Harry truly felt embarrassed for his dad and Sirius. He was amazed deep down by Snape's courage to be a spy and for saving him many times. But that didn't mean that he would be all sugar with the man now. They had things to solve and if Snape continued to make him miserable Harry would of course confront him.

"I suggest you go and settle in. Get to know your new room. I'll meet you at lunch." Dumbledore continued. Harry just nodded and went for the door.

"And Harry... I know how you feel, I really do. And I know it is too much on your shoulders but we will all try to make it a little bit lighter. Severus, Minerva, your friends and me. You are not alone. Bear that in mind."

Unlike the last time Harry had been in this Office, something in the old man's voice and face told him that Dumbledore really knew what a loss of a loved one felt like. Harry swallowed hard. Even the thought of Sirius' passing brought tears in his eyes. He nodded again and left. Albus sighed deeply. He took the small piece of parchment out of his pocket and read it. What had he done? His eyes filled with tears. He would inform Severus of this, and keep a very close look on the boy. He promised he would do everything on his hand to make Harry's life as happy as he could. ****************** Harry made his way to the Dungeons. He knocked on the door of the Potion Master's office. Snape's deep voice answered from inside.

"Come in" he said dryly. Harry opened the door and stepped in closing it behind him. Severus didn't even look up from his papers. Harry stood in the door uncertain as to what to do.

"Do you plan on standing there and infuriate me Potter?" Snape snarled.

" No sir." Harry walked towards the man. He finally put his quill down and stood up.

"Follow me" he said curtly. Snape guided Harry in the very back of the office where stood a big portrait of potioneer, Zygmunt Budge.

"Put your hand on the cauldron." Severus instructed pointing at the cauldron in the drawing. Harry did as he was told. Snape took his wand and said some long Latin incantation which Harry didn't understand.

"I keyed your signature to my private quarters. This way you can come and go as you please."

The door opened and Severus got in as Harry followed him. He looked around the big living room. It wasn't at all as he had expected it —dark, gloomy and sinister. On the contrary, the room was well lit, it was beige and had dark brown leather furniture. A big bookcase from wood covered two whole walls. There was a fireplace next to which stood an armchair with a pique blanket on its arm and a matching footstool. A small commode was sitting between the armchair and the fireplace. Harry figured this must be Snape's chilling spot. Snape continued to move quickly down the hall from the living room.

"This is the kitchen." He pointed on his left to the small room. It had wooden cupboards and a matching table in the middle but nothing more. "This is my room. You are not to get in unless it is an absolute emergency. And this is your room." He indicated the door next to his room.

He opened it and Harry's jaw almost dropped to the floor. His room was huge! Even bigger than Dudley's! It had a magical window that lit it with natural sunlight and had a view to the Quidditch pitch. A king sized bed with white bed sheets, a grey douvet and matching pillows was in the far end of the room. The room itself was painted dark blue and light grey. It had a wardrobe to put ones clothes in, a desk for his studies, a nightstand beside the bed, a gray carpet and a painting with a hippogriff that moved around.

"You have your own bathroom through here." Snape indicated the door close to his bed. His own bathroom with a bathtub! He could take baths! Harry was amazed. "All of the toiletries like toothbrushes and toothpastes, razors, foam, shampoo and others are in there. Close your mouth Potter!" He snapped. What in Merlin's name! Snape thought infuriated. Hadn't the boy seen a bedroom before?

"Y-Yes sir. Thank you." Harry composed himself. He was really grateful.

"Don't thank me. Professor McGonagall customized it besides my protests. Lunch is at two. I expect you can keep track of time."

"I can."

"I can what?" Snape looked him warningly.

"I can sir." Harry didn't mind Snape right now he was too focused in his new room.

"I have simple house rules. You wake up early, you attend your training schedule on time. You don't disturb me unless necessary, you don't get in my room, you don't miss a meal. When you have visions you tell me or anyone else, you keep yourself presentable, not with these rugs you're wearing. You must be escorted to go outside and you are back here before 9:30 at night. Am I understood?" Snape handed him a piece of parchment with the the rules, in his neat hand writing.

"Yes Professor." He would have to memorize them. He didn't want Snape having a reason to yell at him or punish him like Uncle Vernon because Harry was sure the man was capable of much worse. Snape just strode out of the room being sure that Potter wouldn't even bother to go by his rules. Harry closed his door and took a dive to his bed, letting the soft mattress and clothing surround him. He would certainly have to thank McGonagall for this. He unpacked his trunk and by the time he had put everything in place it was almost 1:30. He put on his best pair of hand-me-down jeans and a grey t-shirt with the snitch on it that Hermione had gotten him from Hogsmeade. He washed his face and tried to tame his hair. He then put on a pair of well worn sneakers and made his way to the Great-Hall.

He opened the doors and noticed that the whole room was empty, except for a smaller than the usuals, table, in the middle of the Hall. The teachers were sat around it. Harry saw Dumbledore sitting in the middle, on his right was McGonagall and on his left two empty seats,Hagrid at the edge, next to him Flitwick, then Sprout and on the other side Sinistra, Madame Pomfrey, Hooch and Trelawny at the very end.

Dumbledore's eyes lit when he saw Harry. "Harry m'boy! Come on, don't stand there!" Harry made his way to the table and took the seat next to Dumbledore.

"How do you like your new room?" Albus inquired.

"It is great sir! Thank you! And thanks for the decoration Professor!" He addressed Minerva.

"My pleasure Harry. I knew you would like it." Harry just gave a small smile. And started putting food on his plate. A small serving of mashed potatoes, some peas and carrots and a piece of roast chicken. Just then Snape walked in too.

"Ah Severus! Join us!" the Headmaster exclaimed happily.

"Thank you Albus," he said with a small smile to his Head. He then took his seat next to a surprised Harry.

Harry noticed that every time Snape spoke with Dumbledore or McGonagall it was like his bastard self dissolved. He was always more soft in tone, civil, even managed a small chuckle sometimes when Albus said something funny and McGonagall scolded him. He sat besides Harry and frowned as he observed Harry's plate.

"Put more chicken and vegetables on your plate Mr Potter. This serving is for children not for growing men in adolescence." he remarked.

Harry was a bit dumbfounded that Snape was looking out for what he was eating, but then again one of his rules was not to miss a meal. He put a bit more food in his plate and a glass of pumpkin juice and started eating as the rest of the teachers chatted around him.

"So Minnie, you still owe me that flying contest."

"Albus, I said categorically no! I'm not going on a fly contest with you!" McGonagall said almost angrily. "Besides, Minerva would still beat you Headmaster. You do remember she is one of the best seekers to ever pass from this school" Rolanda Hooch commented.

"That's why we should have the contest! To prove her ability!" Albus insisted. Harry heard Snape sneer and he knew that the Potion Master had rolled his eyes without even having to look at the man.

"How about a Quidditch match some time? Now that we have young Harry, he can play seeker against Minerva! Would you like that Harry?"

"Very much Professor!" Harry answered Dumbledore. Harry would very much like to see the teachers playing Quidditch.

"What position do you play sir?" He asked Albus.

"I'm the referee of course! Too old to actually play, but young enough to ensure a fair game while on my broom!" He winked at Harry.

"Rolanda and Severus play chasers, Filius and Aurora are excellent beaters, and of course Septima and Pomona manage as keepers.We know that the teams are short, but it is better than nothing!" McGonagall explained.

With these kinds of teams Harry's interest was piked. What wouldn't he pay to see Snape trying to goal at Sprout! Even the thought amused him. Maybe if Dumbledore let him he could call over the Weasleys and form normal teams to play. Harry ate some chocolate pudding for desert and when lunch ended he walked with Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall to the Headmaster's office.

"Potter, this is your training schedule." McGonagall gave him a curriculum.

Monday 9:00-10:30 Advanced D.A.D.A (S.Snape) 11:00- 13:00 Dueling ( A. Dumbledore/ S. Snape) 17:00-19:00 Advanced Transfiguration ( M. McGonagall / A.Dumbledore) Tuesday 9:00-10:30 am Potions (S. Snape) 11:00-12:30 pm Battle Tactics ( A. Dumbledore) 5:00-6:30 pm Healing ( M. McGonagall / P. Pomfrey) 7:00-8:00 pm Occlumency (S. Snape)

For Wednesday he had the same courses as Monday and for Thursday the same as Tuesday. He had a free day on Friday and the weekend to study any assigned work. On Sundays he also had meetings with Dumbledore to learn more about Voldemort that would help him defeat him.

"It is a loaded program but the other alternative, is to let you die in the hands of the Dark Lord," Snape said to Harry in a sneering tone. McGonagall and Dumbledore nodded in agreement though.

"We find it also necessary for you to go and do some shopping. That is why, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape will take you today to a town nearby to shop anything you wish for. Some new clothes and shoes are a must. And the books you will need for your training have been ordered and will be here tomorrow."

"Uhm... As much as I'd like that sir, eh... my vault has enough money to get me through two more years of Hogwarts... I don't have much money to spare..." Harry felt his cheeks begin to warm as a pink color overtook them.

"You won't have to pay for anything Harry! My mistake, if I made it look that way... As your temporary guardian, and since you are underage, I will pay for you, as any mature grown-up should pay for their guards." Harry saw a flash of anger pass through Dumbledore's eyes, with his innuendo to the Dursley's incompetence to raise him correctly. "And don't you even try and say thank you young Mister. It is my mistake, that you weren't provided with the absolutely basic necessities from the beginning." Dumbledore spoke as soon as he saw Harry open his mouth to protest. Harry's eyes were fixated on the floor as embarrassment got the best of him.

"Yes sir!" Was all he managed.

"Further instructions for your lessons and any inquiries you have, you can come to any of us to answer. Also, as I'm sure Severus has already told you, it is of imperative importance that you do not go outside unless escorted by one of the staff. You are relieved from your summer homework, after unanimous decision with of the teachers, you will be else occupied all summer, either way. You will practice, though, some of this year's curriculum, be assured."

Harry nodded understanding exactly what the Professor was saying.

"If you don't have any objection I think it is a good time for us to go to town now." Snape said looking at Minerva and Harry.

"It's fine by me, Severus."

"Me too." Minerva agreed. They said goodbye to Dumbledore and left for the gates. Once outside Hogwarts they stopped and put on their glamour charm. Snape transfigured his, easily recognizable, black cloak, to black jeans and a white button down, underneath a grey sweater. His hair became short and he grew a beard. McGonagall on the other hand, transfigured her robes to a long black skirt and a green sweater. Her hair was let down from the strict bun she wore everyday and from dark grey-black they became completely white, making her look like a very old lady, something amplified by the deep wrinkles that appeared in her face. Harry's hair became light, his scar invisible and grew a small beard. His appearance looked a lot like Snape's and someone could easily confuse them for father and son.

"We are apparating there. Grab my arm tightly Potter." Ordered Snape.

Once Harry touched him, he felt like being sucked through a small tube and that he couldn't breathe. A moment later he landed on a deserted alley. A loud crack was heard and McGonagall landed next to them.

"Let's go on then."

They entered a big mall down the road. They got into the first shop that had clothes. Harry picked four pairs of blue jeans, two pairs of black. A khaki and black pair of cargo pants, some button down shirts, several t-shirts in different colors were also scratched from his to 'buy list'. Sweaters, hoodies, underwear, socks, pajamas and of course winter jackets, a scarf and gloves went in as well. Then they went to pick up shoes, tracking pants, and sweatshirts in an athletic shop. Harry got two pair of sneakers, two pairs of running shoes, three sweatshirts and four tracking pants. It was fortunate that McGonagall had been with them because Snape only insisted on buying the black pieces of clothing and frankly Harry didn't like black at all.

When they finished almost four hours later, everyone was exhausted. They apparated back at the school just in time for dinner. Harry are in a hurry wanting desperately to go and lie down and sleep but Snape kept putting food in his plate. When everyone was finished,Harry and Snape said goodnight to everyone and walked to the dungeons.

"You start your schedule tomorrow morning. I expect you to be up at 6:30. Then you and I will go for some exercise, eat breakfast by 8:30 and at 9:00 potions. We will exercise every morning Potter. You have to gain some muscle. It will help with your magical training as well." Harry had for a long time wanted to put on some muscle and had tried, in vain though. When they were in Snape's quarters, the Professor gave him permission to call for a House Elf if he needed anything and then, with a last look to Harry, which seemed full of envy he walked to his room, his robes billowing behind him. Harry almost rolled his eyes at Snape. He got into his room and saw that his new clothes had been washed and ironed, probably the House Elves. He picked up a pair of pajamas, wore them and set his bedside magical alarm at 6:00. The minute the soft pillow touched his head, he was out. ****************** End of first chapter! Please review if you liked it, and send me any of your suggestions! Thank you all for your support!!!!

[project-ohagi]

Hozuki x Reader {Hozuki No Reitetsu}

"Mr Hozuki must have someone he likes!" Karauri complained, carefully holding his stack of papers.

Natsubi nodded happily in agreement. "Yeah! Someone who puts those butterflies in his tummy!"

They rounded a corner, heading to their destination: The Great King Enma's desk, or more specifically, the Chief of Staff himself. He was needed to check over the paperwork and add the finishing details. However, when the two young men found said demon, he was in a rather peculiar, and distinctly unnatural position. He was embracing a woman with gorgeous (h/c) locks, as she pressed her hands against his chest, giving the impression of wanting to escape, but really, it was just to steady herself. As she could feel her legs about to give way at any moment, she wanted to be wholly prepared, and although Hozuki's chest was practically rock hard, it still made for a comforting pillow.

They didn't immediately notice the most bizarre part of the situation, probably because Karauri's hand quickly flew to his companion's face, covering his widened eyes – if he wasn't able to see anything, then he couldn't make his annoying commentary. However, when his own flushed face gazed back up, he realised that his superior was locking lips with this mystery woman. Both parties had their eyes tightly shut, but the expressions on their faces displayed pure love. This was completely unheard of for Hozuki, making the brown-haired hell minion wonder if he was okay in the head.

His dark orbs gradually grew larger as he witnessed the older male slip his tongue into your mouth, and heard two separate moans. There was a slight shift, and you began walking backwards, knocking into a conveniently-placed desk. You fell back, disconnecting your lips, and stared up at Hozuki in an embarrassing silence. He hovered over your trembling body, pressing himself far too close to your nether region. Bringing his face towards you, he started sucking and biting on your neck contentedly.

He enjoyed listening to the hushed sounds exiting your mouth.

Pulling away from your bruised and sensitive skin, he reached into his robe. You knew exactly what was coming, because he had attempted this too many times now. You constantly declined, and while you had admitted to admiring his persistence, the request itself was something entirely different. He was holding a marriage registration document, already showing his signature. You thought he must carry those everywhere with him, as you saw them so often. Like with the previous papers, you gently took them into your hand, then set them alight.

Marriage was a difficult predicament – you hailed from one of the Nine Realms of Norse Mythology, so you technically weren't a demon, nor were you actually dead, but you also weren't exactly a person, so to speak. You were a daughter of Loki, the God of Mischief, and his brief mistress, Angrboda. Therefore, you had obtained some flashy powers, including practical sorcery, fire wielding, and metamorphosis. Being from a place with so much distance from the Japanese Hell in which Hozuki resided presented a major problem, because it wasn't often that you were even able to make time to see him, and he was generally far too busy anyway. That was why nobody in Enma's court had ever seen you before. You had met Hozuki a long time in the past, when he was still classed as an adolescent, and although the fact of your love was indisputable, you still couldn't allow marriage.

You were the type bred for playing around, never taking a permanent partner, but Hozuki seemed to have alternative plans. In a regular conversation, he brought up the topic of marriage and children every two minutes. You didn't wish to disappoint him, but you also didn't want to marry him.

"Hozuki, you know we live too far apart." You reminded.

He gave the same blank expression. "I can have you transferred. I've heard that Mortal Hell could use more female worke-"

"I've declined you before."

"I was hoping you would have changed your mind."

The sudden, spontaneous clapping of large hands broke your concentration, and your eyes strained to see anything past Hozuki's shoulder. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, so you figured King Enma must have been the source of that thunder-like noise. He advanced towards you, stopping for a moment to scratch his cheek awkwardly, and make a comment about your questionable position. Hozuki, as always, made a point to sound as irritated as possible in the lowest tone, and honestly, it was so sexy. He obviously knew what he was doing, and how his voice was extremely overpowering, causing you to go weak at the knees. He turned all of his attention away from your figure, although he refused to let you move.

His hands gripped the desk a little too tightly, forcing it to break.

Instead of landing on the ground, however, you found yourself cradled in Hozuki's arms. You would have blushed, but King Enma was still present, and you didn't want this demon to humiliate you any further. He set you on your feet, turning to the king with a malicious glare, beginning to lecture him about not completing his paperwork. A sigh pierced your thoughts, and you watched Hozuki walk away briskly, muttering something about having to do it himself.

You stared at his back for a while, before hearing laughter.

"He does love you, doesn't he?"

Addressing King Enma, you responded, "I'm no better than that man he despises."

"Hm? Do you mean Hakutaku?" He asked, tilting his head to the side.

You nodded, folding your arms. "He found out what I do, and for a short time, he limited himself to the only man I was allowed to interact with."

"Until?" He prompted, curiously.

Raising an eyebrow, you replied, "Until he realised that I don't have a gender preference."

King Enma chuckled. "Well, Hozuki certainly seems to think that you're different, and he's not giving up, even though you're engaged."

Just then, the main door burst open, revealing a very frustrated demon, and about a million pieces of paper. He trudged forwards, almost like he was wading in thick mud, and promptly slammed the pile down on the king's desk. The aura protruding from him was extraordinarily menacing.

You watched him with a small smile, as he scolded King Enma. He really was the epitome of discipline; maybe his unwavering determination what was made him so attractive in the first place. Whatever it was, you couldn't help laughing slightly at how entertaining this scene was – Hozuki was basically throttling the king, who was supposed to be his superior. The demon had always been this way, and you wondered why this aspect of his personality (the utter disrespect for King Enma) was so very endearing to you. He was surrounded by a constant supply of other women, and yet he always remained faithful to you, even if you played around and were already betrothed. That was just something else you admired – how he could be so seemingly carefree, to the point where he was more than willing to disregard your fiancé, in pursuit of tying the knot with you.

He glanced in your direction, eyes narrowing as he contemplated your expression. You appeared conflicted, which made him worry slightly. He let go of King Enma, and turned towards you.

"Do you want me to dissolve your engagement?"

Your head snapped up, and even the king stared at him like that was an impossible task. Although, you were of the assumption that nothing was impossible for this man.

Sighing, you responded, "It was decided by my father, and he won't free me so easily."

Hozuki lifted his iron club. "We'll see about that."

He exited the room, in almost a sprint. It was quite rare to see that level of urgency from such a refined, monotonous individual. It caused shivers to run down the spines of all those present. You and King Enma exchanged glances, then let out a simultaneous breath. It wasn't usually a good idea to allow him to wander, especially not into that sort of territory, because someone always ended up with extreme injuries, and it wasn't Hozuki.

After a minute or two of heavy silence, the king spoke up. "He's desperate."

"Desperate? I wouldn't say that – impulsive, maybe." You concluded.

He shook his head. "He may not express much other than anger, but this is definitely an intense emotion. He mutters under his breath sometimes, and it's really scary...I'm starting to think he might turn into a Yandere or something..."

"Yandere?" You questioned, clearly unfamiliar with the term.

King Enma smiled. "Well, a Yandere is someone who..."

--

It couldn't have been more than about ten minutes since you had last seen him, that the Chief of Staff made a re-appearance. Behind him, being dragged along the ground, was the man your father had promised you to – he was a fine warrior, but obviously nothing compared to the demon who had defeated him. There was an odd look on Hozuki's face, almost as if he was trying to reign in a grin or something.

King Enma and yourself looked up from your game of chess, and you got quite a shock when your fiancé was flung on to the ground beneath you. Hozuki brushed his hands together, seemingly ridding himself of the filth.

"They needed some persuasion, but eventually agreed." He clarified.

The atmosphere suddenly became very tense.

He reached into his robe and presented you with some more marriage documents. You sighed, slipping off your now insignificant ring, and tossing it to Hozuki, to do as he saw fit. You were relieved when he promptly destroyed it, before walking up to where you sat, and thrusting the forms into your hands. This time, you set them down gently on the table beside the on-going game of chess – he had just done you a great favour, so perhaps you would consider filling them in at some point.

He took your lack of action as a sign that he was doing something wrong again.

He reached back into his pocket, asking, "Should I do it in a Western style?".

You gazed at the velvet box securely planted in his palm.

This was going to be troublesome.

[sevsnapeoriginalfanfix]

You Don’t Have To Go Through This Alone Pt. 1

Trigger warning: Themes of depression, but no explicit suicide or self- harm details

Severus Snape + Hermione Granger drabble/one-shot; angst; fluff; enemies to lovers; happy ending; mental health first; adult Hermione as Hogwarts professor 

“I wish you the best of luck, dear,” she expressed in her posh, but comforting tone. “I think if any of us could do it, it would be you.” Minerva McGonagall smiled assuredly across the table at her first-year teaching mentee, Hermione Granger.

Her first year as Professor Granger had brought more surprises than her Wizard Education book could have ever prepared her for. The grading and detentions were unwelcome surprises. The secret staff lounge with delectable treats and the designing of her own Muggle Studies curriculum were far better than she had imagined. The induction of SPEW as an official extra-curricular activity was truly the cherry on top. The biggest surprise, perhaps, was the reinduction of Severus Snape as Potions Master. Thus far, this surprise had neither been positive, nor negative, but it had certainly been most intriguing. Professor Snape was, in fact, the topic of conversation today- as he had been for many days prior.

“Thank you, Minerva,” Hermione remarked sweetly. “I just worry about him. Ever since he returned to Hogwarts, he hasn’t been the same. I never thought I’d miss his relentless jabs, but I’m starting to find that he just isn’t Severus Snape without him.” Minerva nodded her head. “I quite agree,” she admitted. “Prepare for the worst, of course. But you seem to have a way with him.” Hermione merely smiled and turned on her heels. She couldn’t procrastinate any longer; classes were over for the day, the weekend was about to begin, and it was 4pm, so Snape shouldn’t be hopelessly inebriated...yet.

Hermione had thought it strange that he would return to his old position of Potions when he had sought the Defense Against the Dark Arts job his entire career. It seemed that after the Battle of Hogwarts, however, he no longer had an interest in the dark arts: defense against it or otherwise. As Hermione’s heels echoed down the hall to the Potions office, Hermione couldn’t help noting that the dark, eerie ambiance of the dungeon seemed personify his demeanor. With her heart in her chest and millions of scenarios circling her mind, Hermione knocked on the door.

Without hesitation, the deep drawl responded, “Bugger off, it’s the weekend. If you can’t be bothered to go to the library for help, you’re fucked anyway.” Hermione’s eyes widened in shock. Professor Snape- or Severus as she had great difficulty calling him- had always been a miserable curmudgeon...but even he hadn’t spoken to students in that way when Hermione was a student. Unsure if she even wanted to continue, but too curious to abandon her mission, Hermione cleared her throat.

“Uh, Severus…” she winced, as calling him by his first name was still uncomfortable, “It’s Hermione. Open up.”

The door swung open immediately and he wore an expression of equal confusion, irritation, and mirth. “As I said, Miss Granger, it’s the weekend. So bugger off.” With a deep breath, Hermione made her way past him into his headquarters. Taking off her cloak without invitation, she replied, “Yes, and I’ve made it clear that it is Hermione or Professor Granger, please. Now, sit.” Severus Snape eyed her cautiously. On one hand, he despised nothing less than being told what to do. On the other hand, he had always admired her unwillingness to acquiesce to his foul nature in the way everyone else did. 

“Very well, Professor Granger,” he continued sarcastically, “can this be discussed over Firewhisky?”

“No, but I can discuss it over brandy, if you please,” she retorted. They weren’t friends, exactly. No, that would be pushing it. But they were both well-aware that she was the only one who could get away with speaking to him in this manner. He stared at her for a moment, but said nothing, and fetched a bottle and glass for Hermione. He sat down at a small, grimy table in the kitchen and motioned for her to join him. Hermione had never actually been to his living headquarters and now she understood why he didn’t entertain company. Old Daily Prophets were haphazardly strewn about, the dishes in the sink were piled up to the cabinets, and the garbage seemed to be overflowing. She began to regret not pursuing this conversation at The Three Broomsticks.

“Now what do I owe the displeasure?” he slurred and Hermione wondered if he might already be more intoxicated than anticipated.

“Severus, I’m...I’m concerned about you.” Snape exhaled sharply, yet inconsequently, as if she had suggested something as insignificant as a new tea brand.

“I’m fine, is that all?” He stood and gestured toward the door.

“No, that is not all, Severus. Do be serious.”

“I am serious...serious about you leaving. Goodbye,” he insisted.

“I’m not finished,” she exclaimed.

“And I am,” he responded indignantly.

“Severus, GODDAMMIT, sit DOWN!” Hermione shrieked, her voice echoing even down the dungeon hallway. Severus’s black eyes seemed to illuminate with fury and his jaw seemed more clenched than ever, but he obeyed, never breaking eye contact. Hermione reminisced on those brief moments in the hallway when she had caught those pitch-black eyes following her in a manner that might suggest more than a professional acquaintance...but she shook them off and focused on the task at hand. “You’re not you, Severus, and I’m worried. You haven’t been the same since you returned to Hogwarts.” Snape was still silently seething, so Hermione continued while she had the chance.

“As...as a student, I thought you were vile. And sometimes, you were. But after having Slughorn my NEWT year and when I returned after for my final year….” she closed her eyes and swallowed. “After the war, I’ve realized you really weren’t so bad.” Despite his fury, Snape scoffed.

“High praise,” he mocked.

“What I mean is…” she continued, ignoring the jab, “you’ve changed and it concerns me.” Snape’s upper lip began to curl in rage, his onyx eyes boring into her.

“I’ve changed? Oh, I’ve changed.” He stood up slowly and deliberately and began to pace. “I see. I am so sorry to have inconvenienced you, my dear,” he jeered in an infuriatingly condescending tone, much like the Snape she had been accustomed to in her student days. He seemed to take his time- not just with every word, but with every consonant- punctuating them drastically for effect. “Right, now let’s see. Ah, yes,...” He whirled around theatrically. “I lost my friend to the Dark Lord and it was my fault, but of course Potter told you that. I play a loyal, faithful servant to the two greatest wizards of all time, constantly living in anxiety, constantly denying my own thoughts and feelings for fear of being discovered. But that, I’m sure, seems an easy task to you, Miss Granger? Hmm?” He cocked his head and raised a menacing eyebrow. Hermione interjected,

“It’s Hermione, but I…”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted. “I’m not finished yet. Where was I? Right. I’m attacked by a snake, left to die. Lie in a pool of my own cold blood for hours before being discovered. Suffer paralysis for nearly a year before I can return to my old post at Hogwarts. Some never believe my story, of course.” He continued to pace, hands fidgeting incessantly. “Not to mention, my own miserable existence as a student at Hogwarts and oh, yes…” he lowered his eyes to meet Hermione’s, glowing amber with outrage. “Yes, I spent my entire career, which could have been much more successful, I’m sure, teaching little shits like you.” With this, Hermione stood up quickly and stormed to face him.

“Yes, little shits that helped win the Battle of Hogwarts, IF you’ve forgotten. I am sorry for what you’ve been through, but it’s no reason for you to belittle everyone and act as though the world owes you something! You’re an arrogant bastard and always have been.” Hermione began to pace as well, but at a far more frantic speed that her male counterpart. Snape chuckled sardonically.

“And I thought this was the part of me you missed, Miss Granger?” Amused with himself, he took a swig of his own black thermos that he carried with him everywhere these days. “You complain that I’ve changed...well this is who I used to be, remember? Changed...oh of course, I’ve changed. If you go through the Battle of Hogwarts and haven’t changed...then I wonder if you really did your part at all.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but found that she was shaking with too much uncontrollable anger to even form a coherent thought. What an absolute arsehole. What a heartless prick. Finally, words formed on her lips.

“Didn’t do my part? Didn’t do my part?? Who looked for and destroyed Horcruxes? Who actually fought while you were lying in that blood? Oh, I did my part, sir. And I have changed. You don’t see me here as Professor Weasley, do you? I’m not the same insufferable-know-it-all that I used to be, am I?” Severus’s lips parted, but she was too quick.

“Not a WORD! You don’t see me working for the Ministry, do you? No...the war showed me that education is far too important to bypass. Yes, I have changed. But unlike you, I’m not showing up for work late every day. I’m not allowing students to piddle around in my classroom, learning nothing. I’m not blowing up at the most random times and otherwise being too lax. I’m not swearing at my students. I’m not showing up looking like I’m fielding the world’s worst hangover! And I’m sure as hell….” she grabbed the thermos out of his hands and took a giant swig. She winced, despite expecting as much. Hermione poured the remaining liquid content in the sink and lowered her voice in a calmer, more calculated manner. “And I’m sure as hell not drinking straight Firewhisky when I teach.” She began to head to the door and whirled around. “And for the last time, it’s Professor Granger or Hermione, Severus.”

[jjba-arni-reblog]

Kakyoin x self harming reader if possible please!

[Hey, my lad. I apologize for the wait. Frankly, I was just waiting for the right mood to hit to write something with such theme. And there it was, today at last. I don’t know is I should be saying the general words like ‘please don’t do this’ or something like that since I am pretty much the same here, thus why this was quite easy and relatable to write. I just hope that you are okay there, there are different way to let out the frustration out and I hope that you will find the calmness in your heart, even if it hurts more than it heals sometimes. Thank you for such opportunity, I appreciate you - Arni]

Trigger warning: angst, self-harm, bad coping mechanisms, self-doubt, self-hate

Noriaki

Another day, another disappointment. How many days has it been? It seems like far too many. School was supposed to be a learning and interesting experience, as you find new people in your life and find your own path. ‘Supposed’ was the key word. Instead of it being a unique experience, it was a pain in the ass. It was suffocating you, making your question your liability. And the more you started to question, the more you realized all the flaws within you. It is honestly pathetic how one human can be so imperfect and useless. Each day proved you right, as the school constantly reminded you that you are not worth it. Not worth new knowledge, new friends or even something more.

Speaking of which, your lover, Kakyoin, was the sweetest man. It was honestly unbelievable how he has found you interesting r even worth noticing. Yet he was always there for you, no matter what. So what did you give in return? More disappointment and bad news as the school made you vulnerable, anxious of your worth to him. After all, he was a honor student, Kakyoin’s whole appearance screamed ‘perfection’ as the man’s knowledge and achievements were almost uncountable. The honor student and…..you? It sounded almost unbelievable how he has found you worth his time and affection. His smartness, your stupidity. Such duality was almost dangerous.

Feeling another day end made you feel like ending yourself at this point, the amount of pain it brought into your poor soul. Another mistake made on a lesson, more cruel laughs behind your back as a small mistake ruined your whole day in one second. Kakyoin’s gentle smile didn’t help the situation, as it reminded you again of your differences. How beautiful and perfect this man was. And how you weren’t as near in terms of such qualities.

Feeling your hands involuntarily reach for a sharp blade of whenever was near. Maybe it was a small pocketknife you kept in your drawer, maybe simple scissors the you forgot to put away, It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered at the moment. At the blissful pain ran across your arms, reminding you of your mistakes and worthlessness. Just a little bit. A small punishment for failing. Maybe then you will learn to be better. To be worth something. Maybe.

You were sure to not make the cuts too deep so that they would heal before someone will notice. Long sleeves would be enough for a couple of days before the cuts will eventually heal back. It was a small punishment, after all. Just a reminder. The upcoming feeling of small cuts will surely remind you of your failures, making you work harder. Making you improve. Such punishment would linger on your arms until you will get better. If not, then another will follow. Until you will improve. Get on the same level. Be worthy of something. Stop being a disappointment.

And so the next day came, long sleeves alongside with it, the usual routine. Hoping that today you won’t be a complete mess, you quickly marched to the school, trying to dismiss any unwelcoming glances sent your way. You knew well enough that you are a disgrace, nothing to remind here.

However, the soft melodic voice caught you off guard, making you escape your small trance. Kakyoin.

“Good morning” the man greeted you, smiling at your form “Barely caught up to you as you were speeding so much, what’s the occasion?” he questioned as you two slowed down to enter the school together.

“Just wanted to come a bit earlier today, that is. Good morning, Kakyoin”

“I told you to drop Kakyoin and just call me by my first name, didn’t I?” he chuckled, no matter how much time you two (surprisingly) were together, you still addressed him by his last name.

“Yes, but…” did you deserve to call him that?

“It’s okay, don’t worry” Kakyoin reassured you, not wanting to pressure you “do you want to meet at lunch time?” his smiled widened a little.

“Sure” why did you agree? You will take his time anyway.

“Alright, see you later” Kakyoin waved, walking away. Even if you were the same age, the schedule was quite different for two of you. You wondered if there was a special reason for him to want to meet you at such time, maybe it was the time he’d realize that he could do better?

As the day went by and you desperately tried not to overthink the following lunch, you found yourself waiting for your boyfriend at your secret place. It was a rather secluded place in the park, just for you two to enjoy each other’s company. That is, if he enjoyed yours.

Hearing quick steps approach, you turned around to be met but a slightly panting man before you, who seemed like he just ran a marathon.

“I am sorry for being late, an art teacher wanted to have a word with me about the upcoming project” could this man be even more perfect?

Sitting down next to you, Kakyoin took your hand, feeling the warmth and enjoying the small intimacy as you two could take a break after studying for so long.

“But enough about my projects. Tell me, my love, how are your days passing?” the man asked eagerly, getting comfortable next to you as you couldn’t help but to blush a little at his cute nickname for you. Totally undeserved.

“Eh, nothing interesting, school as it is” you tried to not to draw too much attention to yourself, instead giving a neutral answer

“Mhm” was the only answer. However, he continued reluctantly “say…has something happened?”

“What do you mean?” you started to get nervous, hoping that he won’t get too worried about you. It was insignificant after all.

“Well, you have been a little bit….pardon my language…off these days”  Kakyoin traced patterns on your hand as you silently prayed that he won’t feel the bandages under your clothes.

“I am just tired, simple as that. Sorry for worrying you yet again” you reasoned, disappointed that you made your boyfriend worry for you.

“Yet again? My sunshine, you haven’t done anything wrong. I just worry about your health since the school is getting kinda stressful” Kakyoin reasoned with you, moving closer as he noticed your worried expression. Something was definitely wrong.

“It’s okay” you tried again as your body started to shake lightly. This didn’t go unnoticed by the man next to you.

“Is it?” he pushed forward, determined to find out what has been bothering his loving partner.

“I…” you hesitated.

“You can tell me anything, you know. What has been on your mind?” Kakoyin drew closer, drawing his other arm around your shoulder, trying to easy your anxiety.

“It’s just hard” you mumbled, hoping that he wouldn’t hear. Yet he did

“What is?” came another question

“You know…everything” you couldn’t find the right words to describe your inner worries.

“Please, tell me”

“I don’t think it’s worth your time” you reasoned with him, trying to not panic as the man continued.

“What is?” he was yet again determined to find the cause of your strange behavior.

“Me telling you” you explained, looking down at your hands to avoid his intense gaze.

“Of course it is…” before he could continue, he felt something weird under your sleeves, not your usual soft skin. Instead some sort of material was covering your arms

“….what is this?” he asked, almost afraid of the answering, hoping that it wasn’t what he thought it was.

“Kakyoin, it’s nothing to worry about” you tried again, slightly covering your arms so that the he won’t notice the prominent bandages.

“Please…please show me” Kakyoin’s voice suddenly got quieter as he was nervous to scare your away.

You reluctantly lifted your sleeves, making Kakyoin’s eyes widen at your revelation. Tracing your arms gently, as if not to hurt you further, his expression changed into a worrisome one. Kak suddenly pulled you into a strong embrace, also squeezing the life out of you, scared that you would disappear.

“How long has this been going?” his gentle voices called for you.

“I don’t really know. Sometimes I just feel like. I need to remind myself of my mistakes, of all the disappointment I bring people. How much I do not deserve to be here, to be with you” you finally revealed your true emotions to the man.

“Please, don’t say such things. We deserve each other and you deserve all the great things in the world. I am sorry for not being there for you, I should have noticed that you are suffering” his voice was shaking, making you feel even more vulnerable in his strong hold.

“No, Kak, it’s okay, it’s just me, you know? I just need to get better” you tried to reason with him, letting your dark thoughts escape.

“You need to be happy. There is no happiness in your self-destructive pushes and self-blame. I am proud of you the way you are, and I will be here for you no matter what. My love for you won’t ever change and so won’t my views on you. I am sorry for not being there for you. From now on, please tell me if something bothers you. I don’t care if you think that it’s nothing or it’s not worth my time. You are worth my time and love and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I love you”

“I…thank you” you felt tears falling down your face as you feel relieved, not knowing what to say

“It’s okay” his reassuring voice calmed you as gentle hands traced comforting patterns on your shaking back.

“I love you too” you sniffed, shaking in his strong arms “Noriaki”

[blacklungbaby]

We’ve Met Before, Love || Pt.2

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Female!Reader

Requested: “can I get a klaus x salvatore girl reader from tvd? They meet at the Mystic Grill and get along really well and klaus ends up taking her home, you can decide what happens from there, but in the morning damon and stefan go to find klaus and then y/n realises who she got involved with and it’s all a mess of emotions. make it multiple chapters if you can. sorry if this doesn’t make sense ! xx

Warnings: SMUUUUUUUUT not too detailed I guess but it’s still there. tiny bit of swearing

A/N: so the smut in this is, i’m not even kidding, a solid 1/10 so don’t be expecting some amazing erotica because this will ruin your expectations😂

Upon entering the Mikaelson household, Klaus had not let go of you. He directed you to a ginormous lounge, which was almost as big as your entire room, and sat you down gently.

“Your house- or should I say, mansion, is huge, Klaus. You could fit the entire town of Mystic Falls in here.” You said, awestruck.

Klaus smirked. “Yes, it’s rather convenient for my, purposes. But don’t you worry about that! Tonight is going to be a night you won’t forget, sweetheart.” Klaus ran a hand down your cheek and then stood up.

“Where do you think you’re going? I need someone to accompany me around here, else I’ll get lost.” You said to him as he stopped, standing near a large-scale, square piece of furniture.

“This, love, is a record player straight out of the year 1920. It’s almost as old as me.” Klaus shot an award-winning smile your way.

You thought for a second. “How old are you, anyway?”

He turned his attention back to the record player. “Let’s just say I was one of the very first.” Upon seeing your confused look, he chuckled and continued. “Vampires. I’m an Original.”

You tried to hide your surprise, but it was clearly shown on your face. “Oh my god, are you serious? Well that’s one way to make a girl feel very insignificant.” You leaned back on the lounge. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Klaus looked back at you, and you could almost feel his ocean blue eyes boring into the deepest parts of your soul. “I—“

Before he could go on, a blonde haired woman walked through the front door. Upon seeing you two, she let out a laugh.

“Niklaus, what on Earth are you doing?” The woman asked, looking between you and Klaus.

Klaus rolled his eyes. “I hardly think it’s any of your concern, Rebekah. Now hurry along, you wouldn’t want me to put you right back in that coffin, would you?”

The blonde, who’s name seemed to be Rebekah, gave Klaus a cold look. “That’ll hardly be necessary brother.” She stormed off, and made a great deal to slam the door behind her once she got to a secluded room.

When you knew she was out of hearing range, you started up the conversation with Klaus again. “That’s your sister?”

“The one and only. Sometimes I wander how she got so bloody maddening. But in all honesty, it’s more than likely a side effect of being apart of this family.” He sighed, but then continued smiling. “Anyway! Now that she’s been disposed of, where were we? Ah yes, I have a little surprise for you, y/n.”

You looked at him seriously. “And I’m a little bit concerned as to what you have up your perfectly cuffed sleeve, Niklaus.” You smirked at him.

“I hardly let people call me Niklaus and get away with it. But i’ll make an exception for you, sweetheart.” He looked back down to the record player and made a few adjustments, as you tried to calm down the butterflies that had been awoken in your stomach. Truth be told, they had constantly been there ever since you laid eyes on Klaus, and you couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was the gentle way he seemed to speak only to you, like you were the only one he could show his vulnerable side to, or maybe it was the fact that he was showing you the slightest hint of affection, and after what Damon had said about you and your experiences with love, maybe this was a chance to prove him wrong.

But you could tell there was something else about Klaus that you were inexplicably drawn to. And it wasn’t just something you could see on the surface, no, this was something bigger, something with a much deeper meaning. You had never met anyone quite like him, so mysterious, yet so familiar to you, someone who you felt like you could listen to talk for hours on end. There was something that was ready to spring to life between the both of you, you could feel it, you just had to dig a little harder to find out what the hell it actually was.

You were sprung out of your thoughts when music started playing all around you. Music that seemed to have been made decades ago, but to you it seemed like yesterday that this song came out. Decades aren’t that of a long time for a vampire such as yourself.

I don’t know what it is that makes me love you so,

I only know I never want to let you go

You let out a small laugh to yourself, and looked up at Klaus’ piercing blue eyes. “I Only Want to Be With You, Dusty Springfield.” You said, and you noticed his face light up at the fact you knew the song. “I remember when this came out, me and Stefan used to visit every bar in town and they would all play this damn song. It brings back a whole lot of memories I forgot existed.”

Klaus approached you slowly and extended his hand. “Care to relive those marvellous memories, with me?” He asked you.

You thought for a second. “Why, thankyou gentleman. I shall accept your kind offer.” He smiled as he took your hand in his.

As if you were back at the bar, your vampire senses were heightened with Klaus’ touch. He had one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other gripping your hand, guiding you along the makeshift dance floor.

You stopped and smiled at me

Asked me if I'd care to dance

I fell into your open arms

I didn't stand a chance

“So.” Klaus said, and you could feel his breath making your insides light up with fire. “Tell me about the good old days with Stefan.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “You really want to know? I mean, what’s an Original vampire got to care about some random girl he picked up at a bar?”

Klaus looked at you intently. “You are the very opposite of some irrelevant girl to me, y/n. All I want, is to know you more.”

Klaus’ face was inches away from yours now, and resisting the urge to kiss him was like fighting the urge for blood. You bit your lip and sighed. “I classify the good old days from around circa 1950 until 1985. That was when me and my brothers got along the most, no bickering. No useless arguments. No Elena. This was back when we could do whatever the hell we wanted and nobody gave a seconds thought about it. Back when we were a family. Minus the mother and father of course.” You paused, but noticed Klaus was still listening intently.

“Mystic Falls has always been a home to me. But it was more so back then. I was closer to everyone. I could trust them. And they could trust me. Most nights were spent checking in to all our usual spots, mainly the bars and occasionally the local fun houses for a bit of, um, adventure, I guess you could call it. Most nights we were too wasted off our faces to remember what we had done, resulting in us the next morning going and compelling half the damn town.” You lightly laughed. “Sure, there were downsides to it, but the good highly outnumbered the bad. I had my brothers, and that’s all I ever needed back then. They were fun, but now,” you took a deep breath, “I don’t even know who they are. And the thing is, I don’t think they know who they are either. They’ve lost themselves trying to figure out somebody else. I wish there was something I could do to help. But unfortunately they’ve refused my advice.”

Klaus moved closer to you and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. “Sometimes people aren’t ready for help, love. You need to let them go, and when they come crawling back to you, broken because of how wrong they were, that’s when you help them.”

You could feel the lust for Klaus building up in your body, almost ready to burst at the seams.

“Oh yeah, you never told me you were so wise, Niklaus.” You played, eyeing his face up and down.

“After awhile of being alive, you tend to pick up some experience, little vamp.” He whispered, almost sending you over the edge.

Your voice got lower as you said, “Experience? Why don’t you show me just how much you know.”

Before you could let out your next breath, thanks to his thousands of years old vampiric strength Klaus had pushed you against a wall, and was leaving a trail of passionate, wet kisses along your neck and jaw.

Your hand trailed up to his hair, running your fingers through it and tugging at it slightly at the ends. You heard a low growl escape from Klaus’ mouth and you let out a heavy breath. He suddenly ripped open the shirt you were wearing straight down the middle, exposing your bra and bare stomach. You took this as cue to unbutton his shirt, and you clumsily started undressing him.

“We should... take this... somewhere more...private.” You said in between breaths as you reveled in the pleasure from Klaus.

Before you could let out another sound, you felt yourself being rushed upstairs by superhuman speed, landing on a king sized bed, with Klaus’ body hovering on top of yours, the heat from you both surrounding you like a cloak. He kissed you passionately on the mouth, and you returned it roughly before shoving him off.

“Not so fast there, Mikaelson.” Klaus looked at you in surprise as you got on top of him, you could feel his bulge in his pants just begging for it. You straddled his hips and continued to remove every inch of clothing from the both of you.

As a nearly 200 year old vampire you’ve had many occasions where something like this has played out. But nothing like the way Klaus was currently touching you, caressing every part of your skin so sensually, and removing your flimsy articles of clothing like it was paper, and seeming to burn up your soul with a basic touch.

The moment you decided to take control over Klaus was the moment he fully understood that you were something different altogether, and no, it wasn’t just because you were riding him, it was because he could sense it in his bones that your presence altered his way of life and thinking.

As you were on top of him, stripped of clothing that had been disposed of and thrown across the room in a rush, his course yet gentle hands ran from your hips up to your bare chest, and you stifled back a moan already.

“You’re such a beautiful creature, y/n.” Klaus hungrily growled.

“Just shut up and fuck me.” You frantically demanded.

The feeling of ecstasy you got as you seductively sunk down on to his throbbing cock made you let out a gasp, the warmth of his length making your juices flow with no intention of stopping. You saw Klaus close his eyes and his breath getting heavier, and as you start rocking back and forth he pulls your hips down harder on to him, digging his fingers into your skin, causing your entire body to electrify. All around the room was the sound of your bodies slamming together as one, and it caused sweat to lace your bodies, setting a pace between you that was vigorous but overwhelmingly sensual at the same time.

“Oh fuck, oh, Jesus, fuck yes, there, just like that, fucking Christ.” You moaned out, feeling the fire swell up in your abdomen.

Before you got the sensation of an erupting orgasm, Klaus flips you over so you’re on your hands and knees, his breath on the back of your neck, taking you in a different position. His hand slowly wanders up your back, sending goosebumps rushing up and down your skin, reaching it’s destination in your hair he tugs mildly, causing you to lowly moan, sending his thrusts into overdrive.

You could feel the pressure building up again and you knew it was only a matter of time before you reached the grand finale, you could sense Klaus drawing near as well, as his pace had vigorously fastened.

“I- I’m gonna-“ You bit your lip in anticipation to ride out the moment.

“Let it out, love, don’t hesitate-fuck.” Klaus groaned, and that gravelly sound was enough to make your entire body shake and convulse with pleasure, erupting from the pit of your stomach and seeming to stop the whole universe.

Once you rode out the most intense orgasm you had ever had, you let your back hit the bed, Klaus joining next to you, both heavily panting.

“First time ever having sex with an Original, eh love?” Klaus looked over at you and you returned his gaze, laughing.

“It sure as hell won’t be the last.”

[nadineselfships-archived]

*slams hands on table* PLEASE TELL ME MORE ABOUT YOUR YOUxMARKUS SELFSHIP YOU WONDERFUL BEING

!!!!! Oh goodness okay!! Oh golly where to start akskdkfkfkfkal Okay well!! I have three au’s for it so too keep this short I’ll just talk about the first one I made!! (This turned into a long af how we met and fell in love and confessed thing I hope that’s okay?? XD)

In my au where I’m a human helping Androids to hide and repairing them with my sibling Markus and i meet because a few androids arriving at jericho mention us and what we’re doing and how we could replicate thirium so he decides that maybe we could help the damaged androids at jericho!! So he shows up and I’m busy repairing an androids arm when my sibling walks in with him in tow and the second I see his eyes I am Done For. He sees me and of course can see I am a relatively attractive human but he’s much more focused on asking if we will come to Jericho, so he does so and after some discussion we agree to go.

So while we’re at Jericho Markus will find me whether I’m repairing an android or making some more thirium in the make-shift lab he set up for us and will talk with me for hours, at first he’d just ask why I wanted to help androids and ask me about my views and beliefs and thoughts on the revolution but then he soon starts inquiring about my life, my hobbies and more personal things like that. Me, being the emotionally damaged human I am, become smitten with the android leader who is nothing but kind and sweet to me and cherish the times he comes to speak with me; I ask him questions about him and his life and he tells me all about Carl and has such a fondness in his voice when he talks about him that makes my heart swell.

Markus starts wanting to see and talk to me more and more, enjoying how easy it is to talk to me and how kind I am, he also finds it adorable with how goofy and childish I act at times. As the revolution continues on and things get more stressful he’ll find himself seeking me out for comfort and advice, which I happily give of course! We’ll sit either in Jericho or ontop of somewhere high because we both like high places and I’ll try to help ease his worries and conflictions as much as I can, I assure him we’ll all be there with him no matter what happens and the sincerity in my voice and eyes leaves him feeling less heavy.

I don’t get to join the first March but I do go with them on the final March and stand with them in the barricade, it’s high stress and Markus is worried I’ll get hurt so he makes sure I’m always in his line of sight. When they throw the smoke bomb and start firing I get hit in the leg and after shielding and helping other androids Markus finds me behind a barrel with my sibling hovering over me protectively and assures me I’ll be okay. And I am, after the stand off and the beautiful song the androids sang I got sent to hospital where the bullet was removed and I made a full recovery.

When I returned to Jericho Markus was the first to see me, he’d been waiting outside of Jericho and the moment he saw me he rushed to envelop me in his arms and we stayed in a tight embrace for what felt like forever. After this I attend meetings with him and all the continued marches, I no longer need to replicate thirium or repair androids because it was passed that all androids should have free, neverending access to thirium. I get to meet Carl and we get along!! So well!! I gush over his paintings and he tells me great jokes and Markus can’t understand why he’s so happy to see us get along so well. Carl makes a point to tell him when I leave, this is when Markus realizes over the time he’s spent with me he fell in love with me; my kindness towards everyone, my softness when I repaired androids, my honesty and sincerity, my smile, everything about me seemed to set him on fire and for an android who made speeches constantly he couldn’t figure out how to put into words how he felt for me.

So now Markus finds himself in the predicament of wanting to tell me but being too busy with meetings and marches and interviews and paperwork and the strange occurrence of now fumbling over himself when around me, the words he wants to say getting jumbled and becoming lost as he feels a new sense of fear. Fear of rejection, fear of putting unwanted attention on me if I returned his feelings, fear of not being able to give me what an human could. Meanwhile I was worried about him because he was acting so strange, I was concerned all the meetings and stress was taking a toll on him so I talked to the rest of the Jericho and planned an impromtu, 24 hour, vacation. Of course Markus would never just say yes to ‘abandoning’ everything for a day so we have to trick him and with Carl’s added help trick him we do.

It isn’t until Markus is sitting in the living room of my house, in a messy pillow fort that he realised that he’d been bamboozled and even though he wants to protest he can’t seem to bring himself to say no to my big brown puppy dog eyes. So he tries his best to let himself relax, which isn’t easy when he’s being cuddled by the person he loves who happens to be wearing a cute sweater and short shorts and glasses he didn’t know she had and look very cute on her. It’s been a while since he’s been alone with me so he finds himself panicking, this would be the perfect opportunity to confess but he wasn’t sure if he should. I of course noticed he wasn’t relaxing and decided to introduce him to some of my favourite movies, which he didn’t really watch because he was too busy watching me and admiring how excited I got at certain parts.

When nighttime came and Markus realised the time he had alone with me was drawing to an end he finally caved and while I was dancing around the kitchen making myself a small dinner he walked up to me and took my hands gently, a fearful yet hopeful expression on his face.

“Nadine, I’ve been trying to think of all the ways to say this for months but no words or metaphors can explain the feelings I have for you. I could stand here and list all the reasons but we would be here forever, I- This feeling is new to me, and I only feel it when I’m with you. I don’t want you to feel obligated to return these feelings at all, I just need to tell you, I’m in love with you. You don’t-”

“I’m in love with you too! I- I’m not too great with words, as you know, but I am so, madly, undoubtedly, in love with you Markus Manfred.”

Be it the wave of emotion, the closeness or the addition of his last name, Markus leant forward and kissed me with all the passion and feeling that was in his body. I had already had my first kiss but this first kiss with Markus made all other kisses before it seem insignificant, the love and sincerity and passion made me dizzy and left a tingling sensation on my lips. After staring into each other eyes giant grins split across our faces and we began laughing, feeling nothing but pure joy Markus spun me around and held me until I realised my food was burning.

We didn’t tell anyone besides Carl because Carl could tell the moment he saw us and trying to hide it from him would have been impossible. Slowly the jericrew and my sibling began to catch on and we eventually told them but still kept our relationship lowkey, being the first android/human relationship and said android being the leader of the revolution made Markus very wary to let it be public.

Our relationship is full of love and support and goofiness and comfort and is so sickeningly sweet, we call each other pet names and cuddle and cover each other in kisses and we never have enough compliments for the other. We can’t go out on public dates for the beginning of our relationship so Markus will plan private dates like inviting me to Carl’s house and playing piano for me and dancing with me or sneaking into my house and making a pillow fort and having a movie marathon with me but eventually when we can go on public dates he takes me on roadtrips, to the beach, nature walks, an actual movie theater, rollerblading, so many dates.

He doesn’t need to sleep but he loves having me curled up on his chest with his arms wrapped around me protectively, he loves watching me so peaceful and loves even more when I slowly open my eyes and greet him with a small hum in the morning. He’ll make me a coffee and breakfast in the morning and if he has the day off he’ll spend it with me and sometimes we’ll go see Carl, my sibling or the jericrew!!

We end up moving in together and getting two dogs!! A chihuahua named Ralph and a husky named Carl!! (You may be wondering how I know Ralph in this au, he was one of the damaged androids we helped and took in and I!! Became very fond of him!!)

Thank you for asking about me and Markus and letting me get out this word vomit i adore him with my heart and soul and will never pass up an opportunity to yell about him!!! Lemme know if you want me to ramble about the other two au’s because I am down to do that always!!!! Anyway thank you again and I hope you’re having an awesome day/night wherever you are anon 💜💜💜

[stylinsonlibrary]

Hello, sweetheart(s). Could you please list some enemies to lovers aus that are sort of underrated? Just, generally undiscovered. Thank yiu very much

UNDERRATED ENEMIES TO LOVERS FIC REC

(Enemies to lovers fics that have under 10k hits!)

I’ll Be There (5k)

Louis is less than thrilled to find out his roommate has coerced his nemesis to check on him whilst he’s sick in bed. However, Harry seems to take great pleasure in taking care of Louis. Maybe this green smoothie drinking, hot yoga instructing, hair in a bun wearing, pretentious art history studying wanker isn’t so bad after all.

On Monday, Louis thinks Harry’s a twat. By Friday, he’s thinking of reasons for him to stay.

Let’s Go Get Away (6k)

When Louis had moved to the island a year ago, he only wanted two things: to serve good food to good people, and to live on the beach.

Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently the universe thought so, because Louis had only gotten three months of blissful, uninterrupted beach living before Harry Styles moved in to the empty shop next door. Louis was hoping whoever took over the space might be a tour guide, or even another restaurant (with non-competing menu options, of course), but no – he had gotten Harry Styles. The guy who wore Hawaiian dad-shirts unironically. The guy who spent his time making soap by hand out of goat’s milk.

Or, a fluffy AU in which Louis owns a restaurant that’s next door to Harry’s shop, and Louis is completely unaware how smitten he really is.

Vanity and Pride (9k)

“And you have more important faces to remember than the one who helps you get all pretty for the people you actually care about impressing, yeah I get it.” Louis says, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head. Unbelievable.

“No, it’s just-” Harry tries to explain.

“Look, it’s fine. You’re definitely not the first conceited model to inadvertently snub me, don’t you worry.” Louis tells him, and a part of him wants to go full-on Made in Chelsea and throw what’s left of his vodka tonic in Harry’s stupid pretty face.

One Taste And He Want It (9k)

Stan: Yeah, dude. Listen to Steve and Oli, as much as I hate to say it.

Perrie: Well I’m supportive. If you two actually got together, it would be super cute. Perrie: Jesy says she stans you and supports your marriage

Stan: Shut up, Perrie. He doesn’t need more fuel for this. Stan: For real, Louis, I don’t think it’s a good idea.

Louis: Too late. I’m captain, which means my vote counts more than yours, and my mind’s already made up. I’m gonna woo him and learn about his team and we’re gonna kick their asses.

Or the one where Harry and Louis are the captains of the two Frisbee Battles teams in the finals, and Louis has to find a way for his team to win. Seduction is, naturally, the only option.

Same White Shirt (10k)

“Oh my God. What are you holding?”

Harry was startled to hear an English voice coming from behind him that he didn’t know. He’d thought he knew all the English employees around here. When he turned around there was a man with the most stunning eyes and incredible cheekbones known to man in the doorway looking with absolute distaste at the suit Harry had just been thinking of so fondly.

“It’s my suit for the show,” Harry said firmly. This guy was obviously an assistant if the badge and plate of fruit he was holding were anything to go by, but as he began walking to where the table was in the room, Harry noticed he was walking with a slight limp. Oh shit.

Or the one where Harry’s on the Late Late Show for a week and several misunderstandings with a certain mouthy assistant James recently hired make things that much more interesting.

feel my heart beating (12k)

‘90s AU where Louis’ addicted to matchmaking and Harry’s just playing along.

Rush Hour (14k)

“You know,” Harry says,leaning against the wall of the tube. “I could do a photoshoot of you and your calculator. I’d give you a generous discount.”

They stop at Oxford Circus and Louis scoots closer to Harry in order to make room for those exiting. “Well there’s an idea I’ve never thought of before.”

“I’d be very tasteful,” Harry nods his head. “It could be a nude shoot! Nothing but your calculator to cover your, um, your Piccadilly.”

“Oh my God!” Louis exclaims, laughter coming out in between words. “You did not just call my dick "my Piccadilly.”

or the one where Louis is an accountant in the City who hates his job and Harry is a photographer with bad jokes. They have the same commute on the tube.

Cuffed (15k)

What would you do if you were handcuffed to your enemy for 48 hours?

You’re So Square (Baby I Don’t Care) (15k)

“So does it say who my new co-counsellor is?”

“Yeah, it does.” Zayn doesn’t even try to hide his smirk and Louis just knows.

He sucks in a breath. “It’s that bloody Styles kid, isn’t it?”

Zayn starts cackling, and Louis takes a moment to rethink every life decision he’s ever made, figure out where he went wrong and why karma hates him so much.

“I’m stuck with Britain’s Biggest Boy Scout for the rest of the summer, aren’t I?”

Or a summer camp au where Louis tries to sort out whether he wants to murder or snog his perky co-counsellor.

You’ve got me running from the daylight (15k)

If there was one thing that Louis had never, ever wanted in his whole vampire life, it was having to protect a bratty newborn from five fucking vampire clans. Too bad he got stuck with the assignment anyway.

Or the one where Harry and Louis are both vampires and acting like assholes towards each other until at some point they can’t anymore.

The Man I Love (15k)

It’s the Roaring Twenties, a time of blissful prosperity, overflowing champagne flutes, adrenaline-filled dancing, and the rise of the Jazz Age—and Louis Tomlinson absolutely abhors it all. A stickler for modest classics, jazz is the bane of Louis’ existence.

Coincidentally, Harry Styles is the bass player for an underground jazz band.

Or The 1920s AU where Louis is a hardworking, no nonsense paralegal, Harry is in love with the greatest city on earth, Zayn is the enigmatic leader of the band, Niall’s just there to make sure everyone’s having a good time, and Liam is the barber who started it all.

hope your heart is strong enough (19k)

Doctors AU. Louis and Harry were taught in medical school that you will not be able to save everyone but that’s just life, it happens. That doesn’t mean they’re not going to try.

Can’t Start A Fire Without A Spark (22k)

Louis Tomlinson is the pop sensation with his first new single out since taking a personal hiatus from the spotlight. Harry is a paparazzi hired to photograph him during promo. Louis hates paparazzi with a passion, but there’s just something about the pretty young pap with wide green eyes and chocolate curls that Louis can’t shake from his head.

Dust to Dust (23k)

“There’s no way it’s true.” Harry shrugged, letting out a small laugh. “Louis can’t be… dead.”

Dead. The force of the word hit Harry like a ton of bricks. There were actually rumours that his Louis was dead. His heart rate picked up. It wasn’t true. No way.Harry, an active participant in the One Direction Tumblr fandom, comes across a rumour that Louis died and has been replaced with a lookalike.

On The Open Road (24k)

Harry and Louis grew up together, they shared childhood and teenage memories, but they never really got along.

What happens when they reunite after four years of not seeing each other, and they find out that the person they hated so much is not the same person anymore?

Or a short roadtrip!au in which Harry and Louis have to travel together across the US, deal with the past and of course, share a bed.

Gold Running Through My Veins (24k)

Harry can’t help himself when he leers. No one ever said you had to be unaffected by your own teammate’s body. Louis has a great one. He’s compact with muscle, curves in places Harry could only dream to touch one day. They hate each other, on the surface. It’s always been this way. Some ribbing here, some eyebrow raises there. But Harry would be lying if he was forced to admit he’s never thought of Louis in a different way.

“Take a picture, Styles. It’ll last longer,” Louis says as he ambles past with Zayn. His board shorts brush Harry’s shoulder, water droplets cool to the touch.

“Fuck off,” Harry responds. He’s got his part to play.

Or, an Olympic gymnastics AU that finds sworn enemies Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson on the same Olympic team, battling it out for gold medals in Belgium while they fall, quite stubbornly, in love. Featuring a steamy striptease in an empty gym, Harry canoodling with a gymnast from another country, a bit of sight-seeing in gorgeous Belgium and some really delicious waffles.

As Good As It Gets (27k)

Louis’s arms fling out, almost hitting Harry in the face. “Of course you did! You constantly made me feel small, insignificant, Harry. It wasn’t until that last day that you really made me feel worthless though.”

“I had no idea…” He says in wonder. Did he really?

“You had no idea? Why is it so hard for me to believe that? You knew Harry, and you enjoyed it. Because when you made me feel small, you made yourself feel big. But I decided I wasn’t going to be around to prop you up anymore. And I’m not going to be around to do it now, so just, please, leave me alone.“

Or the enemies to lovers/roommates AU where Louis and Harry really don’t get along until they just kind of… do.

Sail into the Sun (31k)

Prince Louis Tomlinson is sick of the closet. Harry Styles is a con man with a hatred of rich people. Louis needed a way out, Harry needed a husband. It was a mutual agreement. Doesn’t mean they have to like each other.

How Far We’ve Come (32k)

“This is Harry Styles,” Chiron offers.

He’s beautiful. His eyes are a stunning green, the color of new foliage. The new kid’s limbs are long and lanky—he looks extremely uncomfortable and uncoordinated. Louis internally smirks to himself, guessing the kid probably won’t be too skilled with a sword, or a bow, or anything sharp, most likely. His hair falls to his shoulders in sets of loose, brown curls. The color is rich and luscious, resembling soil so much that it looks like flowers could sprout from his hairline at any moment. But Louis’ eyes are stuck on his soft looking lips, pink as flower petals and slightly parted as his eyes scan the horizon of the camp.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Harry.”

Before We Evaporate (37k)

Louis Tomlinson; executive chef and owner of his own five star restaurant, been voted one of the top chefs in London, and has won several awards for his work in the kitchen. He’s always dreamed of being on Chopped, but never believed it would actually happen. Until it does. Now that he’s officially made it onto the show, there’s one tall, curly haired distraction that might just ruin everything for him.

Or the kinda sorta enemies to lovers Chopped AU with far more smut than necessary.

Move On Back To Me (41k)

Louis Tomlinson had moved on, made a new life for himself in London as a successful solicitor, so why now did his past have to resurface after all this time. Despite the years that have gone by, a ridiculous growth spurt and an obnoxious man bun, he would still be able to recognise Harry Styles anywhere, even if it just so happened to be in his office’s kitchen making tea.

A lawyer AU, featuring reluctant case partners, hurt feelings, a footie team that can’t seem to catch a break and a misunderstanding, but ultimately a plan for love to win out, along with the help of some good friends.

Crying lightning (42k)

Louis doesn’t remember the accident, and when he wakes up he finds that he doesn’t remember any of the last ten years of his life either. All he knows is there’s some curly-haired bloke by his bed claiming to be the husband he shares a house, a dog, and a life with, two siblings he’s never met before waiting for him in the waiting room, and more niggling questions at the back of his head than anyone can physically answer.

This really isn’t how he planned to spend his Wednesday.

Here (In Your Arms) (42k)

College AU where Louis is the upperclassman frat boy with problems too deep for alcohol to drown out, and Harry is the stereotypical freshman with plans to figure out who he is.

OR Louis has a lot more issues than not letting anyone into his room, and Harry can’t help but help the needy.

You Took My Soul And Wiped it Clean (Our Love Was Made for Movie Screens) (48k)

His world began to grow back. He graduated with his three best mates, went off to uni, was majoring in education, managed to get decent grades. He was doing fine without Harry Styles in his life. One boy who he knew for five weeks five years ago was nothing. Harry Styles was nothing.

Except he wasn’t. Except that whenever something happened, Louis wanted to call up Harry and tell him. Except that whenever Louis ate a pastry, he told himself that it’d never be as good as the ones Harry could make. Except that coffee no longer tasted as good as it had when he’d been sitting across from a pretty boy with pretty curls and pretty lips and pretty green eyes. Except that in spite of everything, Harry Styles was still everything.

Louis was doing a pretty good job at pretending Harry Styles didn’t exist in the world - up until one of his housemates moves out, and he and his three best mates are in search of a fifth person to split the bills with and Harry Styles shows up on their doorstep.

Galileo (63k)

“Dangerous? Not haute?” Harry mused. “Why not haute?”

“‘Course you’re haute, babe,” Louis smiled. He reached out to fix a stray curl that had dropped down onto Harry’s forehead. Harry stared at him with a dimpled smile, and Louis reared his head back to laugh. Harry craned his head back in parallel with Louis’s, watching him. He couldn’t peel his eyes away. Louis Tomlinson laughing was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“You’re a whole other level of charming, you know that?” Louis said. Harry leaned forward to kiss Louis. They both closed their eyes, savoring the moment. It was a kiss that should have happened ages ago.

Louis was captain of the state championship high school soccer team. Harry was that gorgeous, scarf-wearing, long-limbed British kid in his art class. They weren’t supposed to be friends.

But somewhere along the line, Louis Tomlinson opened the locked mystery that was Harry Styles.

Tastes like Gold (73k)

AU. A lot of musicians dream about making it big and Harry is no exception. He has all the pieces to build a rocket ship to the music industry, but he’s missing the key. The songwriter. Ft. overbearing mangers, stunts, and a grumpy Louis Tomlinson.

you’re cold and I burn (77k)

Louis’ love for pretty colors and aesthetics, paired with his immense passion for painting beautiful flowers has stars in his eyes and thoughts of a successful career.

unfortunately, budding artists will struggle at first, so, cue the unwanted roommate. it only gets worse when the new addition is a sarcastic, flirty, and style-ignorant annoyance. all complete with a dingy leather jacket and a vast array of tattoos.

Bullet in the Dark (93k)

Louis hates college. But he hates Harry more. Well, sometimes hate can turn to love though… right?

[spiderwebofthemind-blog]

Here is the deal, over the last couple years I became really close to some people and made my relationships stronger with the people I have had in my life for a long time, which is GREAT. But over the last year I have watched those relationships crumble, fracture, and some disappear. I feel so dramatic because it’s not like all my friendships are this way, but the ones that are still intact are no longer a main focus. People are moving on, they are falling in love and dealing with life things, and I am just here. I love there Facebook posts of engagements rings, marriages, new babies, and more. I consistently try to reach out to my friends I thought cared for me and each time I am let down, sometimes in small ways and in others very large ways. I walk through stores and see things that remind me of these people, and have to talk myself out of buying all sorts of gifts for people who don’t even know if I am alive or not anymore. I recently celebrated my 27 birthday, birthdays are big deal to me. I love decorating for others, giving gifts, and making sure they feel loved and cared for… but my own birthday did not provide any of these things to me. I felt like an after thought for most of my friends. I felt like a nuisance to my family. And overall I felt like I just like I didn’t matter, to anyone. Now, I know that is not true… but gosh I felt so small and insignificant, you really couldn’t tell me otherwise. Here I am three days later, and I am still feeling so small… and if I am being honest with myself I haven’t felt much bigger or significant for weeks. I have convinced myself that the friendships that are good are just being charitable, and that the people who have left me in the dust have done it rightfully so. I constantly have a lump in my throat, and I am desperately looking for a way out of this feeling. It just keeps getting tighter and tighter and I don’t think I can shake it. I can’t pretend that I am this tough, happy for lucky individual anymore. I have heard so many times that people don’t “worry about me, because I can take care of myself” and that is mostly true. But SHIT. I am tired, and I just want someone to put me first. I want to someone to care for me with out me having to beg for it. As I am writing this all I can think about is that I am just being a drama Queen, and I should be grateful for what I have. I have disgusted myself with my attitude. I have no empathy for how I am doing, and I am not doing well. But people have it way worse, right? I mean my family may not have said anything to me on my birthday, but at least I have a family. My best friends may have cancelled on me for my own birthday party, but at least they posted on my Facebook wall “happy birthday”. I may have had to sacrifice everything stupid thing I actually wanted to do, but at least my sister and best friend were in town. My best friends never posted about me, but that is superficial and it doesn’t really matter. Again things could be way worse, right? And all of these things that have really hurt my feelings, they aren’t that big of a deal so why am I complaining? Ugh. I wish I could be more open about my feelings, but some of the people I confide in are some of the influences on how I currently feel. And really who wants to hear me bitch about things that are not a big deal anyway? I just don’t know how much more I can really handle. I am going to fall apart soon, and it is not going to be pretty. But what can you do? Anyway, thanks for coming to this vent session, please pretend you never saw it.

[whatareyoulikeincapslock]

Portland, LA

“You look like you’ve shit your pants” says Michelle, a middle aged woman from Glen Roy, who I’ve met over breakfast bagels. She’s on a whirlwind tour with her friend, and scoffs at my hiking stories. My back is seizing worse than ever today and I find that stretching out my hip flexors seem to give me less relief than previous days. I’m starting to think I may have strained a ligament in my back now. I haven’t had a proper bed in three weeks, a spring loaded mattress or a lower plastic bunk bed has been the best case scenario, amongst hammocks and dirt and sleeping bags and couches.

I make my way on the metro to the airport after giving the reception the wine I don’t want anymore. I haven’t wanted to drink since waking up in the Fart Princesses bed. I can’t sit still on the metro as my hips keep tightening and my legs are vibrating pain, so I stand and make all sorts of weird stretches until I get to the terminal, where a man sees me stretching my hips out on the floor in the boarding lounge. He asks me if I have a running injury, and I tell him I’ve hiked 100k in two weeks. He says he’s run 200k: he’s an ultra marathon runner. I’ve read a few books on ultra marathons and I think it’s incredibly hardcore and super impressive. He is well over 60 and looking after his grandkids, and the guy is fitter than anything. He’s done two 100k runs in two weeks, and the last one took him ten hours, which is so impressive I nearly fall off my chair, except that I’m already on the floor stretching into pigeon pose.

By the time I get on the plane my back is radiating pain down my legs and I’m starting to worry.

I meet a 75 year old woman in the seat next to me who comments on my one Portland souvenir: a sweater that says “body by pastrami” that I am planning on wearing til its rags. Especially since ironically, I’ve probably lost some weight out here, though I haven’t properly checked. I also haven’t eaten any pastrami, but that’s beside the point.

I’ve been thinking deeply about sobriety again after yesterday’s discussion with chris. I started to talk about the book “this naked mind” by Annie grace, and how society is governed so much by alcoholcentricity that it is saturated to the point of external validation being completely biased.

We spoke about his friend who has a drinking problem and how the neural pathways can suffer a degeneration so severe that you can’t come back from it. And it occurred to me whilst I was preaching this that I had been black out twice in two days and it was the first time I had a bender like that in while. I didn’t feel guilty about it, but it made me worry about the injuries I’d sustained and whether that would have been different if I hadn’t drank. I would surmise that yes, considering that alcohol in vast amounts or even small ones can affect muscle recovery. I wonder what my capacity to hike would be if I was not sinking well above my average units of alcohol. The man who does ultra marathons had inspired me to start running again, but I know I can’t do it if I’m drinking, not in the capacity that I’m allowing myself to. Maybe not at all, whilst I train and build my body to overcome large distances.

Renee said that Muay Thai had helped her discover something she didn’t want to drink for, and I could see that, and feel that, when I was hiking. I would purposely not drink or only drink a bit before a hike the next day. But as soon as I had recovery time I would go Wild with it.

I think about Nathalie often on this trip because I’m still so pissed off at her reaction to me, but I realise lately that I have to let it go because otherwise it will prove to be cancerous for me and my propensity to be defiant and then just drink because someone tells me I can’t, which makes me understand why they try to break down your ego and humble you in AA. Because some people really don’t like being told what to do, to the point where they will do things they don’t even want to, to prove a point. And I’m one of them, which makes me want to shatter my ego to slivers and throw it out to the universe.

So much of this trip has me confronting the ridiculousness of my pride and ego. Somewhere recently I managed to pick up some large amount of insecurity, that has completely blown out my ego. I have become more sensitive lately, to my distaste, and I don’t quite know how to fix it.

I wonder if it had something to do with my time at refresh, and whether James not believing I had filled my capacity at any point had me wearing myself so thin that I blew out on feeling unworthy. Also, my penchance for unavailable men, which has me clinging to the narrative that I am too much, and not able to be loved, and unsure of how to love in an adequate way.

So much of this year has made me realise how much of a child I still am, and I wonder if we ever really get it together, or if we cover it with husbands and children and study and distractions large enough to identify ourselves by so we don’t have to face our lack of growth.

It is a slow process, realising you don’t know anything and then attempting to wrangle the beast that is a life that is constantly in transit.

And hiking mountains makes you completely aware of how insignificant and tiny you are in the grand scheme of things. I wonder what I can do in my life to influence the people around me enough to ensure that my name is said in reference to joy or insight after I am dead.

I wonder how far reaching kindness is, and I wonder if I have been kind enough lately, and I wonder if that is why I have felt my ego rising up to meet me with such aggressive fervour.

I keep hitting the left side of my body, cuts on my knees, restubbing my toe a million times a day because I have no toenail and I’m sleeping on a top bunk so low that I keep sitting up and smacking my head on the ceiling and then smacking my toe following that. My body is covered in bruises from hiking, clumsiness and drunkenness. The hike has left me with small scratches all over my feet that are stinging constantly. I still want to hike the Hollywood sign though. It will be the last hike of the trip and I think, a great place to end.

I listen to Halsey and G-Eazy on the plane and think about publicly being obsessed with someone to the point of making music talking about dying with them and then breaking up in the public eye.

I wonder if they then just refuse to play that song in their tours again, probably.

It makes me think about infatuation and love and how flawed we all are. Love seems uncomfortable, sacrificial. Infatuation is great, I wonder if it continues to come around in long term relationships if you try hard enough, and what those steps are. I guess that life is a series of storms you weather together, like they say. I wonder how often in love that you actually like each other, and how often you wish for something else, and whether it’s really worth it or just something we dreamed up because were animals that need to procreate and loneliness is debilitating. And whether fear of dying alone and unsupported plays a starring role in the perception of a relationship over the years. And then I think, tomorrow I could fall off a cliff and then I would never have to worry about shit like this, and maybe that’s the most comforting thing I have thought all morning.

The lady sitting next to me tells me about how her kids took her to Alaska for her 75th birthday, and whether it makes all the diarrhoea, sickness and relentless verbal slinging matches that occur when you spawn worth it. Whether it’s worth being told you are hated and being terrified of losing them to illness and accidents and hospital visits and mental health. Whether it’s worth the bills and the school and the bail outs and the disagreements. A trip through the wilderness that you could have afforded anyway, but maybe you would spend the time feeling so desperately lonely that your heart is the size of the moon, and the only thing that makes a life worth it is the notion, if not the reality, of love that is unconditional.

As I leave the plane, the lady next to me tells me her name is Pat.

She looks at me from the seat as I’m standing in the isle, fiddling with the strap of my bag.

“I’m envious”, she says.

I laugh, but the words curl themselves into my rib cage, and I wonder if they’re true.

[imagine-lovebug]

Dreams [3]  (Peter Parker x Reader)

I wear this ring my grandma gave me, and I wear it on my ring finger, and people constantly think its either a promise ring or something like that and idk maybe you could do a Peter x reader inspired by this 😂 I made no sense at all maybe you’ll get inspired by this probably not but eh 😂💖💖💖

[1] [2]

“From the point where you initiated it to the point where she pulled away,” Tony says harshly, “It’s all she’s talked about for the past week. I was only able to get her out of bed yesterday. Peter, you’re the first person who she ever gave a damn about. She cared for you. She loves you, and she’s told you that she loves you. Why the fuck would you throw that away?”

Peter’s speechless. Tears run down his face as he tries to form an answer or excuse, but all he can stutter out is a quiet reply of, “I love her too.”

Tony laughs a brittle laugh and paces before Peter, “No,” he says, “you don’t.”

“I do, Mr. Stark, I love (Y/N); I just messed up! Help me fix it, please! I miss her.”

Tony stares at the teenager in disbelief. “Are you— Are you really asking me to help you win my daughter back? She deserves so much better than you.”

“Mr. Star-”

“Leave my daughter alone, Parker. You broke her once, and there’s no way that I will give you another chance just for you to do the same thing again. Not happening.”

The door swings shut with a slam behind Tony as he storms out the classroom, down the hallway and out the front door, a few of his stray tears mixing with the pouring rain. 

Sometimes the smallest of memories, which you thought had drowned in the sea of many, resurface again and cause oceans of feelings to flood your mind. Whether it be a stray photograph you thought you lost, a particular smell or sight or sound, even something as insignificant as a stranger’s hair; it triggers a memory that you’ve tried so hard to forget. This trigger for you is when you walk into your closet to change into another set of pajamas, and you find Peter’s t-shirt hidden between your own. You smile sadly and fiddle with the ring on your finger before pulling the shirt out and holding it before you. 

He had given it to you during a movie night at his apartment. Peter and you had retreated into his room for a movie night and Aunt May promised to stay out of sight unless she was needed. With kisses on both your forehead and his, she left for her room and let you and Peter watch a film. He chose Back to the Future (his second choice after the Star Wars films) and he let you snuggle under his arm. You remember him asking if you were comfortable. You were going to lie and say you were, deciding to sit with your jeans uncomfortably digging into your stomach, but Peter said that you should wear one of his shirts anyway. 

“You’ll look cute.” He kissed your nose and brushed a finger over the small stone on the ring, “I promise.”

A flash of lightning follows a rumble of thunder, and you notice your cheeks are streaked with tears once again. You wipe them away and put some pajama bottoms on and go to walk out of the closet, but you turn after rethinking and put on his shirt as well before turning off the light and walking out of the room. As you get into bed, a few knocks sound at your door. Your father walks through, looks at you with upset eyes, and comes to sit beside you. He kisses your forehead and brushes a hand through your hair.

“It’s still raining, sweetheart,” he whispers with a croaky voice. You can tell he’s been yelling at someone because of how raw he sounds, and the redness around his eyes show he’s been crying too.

“I can’t help it, Daddy. I’m sad.”

“What will make it better, sweetheart? Do you want to have a movie night? Do you want to talk to Nat? I’m just worried, baby girl. You’ve barely left this room in a week.”

You think about it for a moment. “I’ll speak to ‘Tasha.”

The idea of going back to school after seeing Peter and Liz together made you never want to show up; but after Natasha’s advice, you packed your bag and left on Monday. You fiddled with your ring subconsciously like you usually do, somehow getting through your classes with your mind clouded with thoughts of him. You continue spinning the ring until you accidentally twist it off your finger. It lays flat in your palm, and you stare at it like the ring wronged you instead of Peter. You stare until your eyes burn. It’s supposed to symbolize Peter’s promise to love you until he can replace this ring with another. His promise that you’re enough. It’s your constant reminder of him, and that’s why he gave it to you. The bell chimes and signifies the beginning of lunch, so you slip the ring onto your finger again and head towards the cafeteria.

Ned and Michelle sit together at your usual table, but Peter is nowhere to be seen. You look around until you see him seated at the popular table; beside Liz. Your eyes sting with a new wave of tears, but you hold them back and head towards your friends. Michelle stands and walks around the table and pulls you into an embrace. 

“I usually don’t do this, but I’ve missed you,” she says. 

Ned takes MJ’s place and whispers, “I’m glad you’re back. We’ve missed you so much. Debate team sucks without you.”

You chuckle a bit before saying that you’ll be right back. You’re going to see Peter to complete Nat’s plan before you wimp out of it. The ten paces to the popular table take a lot longer than it should, but you get there eventually. Peter sits across from you with Liz beside him. He gasps when he looks up to see your face and goes to stand up. 

“(Y/N)! Oh my god, I’ve missed you so much! I’m so—”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to stand up. I’m just here to get something off my chest.”

“I missed you,” he says, “You didn’t answer my calls or anything.”

“Peter,” you interrupt, “I saw you and Liz that Friday.” 

Liz gasps and both she and Peter automatically reach for apologies and excuses, but you shut them down. 

“I’m not mad,” you say with a straight face, “I’ve come to terms with the fact that you can kiss anyone you’d like. I blamed myself for a while thinking that it was my fault. You giving me this ring gave me the responsibility to fulfill your need for love. I’ve realized, however, that because I’m not enough does not mean I’m not worthy; it just means that you need someone with more to give and I need to find someone who is satisfied with the amount of love I can give.”

“(Y/N), I love you. It was just a mistake! I do love you, that’s why I gave you the ring,” he pleads.

You smile dolefully as a tear rolls down your cheek. “I love you too,” you say, “But I don’t think that’s enough for you anymore.” You gaze dejectedly at the ring on your finger as you fidget with the band. You twist it once more and remove it completely before dropping it to the cafeteria table. It makes a gentle clink echoed by the sound of your heart breaking. “I hope you find someone whose love is enough,” you say and walk away.

Peter remembers a story Tony told one night when he stayed over at the tower; the story of the rings on his necklace. 

“These rings,” he says, holding the chain away from his neck, “Are my parents’ wedding rings. My mom always told me that when I found the right person that I had to propose with hers because it holds the promises of many lifetimes. My great-great-grandfather bought it for my great-great-grandmother on the first day he met her. He always said that people forget the promises that come with a ring: A ring promises commitment, sure, but it also promises that you love someone enough to never let them go. It’s a pledge of faith.”

“I’ll get you one of those one day,” Peter whispered to (Y/N).

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

(A/N) - Wow omg it’s over. I hope you guys liked the series.

Comment if you want to be part of my tag lists! There’s a Peter Parker x Reader tag list, a Tom Holland x Reader tag list, and an Everything tag list.

@sometimesicryintheshower @rlupin-moony @selfishferret @baka-chanismyname @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @cutie1365 @parkersbackpack @andreuskystuff @hollandroos@pammy17 @dailygubler @crystalsinwater @fraunleinlee @synonymforlame @aewhite624 @psycho-fu @grabyourpolaroidandmyhand

[williamlwolf89]

Writing Inspiration: 99 Ways to Get Inspired to Write in 2020

Need some writing inspiration? You’ve come to the right place.

Ugh, it happened again.

Another week or month has passed, and you’ve made zero progress on your writing goals.

Deep down you know your writing is important, but you can’t take consistent action.

What’s really going on here?

The truth is, you don’t feel inspired.

You can’t help but marvel at other writers who do persist, and have a large body of work you can’t even fathom achieving.

How do you get there?

How do you find the inspiration you need to stay the course long enough to become the prolific, popular, and successful freelance writer you dream of becoming?

The Dirty Little Lie You Tell Yourself About Writing Inspiration

If you’re struggling to find writing inspiration, you might be guilty of “believing in magic” when it comes to your writing process.

People who fail to do the things they say they want to do believe in fairy tales, like this one:

One day, for no reason whatsoever, I will find the ultimate source of inspiration that will carry me through to the end of the writing career rainbow. It will happen in an instant, and I’ll never have to “start over” again.

They believe successful writers have “made it,” and have no problem staying motivated because they’ve “arrived.”

This couldn’t be further from the truth.

Regardless of how successful you are, there will be days you feel uninspired. In fact, what once seemed like a passion-filled calling can turn into a bit of a slog after a while.

Professional athletes love the game, but they don’t necessarily want to train their bodies every single day.

Business owners love money and recognition, but they don’t necessarily enjoy the process of getting their business off the ground.

You love expressing yourself with words, but you won’t necessarily enjoy each and every writing session.

You have to learn to inspire yourself every day if you want to turn pro and become a popular author or successful writer. To keep your inspiration fresh, you’ll have to find various unique ways to get inspired.

“People often say that motivation doesn’t last. Well, neither does bathing — that’s why we recommend it daily.” — Zig Ziglar

Fortunately, I have 99 different writing ideas — use them whenever you’re struggling to turn intention into action.

So here’s how to get inspired to write:

1. Do the One Thing They Always Tell Writers Not to Do

Watch T.V. Some of the best writing in the world can be seen in the scripts of your favorite shows. Pay attention to the dialogue, listen for the clever storytelling methods, and use them in your own writing.

Use the ideas of the show creator and the personalities of the characters to get inspired. Think about what goes through Don Draper’s mind when he writes an ad on Mad Men or the way Carrie Bradshaw wove her own life into her daily column on Sex and the City.

Once I paid attention to the writing in my favorite shows, I drew inspiration from the stories and turned a seemingly useless activity into creative fuel.

2. Read Your Old Love Letters

If you’ve been writing for a while, you must have gotten a compliment or two about your work. Keep a file with positive comments you’ve received about your writing. Whether they’re emails or blog comments, reading over compliments you received and hearing how you’ve helped people will motivate you.

3. Embrace Your Insignificance

Realize the universe doesn’t care about you. Oftentimes, we lack inspiration because of fear. We’re afraid because we feel like the world is waiting for us to fail, like there’s a spotlight shining on our inadequacy. We live on a planet that’s one of billions of planets in one of billions of galaxies, each of which contains billions of stars.

In the grand scheme of things, you’re insignificant. Nothing you do “matters,” except that it matters to you. Go for it, because you have nothing to lose.

4. Make the Subtle Shift from Goal-Setting to Habit-Forming

Goals give you inspiration by providing an end point, but habits weave inspiration into the core of your being and make it automatic.

Instead of saying, “I want to finish my manuscript,” say “I want to write 30 minutes per day.” The second statement comes without the pressure of expectation. You’re just putting yourself in a position for continual inspiration.

Habits trump goals every time. The most prolific writers aren’t the most goal-oriented. They’re built to show up every day and do the work.

5. Tell Yourself You’re Not Good Enough

I once heard a story about a successful real estate agent who was constantly asked about how to break into the industry. He gave them all the same answer, “Don’t get into real estate. You’re not cut out for it.” He gave that answer because he knows it acted as reverse psychology for those who were cut out for it, and filtered out those that weren’t.

Try a little reverse psychology on yourself. Try to convince yourself you’re not good enough, and then get offended. Of course you’re good enough! You were born to write. Trick yourself to put a fire in your belly and get inspired.

6. Start a Chain Gang

Buy a calendar. Mark an x on the calendar each time you complete a writing session. When you complete a few days in a row, the x’s start to form a chain. The longer the chain grows, the more inspired you are to keep writing. Picture a calendar with 29 days marked off. You’d almost certainly write on day 30, right?

Visuals and imagery are powerful. Seeing a representation of the work you put in will inspire you to keep working.

7. Become the G.O.A.T.

Focus on becoming so great you can’t be ignored.

Most writers are worried about what the competition is doing and idolize their favorite writers. Instead, you’ll focus on being so good the competition will start to watch you. Embrace the attitude of Michael Jordan in his first few seasons. He knew the league was going to belong to him before it actually did. He put his head down, did the work, and demolished the competition to become the Greatest of All Time. You can be the same.

Put your head down, write, and one day people will say “Who is this?”

8. Take a Dump

Have a bowel movement. I first learned this unusual writing tip from James Altucher. He says if your body isn’t “clear,” your mind won’t be either. You may also come up with some interesting ideas while you’re, erm, indisposed.

9. Embrace Your Inner Hulk

Get angry. Anger is easy to express. When you’re angry you know exactly why something pisses you off. What pisses you off about the world, your niche, or life in general? Vent your frustrations and your powerful words will pour out.

10. Become a Better Writer Without Becoming a Better Writer

Have you ever seen a professional athlete who’s in a slump? Nothing about his routine changes, he plays with the same quality teammates, and the team is run by the same coaching staff. Later, you find out he was having personal issues and that was the source of his decline.

Look at Tiger Woods. He never recovered from his personal scandal. What does that tell you? It tells you life outside your craft is just as important as practicing it, if not more.

Think about how many aspects of your life can affect your writing. Your diet, exercise routine (or lack thereof), relationships with friends and family, and stress level are a few among many factors influencing your writing. When you lack inspiration for writing, look at other areas of your life. If those aren’t going well, your writing will suffer.

11. Make It Impossible to Edit While You Write

Write with the monitor off or with white text. This is the definition of writing a crappy first draft. When you can’t even look at the words on the screen, you won’t be able to enter into self-editing hell while you’re writing. You’ll let loose and write with reckless abandon. Afterward, you can clean up the carnage and make it pretty.

12. Imagine Your Worst-Case Scenario

Think about the worst-case scenario in terms of your writing career and decide you can handle it. Fortunately, the negative consequences are more emotional than tangible or financial in terms of things like writing a book. At the very least, you’re out of a small investment and your ego will get a little dent. You can’t sell negative books. Your worst pain will be the feeling of rejection. Although rejection is a tough pill to swallow, you face bigger dangers in life without fail, like getting in a car and driving it, without batting an eye.

13. Start Acting Like a Child

What advice would a five-year-old give you about your writing? Would they tell you to focus hard, create solid outlines, and hit your daily word count? No. They’d tell you to have fun.

Remember fun? When you were a child, you only cared about exploration. You didn’t waste time worrying about the future. The present was all you knew. I get it. You have “big dreams,” but if you take yourself too seriously, writing will get rote.

If you’re feeling stuck trying to edit your manuscript, write something ridiculous. Write something totally unrelated to your niche for pure fun with no intention of publishing it. Act like a child and watch your curiosity and creativity flourish.

14. Dumb It Down

Stop trying to sound smart. Once you realize you don’t have to write with tons of flowery language and words that could be replaced with simpler words, writing gets easier. People enjoy straightforward writing better anyway.

15. Make Money Your Muse

Take writing jobs as a freelancer if you’re looking to get writing without having to come up with your own blog post ideas. As a freelancer you’ll work within the guidelines of what your client wants. This offers the benefit of making money, plus you’ll develop a writing habit along the way.

16. Use your 9-to-5 to Fuel Your 5-to-9

Scott Adams, most known for his cartoon strip Dilbert, used real-life experiences from his job as inspiration for his work. Charles Bukowski wrote a novel loosely based on his own experiences as a post office employee. Even mundane jobs like these can inspire you to write something interesting about them. Some say you should write what you know. What do you know better than the activity you perform 40 hours per week?

17. Discover the Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up

Create an immaculate space for your writing. A cluttered environment clutters the mind. When you’re in a clean space, you can feel it. That feeling can translate into a calm and focused state of mind while writing.

18. Don’t Believe the Myth

Remember this phrase from Jerry Seinfeld: “Writer’s block is just a made-up excuse for not doing your work.”

19. Sign Your Life Away

Create a contract with yourself. Make an actual signed document stating what you’re going to accomplish with your writing and place it somewhere prominent.

Imagine you’re sitting down to write and you look up to see an agreement you made with yourself, not just mentally, but physically. Wouldn’t that inspire you to hold to your commitment?

These little “nudges” might seem trivial on their own, but combining them changes your environment and makes it more conducive to productivity and creativity.

20. Make Your Writing Career a Family Affair

Communicate your goals with your family and friends. Writing takes up time, and if you’re not clear about your intentions, your spouse or loved ones can start to resent and even become jealous of your writing. Let them know it’s important to you, set boundaries for when you’ll write, and when you’re not writing make sure you’re 100 percent off, meaning you’re spending time with the people you love and not in your head.

21. Get Meta

Write about how you feel about your writing. One of the most successful posts I’ve ever written talked about my struggles with writing. It was meant to be a venting session, but I realized it was worth sharing. Like anger, frustration leads to expression.

22. Converse to Create

If you listen carefully, the conversations you have with other people can inspire you to take something they’ve said and run with it. Listen intently, and see if there’s anything in your dialogue that sparks interest or could be used as a writing topic. Cormac McCarthy said he used actual conversations with his son in the bestselling novel The Road.

23. When Inspiration Fails, Try Desperation

Turn your pain into passion. If you feel the dull monotony of sitting in a cubicle every day pushing papers, working in a factory on the assembly line, or any other job that isn’t being a full-time writer, use that desperation as fuel. Sometimes inspiration isn’t enough. Sometimes you have to get fed up to do the work.

24. WWJD

Ask yourself, “What would Jon do?” If you’ve been following Jon Morrow’s work for any amount of time, you know he has a no-excuses attitude and is driven to succeed. Would Jon give up on a writing session if he wasn’t “feeling it?” Would Jon cry in the corner about someone leaving a negative comment on his blog post? When in doubt, do what Jon does and bang out 1,000 words per day no matter what.

25. Create to Connect

It’s easy to get caught up in numbers — how many subscribers you have, how many views your website gets per month, and how many comments you receive — but remember, you’re writing for real people.

Even if you have just a few readers, get to know them. Send out an email to your tribe telling them they can each get 15 minutes on the phone with you to talk shop.  Add prompts to your blog posts to encourage readers to share their lives with you.

When you create with the intention of connecting with other human beings, it inspires you to work that much harder, because you can feel the person on the other end of the screen.

26. Become the CEO of You, Inc.

Come up with a name for your publishing company. Perhaps you don’t have to go as far as creating an LLC, but do something to establish what you do as an actual career and not just a hobby. If it means spending $25 to get business cards printed, so be it. Something in your mind has to transition into feeling and acting like a pro.

27. Don’t Follow in the Footsteps of Great Writers

Let go of your need to be the next great author. When you compare yourself to the likes of Hemingway, Plath, or Murakami,  it’s hard not to get discouraged about your own writing. Focus on becoming the best writer you can be. There are plenty of successful — and financially independent — writers who aren’t legends, but are pretty damn good. Become pretty damn good.

28. Do the Math

Remind yourself: each time you sit down to write you’re ahead of 99 percent of other aspiring writers. Most people do nothing. They talk, wish, and wonder. The mere fact that your fingers are touching that keyboard makes you special.

Inspire yourself by reminding yourself you’re part of an exclusive club — the doers. I get inspired when I realize the steps I’ve already made go way beyond those of most people. Once your foot is in the door, step all the way through.

29. Answer Random Questions from Total Strangers

Answer questions on Quora. Users on Quora ask questions about topics ranging from personal development to health to what Kim Kardashian’s favorite color is. Other users on Quora answer these questions. Many authors and bloggers use Quora to practice their writing by answering questions. You’re also allowed to leave links in your Quora responses, and many people drive traffic back to their websites through using Quora.

30. Get Zen, Then Pen

I meditate for 20 minutes every morning before I write. When you wake up, you usually start the day feeling anxious. The practice of meditation helps relieve stress and clears your mind of negative thoughts. You’ll feel refreshed before you pen your first word.

The headspace app comes with a series of guided meditations you can use to start fresh every day.

Leo Babauta of Zen Habits has a great introductory post on how to form a daily meditation habit. He also happens to be one of the most prolific and successful bloggers in the world. Coincidence? I think not.

31. Choose Quantity Over Quality

Write ten ideas per day around your writing. They could be ideas for new blog posts, book titles, and book sections or chapters. By the end of the year, you’ll have 3,650 ideas. Most of them will suck, some will be good, and a few will be amazing. Your creative muscles will be strong, and you’ll have endless material to write about.

32. Teach an Old Draft New Tricks

Revise an old piece of writing. This has a two-fold benefit. First, you’ll realize how much you’ve grown since writing that piece, which will give you the confidence to know you’ll improve in the future. Second, if you really add some beef to it, you’ll have a brand new piece of writing to share with the world.

33. Surround Yourself with Great Work

I once visited an art museum that had a photography section. It was filled with famous photos of famous people by famous photographers. I lost complete track of time and was immersed in the photos. When I left the display, I felt almost dizzy. That day, I went home and wrote a couple thousand words in a way that seemed effortless. Seeing great art in other forms can inspire you to create great writing yourself.

Visit a gallery, go to an opera, or watch a play. Feel the passion and inspiration from the artists you just watched, and use it in your own writing.

34. Put a Pot of Gold at the End of Your Rainbow

Setting writing goals doesn’t often work. The reason why they don’t work is because we don’t like to work! We want results. It’s why workout DVDs are called Beach Body or Six Pack Abs in Six Weeks instead of Exercise Regimen for your Core. You know you’ll have to do the work, but the results are what compel you to get started.

Create statements around the rewards you’ll reap from your writing and the results you want, e.g., “Writing my book will give me the money, attention, and sense of accomplishment I’ve always longed for. ” When you think of setting goals and building habits in terms of  the rewards they’ll afford you, you’re more likely to follow through.

35. Drink Rocket Fuel to Skyrocket Your Inspiration

Drink coffee. Coffee has fueled the creative inspiration of writers for centuries. I’m not sure if it’s even possible to write well without it.

36. Journey into the Wild

Go for a walk in nature. There’s an odd connection between walking and inspiration. There’s something about wandering about that stirs up random thoughts in your mind. Ideas come to you when you aren’t so focused on them. A walk in nature will distract you with its beauty enough to make room for the muse to sneak up on you.

37. Switch Your Scenery

Imagine you’re lying back in a hammock in Bali.  You’re surrounded by warm weather and a fresh breeze with a coconut by your side to sip on. You also have your laptop in your lap. That sounds like an inspiring environment to me.

There has long been a link between travel and writing. Seeing new parts of the world is inspiring in and of itself, plus it will surely give you new material to write about as well. Or, heck, just go to your local coffee shop to switch things up.

Even if you can’t make a physical trip, just spending a few minutes visualizing an exotic destination can provide valuable writing inspiration.

38. Devour People’s Brains

Read. Read. Read. You can’t be a great writer without being a great reader. Read a wide range of material. If you write non-fiction, sprinkle some fiction into your reading and vice versa. Reading widely opens new doors in your brain and helps you make odd connections between ideas.

I just finished my second book. I pulled and wove in ideas from billionaires, dead Roman emperors, and Harvard psychologists. I didn’t go searching for the information. I conjured it from the recesses of my mind while writing, because I’ve read 100 books in the past two years. It’s like Neo in The Matrix where he “downloads” the ability to fight in Kung Fu style.

With reading, you can “download” hundreds or thousands of years of human experience and use it at your disposal.

39. Write in This Insanely Inspiring Environment

Write in a bookstore. Writing in an environment surrounded with words is inspiring. Go to your favorite section and browse the titles. Seeing the names on book covers will cause you to picture your name on your first or next book, and you’ll be ready to pen your masterpiece.

40. Put a Gun to Your Head

I submit guest post pitches to various blogs before I feel ready to write them. Once my pitches get accepted, I can’t quit. As you know, it’s a big no-no to flake on a guest blog owner, and I’d never want to ruin my reputation. Finding situations that force your hand can keep you from sitting on the fence.

41. Search for Instant Inspiration

A quick Google search can give you inspiration by spoon-feeding you endless ideas for your writing. If you’re stuck on a topic to write about, do a search about your subject and run with the results. You don’t have to come up with new ideas by yourself all the time. You don’t even have to use the ideas you find to create a finished result.

The process could serve the purpose of getting your fingers moving, which is the most important step.

42. Chase the Muse

Inspiration can be tricky to capture.

To maximize your chances of spotting the muse, come up with clever writing prompts. For example, you can come up with a writing problem you’re trying to solve right before bed, let it stir in your subconscious mind while you sleep, and wake yourself up in the middle of the night and jot down what comes to mind in your hazy subconscious state. You can set prompts on your phone to randomly write whatever comes to mind at the exact time.

Carry a pen and paper with you everywhere you go to capture ideas as they come. It seems mechanical, but careful planning can inspire you to create more.

43. Star in Your Own Montage

Visualize yourself putting in the work it takes to become a great writer. Visualizing the type of outcome you want is effective, but visualizing becoming the type of person capable of achieving those outcomes is even more powerful. Take a few minutes every day and visualize yourself being in a state of flow and writing effortlessly.

It’s like picturing yourself hitting the game-winning shot. If you can see it, you can believe it.

44. Find a Tango Partner

In a rut? Find a writing partner to keep you accountable. Working with someone who’s “in the trenches” like you will help both of you inspire each other. There’s strength in numbers.

45. Find Inspiration in Your Rear-view Mirror

We’ve all had moments in life we cherish. Why not use those moments as inspiration for your writing? If you’re feeling stuck, try to remember an amazing moment in your life — time spent with your children, a vacation you went on, your wedding day — and write about that. The moment will inspire you to write because the moment itself is inspiring. If it was a pivotal moment in your life, you can recall how you felt and what the atmosphere was like.

46. Eviscerate Your Excuses

Find examples to eliminate your excuses. The undisputed heavyweight champion of blogging, our very own Jon Morrow, isn’t able to use his hands, and has written blog posts read by millions. Stephen Hawking moves his cheek muscles to write. You have writer’s block? Boo hoo.

If seeing examples of people with legitimate obstacles thriving at what you do doesn’t inspire you, I don’t know what will. You’ve been blessed in one way or another. Regardless of what you don’t have, you have something someone else would kill for. Be grateful and use your gratitude as a well of inspiration to create.

47. Join a Local Gang

If one partner isn’t enough, you can join groups of writers to increase the effectiveness of group support. I’m part of a local writers’ club where we meet in person, and I’m a member of an online community of writers. We share insights and tips, and keep each other motivated.

48. Fake Your Own Death

Write your obituary. This exercise provides a two-fold benefit. First, you’re putting words on the page. Second, you’re thinking about the type of legacy you want to leave. My guess is you want “renown writer,” or at least “writer,” somewhere in the description. It will remind you of your ultimate mission and the fact you’ll regret it if you fail to follow through.

As best-selling author Stephen Covey says, “Begin with the end in mind.”

49. Tune In to Tune Out Writer’s Block

Listening to music boosts your effectiveness in many areas such as exercise. It’s also a great tool to inspire your writing, as long as you don’t make it a distraction. Some writers have been known to play the same song on repeat while they write, saying it gives them a calming sense and the music fades to the background while they write.

Music has been known to “set the mood” in more ways than one. Pick an inspiring song and let it inspire you to write.

50. Choose the Opinion You Like Best

Have you ever looked at the same piece of writing at different times and had two different opinions?

We’re quick to look at the negative opinions of ourselves and our work and believe them to be true. We accept negativity with alarming ease. Our mind can just as easily believe the good things we tell ourselves about ourselves. The next time you swing between both opinions of your writing, choose the one that inspires you.

It’s okay to toot your own horn (in your mind) when you’ve penned some damn fine words. In fact, you should do it every time you feel good about your writing to keep the inspiration going.

51. Let Your Fingers Do the Talking

Get your fingers moving. The act of typing itself can lead to a flow state and productive writing. Sometimes, I’ll start a blog post by typing “I don’t know what to write about,” just to get my fingers moving. The staring at the blank page without typing contributes to writer’s block.

52. Get Back in Touch with Your “Why”

Remember your why. Did you get into writing because you wanted to improve people’s lives? Do you have interesting stories to share? Do you want to entertain people? Go back to the source of inspiration that made you want to write in the first place. Revisit it often.

53. Find Writing Inspiration in Dark Places

Life throws curve balls at you. While you can’t avoid certain situations from happening to you, you can use them as sources of inspiration to create.

In an extreme example, Viktor Frankl used his experience in a Nazi death camp as inspiration to help others through his writing with his book Man’s Search for Meaning. You can let negativity overwhelm you, or you can use your experiences to inspire yourself in a cathartic way through your words.

54. Remember that Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Have you ever had a loved one go on an extended trip? When they come back, you’re overjoyed to see them, and you cherish the moments you have together a little bit more than usual. Why not create instant inspiration by doing the same with something you wrote?

Take a draft you’ve worked hard on and “lock it away” for a week or two before you revise or add to it. If you distance yourself from it for a bit, you’ll be inspired to jump back into a relationship with it, just like a loved one coming back from their trip.

55. Look Back and See How Far You’ve Come

Think about something that was once hard for you to do, but you now find easy. When you’re struggling to put together an introduction, edit the chaff from your sentences, or transition between points, remember that practicing these things will lead to a point where it becomes second nature.

56. Picture Your Name on a Best-Selling Book

If you’ve never written a book before, go to Canva’s free book cover maker tool and create your own custom book cover. Stare at it and imagine how it will feel to have a published book with your name on it in the future. The first time I held a copy of something I created, I was euphoric. I continue to chase that feeling each time I write.

57. Let Life Inspire Art

Many imagine successful writers as people locked up in cabins with typewriters, toiling away at their work in isolation until they resurface with their manuscripts. Some of the best writers, like Hemingway, spent as much time living and adventuring as they did writing.

If you want to make your writing more interesting, make your life more interesting. If you’re feeling frustrated, step out into the world, enjoy it, and let your experiences compel you to write again.

58. Keep Your Eye on the Prize

Enter a writing contest. Writing contests often pay for top prize winners. There’s one incentive.

The popular writing blog The Write Practice hosts writing contests multiple times per day. During its most recent contest, the blog partnered with Short Fiction Break, which displayed every single piece submitted to the contest. They encouraged writers in the contest to comment on each other’s pieces and get to know each other, which created a hotbed of inspiration.

Knowing you’re a part of something larger than yourself can be inspiring. Use a writing contest to show the world what you’ve got.

59. Act Like a Hollywood Script Doctor

Rewrite a dissatisfying ending of a popular movie, short story, or book. It’ll get you in the mood to write because you’re familiar with the subject matter. If you have the gall to rewrite a popular story, you should be confident enough to create your own.

60. Don’t Fall into the Routine Trap

Write when you’re most creative. You don’t have to be a morning person to write well.

Some people are more creative at eleven at night. Blindly copying routines that don’t suit you is a surefire way to fail. Create an environment and schedule that aligns with your strengths.

61. Make a Creative Pilgrimage

This may seem a bit drastic, but moving to another city can inspire you to be more creative.

In his book Where Good Ideas Come From, Stephen Johnson claims that moving to a more populated city fosters creativity through “superlinear scaling,” which is a fancy way of saying that the more people you’re exposed to, the more creative you are. Maybe you’re not in a position to move, but if you’re young and mobile, perhaps you should take your talents to the Big Apple or out West.

62. Exercise Your Neurons

Your brain needs exercise like any other part of your body. If you’re not feeling inspired, try playing some games that involve words. Hitting a triple word score in Scrabble can remind you of your creative writing prowess. The education company Lumosity has a line of brain games that help you increase your vocabulary.

One of my inspirations for writing is the words themselves. I was one of the weird kids who looked forward to vocabulary tests, because new words excited me and stimulated my brain. Play brain games with words to inspire yourself to pen them.

63. Cast Yourself Away

Go on a thinking retreat. Bring books to read, but no electronics. Spend time alone to be with your thoughts and consider what steps you want to take in your writing career. Bill Gates does this for two weeks every year to crystallize his vision for Microsoft’s future as well as his charity foundation. You’re not a billionaire with unlimited free time, so a day or two will suffice.

64. Use These Two Words as Inspiration

Interesting questions lead to interesting answers. Many of the best pieces of writing started with the phrase, “What if?”

Use hypothetical questions to inspire new ideas. For example, you could ask, “What if I wrote a piece saying the exact opposite of what most people believe about _____?” or “What if we lived in a world where everyone was bluntly honest all the time?” These types of questions create open-ended areas to explore, giving you new material to think about and write about.

65. When in Doubt, Ship

Seth Godin has written 18 books, and has been quoted as saying, “I feel like a fraud as I read you this, as I brush my teeth, and every time I go on stage. This is part of the human condition. Accept it. Now what?”

Other creative people like Neil Gaiman and Tina Fey have reported feeling the same way, regardless of the amount of work they’ve put into the world.

What’s the difference between them and the people who let their inspiration die? They ship.

They put their work into the world regardless of how they felt about it, and it paid off. If they can create while plagued with doubt, so can you.

Look far and wide for examples of successful writers and you’ll find one common denominator — and it sure as heck isn’t procrastination. It’s shipping. Let their stories inspire you to do the same.

66. Let Technology Lend a Helping Hand

Use idea-generating tools from companies like Hubspot and Portent’s Content. With ready-made ideas and headlines, you should have everything you need to get started.

67. Be a Little Creepy

Have you ever looked at a couple across the room at a restaurant and wondered what their lives were like?

Have you ever walked past an older person at the park and thought about what crazy experiences they’ve had?

People-watching can be great inspiration for writing. You can observe people you don’t know, and let the mystery of their lives inspire you to write a story about what they could be like. It’s part writing exercise, yes, but knowing you can draw material from anywhere is inspiring.

68. Eat a Sh** Sandwich

Charles Bukowski once said, “Find what you love and let it kill you.”

He was referring to what many, including bestselling author Elizabeth Gilbert, call a “shit sandwich.”

If you don’t love something enough to go through pain for it, you don’t really love it. Your shit sandwich is the one thing you cherish so much you can endure for it. How is that inspiring? Well, if you’re capable of going through heartache for something, it has an inspiring quality drawing you to do so, or else you wouldn’t do it.

Is writing your shit sandwich? If so, get really hungry, because life is going to give you an all-you-can-eat buffet.

69. Say “Hi, My Name Is _____”

Attend a conference for writers in your niche. You have to be careful with conferences because they’re a waste of time if you go without any predefined goals, but they’re great for meeting and affiliate yourself with industry insiders and the atmosphere of the event will make you want to perform well when you get home.

70. Go to the Source

Reach out to your favorite writers and ask for advice. Many people do this, but they do it the wrong way.

First, send them a message simply thanking them for the work they’ve done and leave it at that. Tell them how you’ve implemented something they’ve taught you. After your initial outreach, come back later and ask a specific question regarding a situation. Don’t just say “let me pick your brain.” Most are willing to help if they’re not too busy.

Some won’t respond, but others will. Use their words as inspiration, follow up with their advice, and let them know when you’ve implemented it.

71. Get Yourself Some Education

Take an online course on writing. I took Smart Blogger’s Guest Blogging Certification Program. Before taking the course, I wouldn’t have had the guts to pitch big-name blogs. I thought they were “off limits.” Seeing examples of people who went through the course, some of whom built million dollar businesses with the course being the catalyst for their growth, inspired me to level up my game.

Finding the right online courses by the right instructors makes a world of difference. Having a laid-out blueprint for success gives you confidence to follow through with the steps required to build something valuable.

72. Pat Yourself on the Back

Take a piece of writing you’ve done and evaluate it based solely on what you like about it. Even if it’s just one sentence. Find something to highlight as inspiration to keep writing in the future.

73. Follow The Artist’s Way

Use stream-of-consciousness writing like Julia Cameron’s famed morning pages to get your creative juices flowing. Many writers swear to this strategy, saying it unlocks the creativity hidden in their subconscious minds.

74. Find Inspiration in Everyday Heroes

I once listened to a podcast by serial self-publishing author Steve Scott. He was recapping the strategies from his latest book launch, which resulted in $60,000 in royalties.

Hearing his story was inspiring because he isn’t Malcolm Gladwell. He started self-publishing books and kept doing it until he figured out how to become one of the best. He’s what you would call an ordinary person doing something extraordinary in the publishing world. There are many examples of self-published authors you can use as inspiration. Find them on Amazon and read their stories.

Once you know it’s possible to make a killing without the gatekeepers, you’ll be inspired to do it yourself.

75. Embrace Your Inner Barbara Walters

Interview people in your niche about a topic you’re interested in. Creating profiles of other people might seem less daunting than coming up with a topic from scratch. You can use their stories in your books or blog posts.

76. Dare to Be Different

Embrace your inner weirdo. Your idiosyncrasies and strange ideas are what make you you. Don’t be afraid to show them. The more personality you put into your writing, the better.

77. Throw Your Big Hairy Goals in the Garbage

When I encounter someone who has a puffed-up chest and talks about what they’re going to do, I know they’re going to fail. Most “grand missions” end abruptly. To stay inspired, gain momentum. To gain momentum, create the smallest goals possible. Your brain likes to “win.” If you set laughably achievable goals and succeed, your brain equates it with making progress. A series of small wins is better than no wins.

For example, if your goal is to write 250 words per day, and you reach it every day for a week, it will inspire you to either write at the same pace again or up your word count. If instead, you’d started out by setting a goal of writing 1,000 words per day, you could’ve gotten discouraged and quit. The first goal inspires you to continue, while the second is demotivating.

78. Stop When You Hit the Sweet Spot

Cut your writing short right when you’re in the groove. Pick up where you left off the next day. You’ll be inspired to dive back into the page because you’ll have been thinking about where you left off.

79. Sleep with the Enemy

Make friends with fear. The sooner you stop expecting fear to go away, the better off you’ll be. Remind yourself that fear is a sign of you doing something amazing with your life — something most others won’t do.

Fear is the enemy of inspiration, but thriving in spite of your fear is inspiring. If you’re afraid of being criticized, hit publish anyway and feel inspired from overcoming the hurdle. If you fear your writing won’t be captivating, press through and ship, because one day you’ll write something people will love.

Action is the best deterrent to fear, but it never erases it. Each step you take forward alongside your fear will inspire you to do it again and again.

80. Bore Yourself to Death

You stare at the blank page and nothing comes to mind. You feel blank and stuck. You’re bored.

Good.

Boredom filters out the pretenders from the contenders. Sometimes inspiration won’t sneak up on you until you stop looking for it. If you stop trying to force the situation and let the words come to you, they’ll come. Those writing sessions where you’d normally quit after ten minutes of boredom may bring a creative breakthrough at the eleventh minute.

81. Literally Write for One Person

The idea of writing for one person has been offered time and time again, but what if you went into insane detail about the person you’re writing for?

Instead of writing for “a member of your target audience,” come up with a customer avatar even an experienced marketer would find a bit obsessive.

Something like:

“Mary Elle Christiansen is a forty-year-old woman with two children — Jeremiah, 14, and Deanna, 11. She lives in Cranston, Rhode Island. Every morning after dropping the kids off to work she visits her favorite breakfast spot, Harriet’s Kitchen, and has a pecan maple danish with a Venti caramel iced macchiato — with an extra “half pump” of caramel.

After her meal, she settles in, opens her computer, and writes. She’s working on a memoir. Her late husband, Jim, was an air force veteran. She was an air force wife. Her entire family traveled the world together, moving from base to base. The constant motion was turbulent at times, but Mary was a supportive wife through and through. She wouldn’t be happy if her husband wasn’t. After Jim died — during a tragic flight exercise gone wrong — Mary was left with a large life insurance settlement, a pit of loneliness in her stomach, and an unrealized dream of becoming a writer she suppressed for her family. It’s just her, her children, and her laptop now.“

It wouldn’t be hard for me to write a blog post to inspire Mary Elle. Get insanely specific about who you’re writing for to the point of absurdity, and get inspired to benefit that person’s life.

82. Have an Affair

Many of the world’s most successful creators had extra hobbies that had nothing to do with their main craft. Try drawing, playing music, or making pottery. Take time to express yourself creatively without writing. Creativity fuels you regardless of its source. Add some creative gasoline to your tank to use in your writing.

83. Create a Monster in Your Lab

If you’ve been writing for a while, you have a hefty list of unfinished drafts. Instead of discarding them for good, you can find inspiration by taking pieces of each unfinished post to build a “Frankenstein piece.”

84. Don’t Trust the Opinions of Losers

Fear of ridicule kills inspiration. If you’re worried about what a reader will think of you, consider this question from the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius: “You want praise from people who kick themselves every 15 minutes, the approval of people who despise themselves?” People who don’t even think highly of themselves don’t have the right to hold a negative opinion about your work.

Get your inspiration back by seeing “trolls” for what they really are — people who hate their own lives so much they want to criticise what you do in yours.

85. Stop Telling Yourself You’re a Writer

Stop only identifying with being a writer. If your identity is closely tied to being a writer, you’ll take your failure in writing as cracks in your personal character. You write, yes, but you do lots of other things, too.

86. Turn Trials into Triumph

You know what’s more inspiring than believing you can overcome obstacles? Actually overcoming them, because knowing you have the strength to do it inspires you to do it again.

Most writers fail because they avoid difficulty. Most don’t grasp the hidden inspiration in defeat. When a team loses by one point in the championship, they work even harder the next season, because they know they’re on the cusp of victory.

When a piece you write gets rejected, get inspired to prove the editor wrong. When your blog post or book falls flat on its face, get inspired to write ten times better the next time.

Real inspiration isn’t warm, fuzzy, and cute. The truly inspired are gritty, tenacious, and walk directly into the flames of disappointment and setbacks.

87. Con Your Way to Success

Become an impostor. Impostor syndrome is the feeling of being a fake, phony, or fraud who doesn’t deserve success. A great remedy for impostor syndrome is embracing the idea of being one. Write under your guise of falsehood. Realize nobody knows exactly what they’re talking about, and give up your need for appearances. Fake it till you make it.

88. Appreciate the Fortunate Timing of Your Birth

Consider the fact it’s ten times easier to become a successful writer than it used to be.

A few decades ago, to get published you needed to throw your needle into the haystack of the publishing world and hope someone discovered you. Now you can publish your own books. With the click of a button, your words can potentially reach millions of people. Technology has empowered us all.

I call this the excuse-free era because there are more opportunities than ever to find exposure.

89. Realize You’ve Already Put in “10,000 Hours”

Think of how much writing you’ve done in your life. From papers in school, to emails, to social media updates — you write all the time. When you focus on building a writing career, it’s more of a focused effort, but it’s writing just the same. Remember how much you effortlessly write in other areas of your life, and take some pressure off the writing you do for an audience.

90. Make a Mountain Out of a Molehill

Focus on doing one thing a little better each time you write. If you only get one percent better every day, you’ll be 37 times better by the end of the year.

Growth in writing is exponential, not linear, which means your practice won’t just make you better little by little. One day, after several weeks and months of getting better inch by inch, your skills will explode. You’ll enter a higher plane of creativity and the words will come out of you as if possessed by a wordsmith demon who scorches the keyboard with its fingers.

91. Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

Making an investment in your writing inspires you to create because it shows you’re serious. Being an “amateur,” isn’t always inspiring, but “turning pro” is.

How do you turn pro? You do the work, but you also treat your writing like a business instead of just a hobby. Making financial investments in your craft inspires you to live up to the image you create for yourself.

A telltale sign of someone who isn’t serious about their writing is a lack of willingness to spend money. Invest in tools to grow your website. Invest in your writing education. Invest in tools to create high-quality books. The more you invest, the more you’ll feel invested in your work.

92. Stop Robbing the World of Your Creativity

Think about your readers.

What if the scientist who was meant to cure cancer decided medical school was too hard? She isn’t only robbing herself, but the world. Your writing belongs to your readers. Your words can help educate, entertain, and inspire people. I once had a reader comment on a lull I had between blog posts. They were relying on my words to help their career.

Your words matter, and we need them.

93. Pay Your Debt

Earlier we talked about the idea that your writing isn’t for you, but for other people. This is true, but at the same time remind yourself that you owe yourself. Sure, writing can be a bit of a slog at times, but you owe it to yourself to push through the pain and see what’s on the other side, especially if you’ve already invested time into your writing career. Don’t let what you’ve done go to waste.

94. Harness the Curious Power of Envy

Have you ever been jealous of another writer for their accomplishments?

You can use your envy as fuel to inspire yourself to improve. Oftentimes when I see someone else do something I want to do but haven’t done, I turn my envy into curiosity. After seeing green for a bit, I think to myself, “How did they do it?” Then I trace their steps and reverse-engineer what they’ve done.

I’ve used this strategy to get featured on popular blogs, come up with headlines for blog posts, and add more substance to my work. Don’t just get jealous, get better.

95. Hit the Reset Button

I once wrote 15,000 words of a book and quit. I just wasn’t feeling it. I struggled over the words over and over again, but the project just didn’t seem like a good fit. I started over completely and wrote my second book.

The experience of having a fresh start was inspiring because I was re-energized with new material. You don’t want to fall into the perfectionist trap, but you can inspire yourself by carefully choosing when to start over.

96. Create Your Own Turning Point

In every book or movie, there’s the moment where the unassuming protagonist takes the call to adventure. For most of her life, she’d been somewhat of a nobody, but opportunity arises, and she finally begins the chapter of her life that changes everything.

Will this moment happen in one instant for you? Maybe not. But you can embrace the idea of taking action and starting your journey today. Get inspired by the moment, or the idea that life is fleeting. Dig dip inside yourself and conjure up whatever energy is inside you and make today the day that’s different.

97. Curate an Inspiration “Museum”

We come across inspiring material all the time, whether they’re quotes, places we visit, pieces of art, or experiences we have.

What if you created a place to document and store all of this inspiration, so you could use it later in your writing? This could be in a form of a journal or scrapbook where you collect inspiring ideas. You could keep track of things you’ve thought to yourself or heard from other people that inspire you.

When your creative well runs dry, you can look to your journal for the jump-start you need.

98. Set a Finish Line

With the first book I wrote, I gave myself a specific deadline to publish it. I woke up every day, hammered away at the keyboard with reckless abandon, and looked forward to the last lap.

I relaxed a bit on writing the next book. I told myself I’d get it done without any pressure of a deadline. The result? I worked on it on and off instead of being consistent. I didn’t get back into the swing of writing until I put a deadline on my work again.

Give yourself deadlines for your writing projects. They might seem arbitrary, but deadlines help you stay motivated to push through, and they make you treat your writing like a business instead of a hobby.

99. Boil it Down to This…

Each one of these points ties into the central message behind becoming a great writer. You have to write. Get inspired by your own deep love and need for putting words on the page. You’re the best source of inspiration for yourself.

You have the itch, the pull, the call. Use it.

Get Busy Writing, or Get Busy Dying

If you really have the itch to write, it’ll never go away,

You have two options — get inspired and get to work, or let your anxiety and insecurities grow and fester.

I know what it feels like to get stuck between the feeling of knowing you have something important to say and wondering whether you’re cut out for the task at hand.

It’s been two years since I started, and I never imagined I’d be where I am today. The same can happen for you, but not without putting in the work day in and day out until you get what you want.

Remember, whether you write or not, the time will pass anyway.

You are cut out for it.

You can make all of your writing dreams come true.

You got this. Now go.

The post Writing Inspiration: 99 Ways to Get Inspired to Write in 2020 appeared first on Smart Blogger.

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