#this image has been stuck in my brain for a while and so i have attempted to draw it

[woso-dreamzzz]

Miracle IV

Aitana Bonmatí x Teen!Reader

Summary: You're up late

You're up in the attic when Aitana gets home.

That usually isn't a problem.

It's where you usually retreat to after school. You come in, say good afternoon to Aitana if she's in, eat a snack and immediately go up into the attic.

You've become a bit more sullen now that your friends are busy.

Conejita has entered the work force now, working at some florist in town, a few hours away from the little house Aitana bought so you rarely see Marta and Caro's daughter during the week.

Skatt is studying at some top rated school in Norway, drowning herself in her studies of bugs while Ingrid and Mapi fight to get her to go outside and see the sun.

You're still in school though. In all advanced classes, of course, but still school aged and catching the bus to the fancy school that Aitana is paying an extortionate fee to send you to.

You've withdrawn a little now that it's just you and her, disappearing up into the attic to study your star charts and maps and wait long enough for the sun to dip in the sky so you can use the telescope you spent all of last year saving up to buy.

Aitana doesn't have a problem with that.

You're a certified genius and sometimes you need alone time.

What she has a problem with is you being stuck up in the attic when she gets home from an event at gone three in the morning.

The ladder creaks under her feet as she hauls herself up through the hole in the ceiling, head popping up to see you sitting at the desk, documents in hand with your telescope set up through the skylight.

"It's late."

You jolt, dropping the papers in your hand and covering them with your star maps.

You spin in your chair, clutching at your chest.

"Mama," You say," You scared me."

"You should be in bed," Aitana continues, coming to stand in front of you," You've got school tomorrow."

You look away from her with an eye roll.

"We both know I don't need much sleep for school. You always say I'm intelligent."

You've been told you're intelligent for most of your life, a clear superstar in academics since your first year of school and you could already read and write and do simple multiplication and division.

You'd been streamlined into the most academic of classes and if it wasn't for Aitana insisting that you stay with your year group, you'd already be away at university.

"You still need rest," Aitana reminds you," And to rest your brain."

She cards her fingers through the loose strands of hair framing your face.

You're her mirror image in every way, the same eyes and nose and hair.

Aitana wonders briefly if she was ever this aloof with her own parents at your age and if she owes them apologies for it.

"Go to sleep, estrella," She says," We can talk more tomorrow."

You huff, pulling out of her grip and turning back to your maps.

They cover all the walls in the attic, completed and signed at the bottom with your name.

Aitana looks down at the ones on your desk, the ones not yet completed or not yet perfect enough for you to display on the walls of your little sanctuary.

Something peaks out from under one of them and she frowns.

She's already pulled it out before you've even noticed.

"Where did you get this?"

Aitana's voice is stern, one that you're not all too familiar.

You freeze, eyes wide in alarm.

You reach for the documents. Aitana holds them away from you.

"Where did you get this?" She demands again and you scoff.

"In the safe. Under your bed."

"You broke into the safe?!"

You roll your eyes. "It's not the most secure of passwords. Our birthdays? Please, it was easy."

"Drop the attitude!" Aitana snaps," Why were you rummaging around in there?!"

You stand up from your desk.

Neither of you are overwhelmingly tall but even at sixteen, you meet her height so you're eye to eye.

"They're mine!" You say and Aitana laughs.

"I think you'll find they're mine," She says," You certainly didn't sign them."

"Well they're my adoption papers! I deserved to see what they say!"

Aitana sighs, rubbing her temples. "Then you come to me! You don't go snooping around in my bedroom."

You huff, finally breaking eye contact to stare out of the skylight. "As if you'd tell me anything." You shove past Aitana, barging her shoulder on your way to the ladder," You never want to talk about them."

"Well, forgive me for not wanting to talk about my dead friends."

"Forgive me for waiting to know about my dead parents."

Aitana holds your gaze for a moment.

You're already halfway down the ladder, staring back at her with identical eyes.

The wound is still raw even though it happened sixteen years ago. The loss of her friends still weighs heavy. Aitana doesn't even know if she could look at you if you held even one feature of your parents.

"Estrella-"

"I'm going to bed," You cut her off," We'll talk in the morning."

[jjenthusee]

Enthusiasm

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Sometimes the most intimidating can be the most tender.

A/N: HAPPYYY NEW YEAR i give u soft Jason 😌 i’ve been on and off (so sorry about that) but im excited to see what stories will be posted to this account this upcoming year :D so much has happened to end December, but i powered through and i wanted to finish something that was sitting in my drafts. so please ENJOY :) comment if you’re comfortable, reblog if you like the story, and have some flowers 💐

Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, i just wanna kiss his beautiful face fr, reader and jason are in competition of who can out fluff the other

Word Count: 2.5k

previous work linked here

The smell was strong.

Gunpowder and soaked clothes. Jason felt like a wet dog coming home with his tail between his legs. Holding onto the door frames, trying to not bump into the walls.

He had hoped the rain would have washed away most of the blood and burnt smell that radiated from his skin, but no matter how much he tried to rub it off, it was still there. Lingering after his every step, after every breath he took.

Each step into your apartment felt like he was contaminating more of the air, that he was diminishing the warmth you exuded so effortlessly.

His fingertips burned as he tried to grab a dry shirt and some sweats to change into, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

His mind raced and raced as he couldn’t focus enough to grab a single hanger in the closet. He already felt like he was standing underneath a beacon of light from the single bulb illuminating the entire closet and he couldn’t afford to wake you up now, you might smell him and you would find him disgusting until he would beg and beg that he could strip all the smell away.

Jason felt dizzy at the thought of you leaving. He had imagined many scenarios, all kinds of ways you would be gone. Tortured, kidnapped, or you simply walking out the door as he watched because you didn’t want to love him anymore.

It sickened him. A kind of bile that stuck to his throat when he tortured himself with the thought of you leaving him. He rubbed his face, feeling his calloused hands scratch against his skin as he tried to rub more of the smell away.

He could imagine the sound of your voice, screaming his name in fear or even quietly fading as you faded from his arms.

Sometimes the hallucinations felt so real, like you actually left until he found you at home. Living your life, perfectly fine.

“—on. Jason.”

He instinctively grabbed the knife from his utility belt, so quickly and efficiently that it felt like breathing for Jason.

He was still dizzy, but parts of your face were slowly focusing through his lashes, readjusting until your entire face was clear in his vision. He saw your wide eyes, opened because of the suddenness of him aiming a knife to your neck, but what made him feel even more sick to his stomach was the worried look on your face despite the survival instinct overpowering his brain.

It screamed how much you cared about him. The same man that pointed a blade at you.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Jason, it’s me. I’m right here.” You stood still. Watching the intense adrenaline rush from Jason. It had been a while since you’ve seen him escalate this badly.

“No, no. I‘m—you’re not real.” He pleaded, talking more to himself than at you.

“You’re home. You’re back home.” You tried to reach out with your words, giving him something to metaphorically grab onto.

“Please go away.”

Your heart pinched at his broken words.

“Everything is okay. I’m okay. I am right here.” You repeated.

As adamant as Jason was about stopping his hallucination, he couldn’t raise his voice. He was quietly whispering his pleas as you stood at arms length, confusing his reality and mental images. You didn’t waver to call out to him because he felt more wary of you than you did of him.

The blade he held to you was something he hadn’t done before and as frightened as you were in that moment, you stayed calm. Not for yourself, but from how much he shook and his disheveled appearance, Jason was just scared.

You continued to speak to him, giving him tender reassurances, explaining and truthfully telling him how safe he was and how he could relax from the anxiety plaguing him.

Jason’s eyes were relaxing as he listened to your voice, his muscles were loosening his grip from the blade the more in tune he felt with reality, and he suddenly felt all the exhaustion weigh on him. His knife felt so heavy. Every second he was growing more tired as he realized he was safe enough to finally let it go, so he threw it to the side.

The blade bounced to the floor, reflecting and shining the light from the closet back into the dark bedroom.

You took a deep breath watching the blade leave Jason’s hand, then you looked back to him, seeing his soaked hair stick to his face. His armor caked with dirt and blood blending into the fabric.

As much as you wanted to call Alfred, Jason was in no condition to see another person right now.

As you analyzed him, you saw, physically, how much the night had roughed him up. Jason’s hands were limp at his side, his head hung to your feet as you stepped closer to him, testing how close he was willing to let you get.

“Jay? You’re still in your armor, we need to get you out of your soaked clothes.” You gently spoke.

He said nothing to you, focusing on pacing his breaths in a way that didn’t cause him more anxiety. He kept his eyes closed.

“Do you need my help? I can help, but if you want to do it yourself—“

He grabbed one of your fingers, his frozen hand stinging your warm one that absorbed the heat from your blankets not too long ago. His large hand held onto your singular finger, feeling your smooth skin, trying to sink into the soothing feeling of physical touch.

You patiently waited, letting him go at his own pace to grasp that he was safe enough to ask for this much from you.

“I’m glad you made it home.” You spoke. Feeling Jason’s skin trace your knuckles and veins in your hand like he was memorizing and analyzing the living being he cared so much for.

As he continued his small rubs, he eased his touch to a feather light hover over your arm. Feeling up to press his thumb underneath the fabric of your shirt sleeve, mentally talking to himself about the feel of the fabric and its color.

You let him ground himself, taking note of how still you kept your body. All control was in Jason’s hands like a puppeteer over your entire self. He wanted to scream out to himself that he was selfishly touching you, but he was walking a very thin line of losing his mind any second and the feel of you was keeping him focused on something other than his racing head.

He was so tired that he grasp his hand onto your shoulder to gently pull you toward him, resting his head into your hair, smelling how familiar you were.

He thought you smelt so much better than the gunpowder and burning flesh from his body.

He rested his hand behind your back, slowly feeling up to cusp behind your neck, letting his fingers settle onto your pulse. Counting the thumps and feeling the repeated rhythm he memorized numerous times to fall asleep to.

Jason brought you in closer, matching his breaths to yours because if he felt like passing out, he reasoned to himself that it should be completely because he wanted to be one with you.

You settled your forehead onto his neck, taking a deep breath into his skin.

Jason flinched, feeling his skin tingle to your warm breath exhaling to his hair. He hummed before he was about to pull away from you, remembering his stench.

“I’m sorry, I…stink.” Jason apologized, fighting against himself to release you, but also grip you harder.

You pulled him back to you by his neck and arm, leaning his damp hair onto your head.

“You don’t need to apologize. Besides, I love your smell. I think I stink ‘cause I haven’t showered ever since I got back from work.” You lazily smiled up at Jason, appreciating that he was talking to you.

“You don’t smell.” He emphasized, whispering his sincerity into the small space between your bodies.

“I was sweating a lot today, so we can be stinky together if that’s what you’re worried about.” You comforted him, reaching up to cusp his cheeks. Soothing the redness on his face from his harsh rubs. “We can wash up together if you want to. It’s also okay if you want to do it by yourself. I’m always open to what you tell me, no matter what I’ll be right here until you let me know.”

Jason felt the ease in his shoulders, the voice in his head calming. It wasn’t completely silent, but it was a little quieter when you were speaking so gently to him.

“Can we wash up together?” He asked into your palm, rubbing his nose into your warm hand.

“Of course we can. I can get the water ready while you get out of your gear.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed into your touch.

“I won’t make the water too hot. I also got a new shampoo yesterday and I haven’t used it yet, so we can smell like eucalyptus together.” You could feel Jason’s frozen nose on your hands. “Hon, you’re freezing.”

Your worries were unanswered, leaving you to only furrow your brow at the man in front of you. Jason could only look up from your hands, clearly having nothing to say, but patiently waiting for you to give in to his tender gaze.

He knew you would give in, you always did and he wanted to use it to his advantage to not speak about his night.

He removed his gloves and you heard the slightly damp fabric being pulled from his fingers. With free hands, Jason reached out to rub off the furrowed look on your face, in attempt to cover his tired appearance.

“You’re lucky I’m going to be nice about this. I was about one call away to summoning Alfred or I would’ve drove your motorcycle all the way there if I had to.”

Jason chuckled as he kept kneading the line between your eyebrows. Listening to your stubborn worries that felt like music to his ears as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

“Threatening me now?” Jason asked. Amused, but willing to listen to your voice continuously. The way his voice teased you made your heart tingle, enough to distract you for a moment to look at the way his hair fell onto his face. His features were carved by wavy hair, elegantly placed hair strands that made you waver between frustrated and enamored, but unable to stop your heartfelt lecture.

“Maybe you can distract me, but Alfred is too experienced to even consider hesitating with you.” You tried to go move your eyebrows in defiance against Jason’s thumb, not backing down just yet. “I was about to haul you on my shoulders and dump you onto the back of your motorcycle. I didn’t go through all those lessons with you to not use it against you.“

“I knew it, you were always too excited to take it out for a drive. Can’t believe my own student was actually plotting against me all along.” Jason held onto your face, shaking his head as he traced your jaw with his fingers.

“It’s called “enthusiasm,” Jason.” You started to feel for the zippers of his jacket, moving your fingers against the leather as you slowly took it off his shoulders, carefully watching his body language to ensure you weren’t making him uncomfortable.

“Enthusiasm.” Jason repeated. In the same tone you always swooned at, hearing the familiar low roughness in his voice that was only reserved for you. A dangerous combo as he touched your face so affectionately, you could feel your face heat in the dim closet light. “I know all about enthusiasm.”

He leaned in to slightly peck your bottom lip, feeling his own lips barely touch yours. He felt how dry his lips were, but yours were soft enough to drown out his other worries and insecurities. Enough to feel the intimacy, but not enough to solidify something more.

You smiled, clearly won over by Jason’s charm. In one swoop you pulled the jacket off Jason, leaving him in his usual patrol skintight top with his emblem reflecting what little light was in the room.

You couldn’t imagine the fear that red bat symbol brought to the bad people lingering at night, realizing the bad shit they brought on themselves because that emblem was the last thing they would remember.

But you always liked what was beneath it, what it tried to protect. The part of Jason that he relentlessly tried to hide and you had the patience to slowly unveil every bit of it.

“Save that enthusiasm because we might not be able to wash up if you kiss me one more time.” You rubbed your hands into the back of his neck, feeling the tense muscles and wanting to help him relax for a bit with some warm water and rubbing some shampoo into his hair to hopefully allow him to sleep a little tonight. “Clean your gear in the morning, I wanna warm up with a shower and you can help me dry my hair.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed as he kept rubbing your lips with his thumb. You felt accomplished as you felt his hands slowly warming from your physical touch.

“I’ll get us some fresh towels. Grab the new shampoo after you remove your gear.” You released yourself from Jason and made your way to the bathroom. “It should be in the bag by the bed. I forgot to take it out.”

With some soreness, Jason removed his utility belt and picked up the thrown knife to safely secure it back in its place. He felt the weight in his eyelids as he made his way to the bathroom, hearing the water turn on.

When he pushed the door open silently, he watched the way you moved. Adjusting the heat of the water, placing freshly dried towels on the counter, and the way you were so perfectly domestic.

Jason didn’t want to disturb you, soothing himself to the sight of you after he exhausted himself from the repeated torture his mind put himself through.

When you looked back, the look you gave him almost made him melt to the tile floor. That it was unreal he was allowed this.

You pulled him into the bathroom, much like the other ways you introduced him to various simplicities he started to enjoy in his life.

He didn’t want to admit it to you, in case you would be offended, but he cherished how mundane you were. That he could feel as close to ordinary next to you. That the scars that littered him weren’t going to drive you away.

Piece by piece, clothing were removed from the two of you. It was comfortable to bare yourself, to share this intimate experience of bathing together. Washing and holding each other under warm water. Massaging and lathering soap.

The steam was filling the bathroom, slight humidity relaxing your skin and your shared scent radiating off each other.

The night was turning into dawn, but you dried each others hair. You gently laid into the bed to slowly rub at Jason’s head, easing him and yourself into another slumber.

[kyri45]

✨SBP: Second Star Q&A! 20/05✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU Spin Off! If it’s not answered here, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@autism-autobot ha chiesto: Weird 3 AM question for you: Do the stone monkeys have belly buttons? They came from eggs, so they might not but they may have been magically connected to something or someone, so...? Bellybuttons? Sorry if this is weird, my brain has been thrown for a loop lately.

They don't

@fake-anjel ha chiesto: Kyri, I remember you liked to draw Nezha a lot (don't blame you I have a literal list of logical explanations of why he's so drawable) But I've been wanting to ask you, how you think about baby/child Nezha? Since that in the legends he's a child god, Pluss in his old movie he died and stayed in the form of a child so I believe much in the theory that he's stuck in the age of six (when he died and came back to life) forever, both mentally and physically and uses glamour to age up so people take him more seriously I want to know if you also head cannon that theory ? (just pure curiosity)

There's a lot of different version, it's interesting to see that in LMK he's kind of an adult, I like to think he did grow up a little during the millenia, or that his outer appearance reflects his mental age, so in the years he was forced to "grow up" after his father became the pagoda wielder, and so he also reflect the age he must follow to be taken seriously by his father

@elianaroselight ha chiesto: It's wild to think how long Wukong and Macaque had been gestating their little girl. They went into meditation at month 9 and meditated for 11 more. That is 20 months! Almost 2 years!

if you think about it Nezha mother's gestation period was 3 years, so they got even lucky with that.

@straightally2001 ha chiesto: I'm curious, is the baby gonna grow differently than MK. Is she gonna be a toddler longer than MK was?

yes, just a bit longer, not that much.

@the-ninja-girl-in-blue ha chiesto: Are we going to eventually find out what the baby’s name is going to be or is she not gonna have a name at all? I’m not asking for what her name is now I’m asking if we’re going to ever find out what it is or if she’s gonna have one.

yes, at the end of the spin-off

@wintzrr ha chiesto: Dumb quesiton 💔 I forgot where but i read that your gonna make 3 spin-offs of the bio parents au, just by curiously… Is one of them about spicynoodles.. I say with a hidden folder pure spicynoodles fanart from your fanfic. ON MY HANDS AND KNEES I NEED TO KNOW. ALSO I LOVE YOU ART SO MUCH OH MY GAWDD.

no

@writingamongther0ses ha chiesto: Random thought- Pigsy: *opening the shop* *monkey noise* Pigsy: *turns head* Child: *sitting calmly next to the door* Pigsy: "..." Child: "..." Pigsy: "Tannnng...it happened again!"

LMAO

@selfdestructivecat ha chiesto: OMG SHADOW POWERS!!! I’m sure that’s not gonna give the parents any heart attacks lmao I’m curious if this is why Mac’s shadow powers were going haywire while they were feeding the baby their power, while Wukong’s were greatly weakened? And if this was also why Mac seemed to be more drained by the process than Wukong, at least at first?

A little, but mostly because he died once so he's weaker

@twilight-bai-he ha chiesto: I just realized something so you know That MK and Wukong can shrink so Red son and Macaque can have a tiny pocket husband/boyfriend

This is a very important information, thank you for sticking this image in my head.

@michigo-eevee-trainer ha chiesto: For the Bio Parents AU, I do have one question. If MK had used his energy to help the child grow, would that help or hurt the child? I mean I know it needed energy from it's parents in order to grow but MK is their brother. So wouldn't that work too? Though it would drain MK badly as well so maybe it wouldn't be a good thing.

It wouldn't have hurt it, but he would have needed to be part of the ritual as well and having to be connected to them as well during the gestation period.

@lizislife ha chiesto: Will we ever see macaque truly get mad?

maybe

@coolshadowkiller99 ha chiesto: Hey. I have a question. I know a lot of people make Mac and iron fan sworn siblings like wukong n dbk but are yours? Like wine auntie pif? Also I just want to hold bby mk and the shimians and everyone like burgers cause they're so adorable! I love them! I wish they could meet my oc Alix and alis.

yes she's wine aunt

@emptystarhead733 ha chiesto: Yello. I wanted ta ask since I love your art. Would Wukong throw her, for funsies, thinking she'll just teleport back, but when she doesn't Macaque catches her, scolding Wukong for it????

that's more of macaque honestly

@imafluffycupcakey ha chiesto: Will we see the baby all grown up? By the end of the spin-off? Maybe? Pretty please?

nope

@s-p-r-i-n-g-t-i-m-e ha chiesto: what’s the baby’s relationship to Tang and Pigsy exactly? :0 uncles? stepdads? dads in law? brother’s dads? also why are Wukong and Mac so tired, baby seems pretty chill? esp. since she’s already 3ish, only cries when overwhelmed by people. is it the stress of a toddler that can portal around so they always gotta find her? she’s def not as active as baby MK lmao

they are both uncles. Pigsy is also the godfather

@drpepperlover545 ha chiesto: this is a joke question but, will she get free noodles for life?

obviously

@monika-396 ha chiesto: Is Xiaotian gonna cut his hair now that his parents are back and his baby sister is here?

it's funnier if he doesn't

I have two question(I’m sorry if it’s too much😔) 1.)Would the baby be immortal just like her fathers, or they would have to do something to make her immortal? 2.)Is there a chance that you would make another spin-off that would focus on her life? (BTW I LOVE YOUR LATEST CHAPTER🤍🤍)

They aren't 100% immortal like wukong or macaque. They can perfectly become in some way immortal like Wukong did with his 72 transformations, and she does age more slowly by default

@vivian-adhd-core ha chiesto: So iI'm after my final exams (math went bad) and the bby made my absolute day. So I wanted to ask if it's okay that I make an AU of my main Oc being her auntie? (I hc my OC as Macaques younger sister. Also I will draw stuff once I ain't grounded!) Amaizing design, love it, keep up the good job and stay safe! 💖

As long as you tag me

@astro-nomaly ha chiesto: Can I ask why the baby has that weird blank spot in her face marking? She was literally just born so it’s not a scar, so what’s going on there? Ignore me if this is somehow a spoiler lol

birthmark

@keykittygirl ha chiesto: Since you said that ne zha will be in the baby shower, I'm just curious like will he actually gonna get his own clothes changing stuff XD I mean like we have seen how the other characters got a different clothes, meanwhile the poor lotus boyo only have his armor

he mostly wear his armor cause he's able to visit between his work shifts

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: You think DBK picks Red Son up by the scruff of his neck like a mother cat?

sure, why not

@epicloversposts ha chiesto: Hiya! Just a little question about Wukongs and Mk's apparently shared weakness,how would red son react to finding out about Mk's weakness, would red son be flustered or would red son be devious and use it against mk to courtnap him?

i mean they already cournapped the other so- i guess only for teasing him

@autism-autobot ha chiesto: Does Mamacaque get Mother's Day while everyone else has to share Father's Day? How do they do?

he gets both

@neptune-nova ha chiesto: Would you ever make a spicynoodles comic? Just curious lol

unlikely. I have so many other comics I wanna do first.

[lila-went-missing]

Hiii, saw you wanted some requests for Sevika and I've had this idea bubbling up for a while. Imagine Vika with a reader that's normally experienced, yk has fucked one or two people before and it's not a sex god, and they're growing insecure about sevika never starting intimacy even after months of dating, so they think it's because they're not as good as the girl's she's been with before. Idk just thought that'd be good

I'm kind of obsessed with this, ngl. This isn't the first smut that I've written but it is the first smut that I've posted on here so feedback is always appreciated. Y'all will never guess... it's not proofread. Again. Enjoy my lovelies! X

Warnings: Smut (obviously), mild angst but nothing too horrible, mentions of body image issues but readers body type isn't specified or described.

Fem reader, of course, with female genitalia.

At first, you didn't think anything of it. She probably just wanted to take things slow with you. You weren't as experienced as her so she probably wanted to take her time.

That made sense for a while.

But now, after eight months together, you haven't had sex once. More importantly, she hasn't initiated it.

Realistically, you know that it's fine. There's plenty of reasons as to why nothing has happened so far. But that voice in the back of your head is doing a fantastic job of convincing you otherwise.

Sevika was kind of a sex symbol before you two got together.

She'd been with countless women, she was a regular at Babbettes. Her name was uttered on the streets like a sacred prayer.

You, on the other hand, have only been with two people: your ex, and a drunken one night stand that was less than satisfactory. So you did have sexual experience, but not nearly as much as her.

Honestly, it's starting to worry you.

Did she not like you? Was she not physically attracted to you? Was there something wrong with your body? Were you not showing enough skin?

Thoughts plagued your mind night and day. You were stuck in constant turmoil. It was impossible to stop your own brain once it got going.

It was taking everything in you to focus on the stove and not burn dinner.

You flinch at the sound of the door closing. Heavy footsteps sound through the house, approaching the kitchen.

Sevikas thick arms wrap around your midsection, her face making home in the side of your neck. For a long time, she doesn't say anything. The only sounds come from the meat sizzling in your pan. Moments like this make it easier to not think about the painful lack of aw sex life between you two.

Her lips purse, pressing small kisses against your skin. She hums against your neck.

"What are you cooking doll?" Her voice is muffled against your flesh but you understand her all the same.

"Spaghetti." You feel her smile.

"My favorite.." She mumbles. You hum a small "Mhm" before focusing back on the seasoned beef and water you're waiting for to boil. Her arms tighten ever so slightly, one hand slipping under your shirt. Her thumb caresses your bare skin.

It should be sweet but it really just drives the nail into the coffin for you.

Your voice comes out before you can stop it.

"Why won't you have sex with me?" You regret it the moment it leaves your mouth.

"I- woah, what? Doll what do you mean?" She honestly sounds baffled.

"Forget I said anything, please. It doesn't matter."

Her hands gently grab your shoulders, turning you around.

"No way. What are you talking about?"

You shake your head. "It's stupid.."

"It's not stupid if it's bothering you." She reassures you.

"It's just, we've been together for eight months, and we practically live together. But we haven't done anything. I know you don't have an issue having sex because half the undercity talks about how good you are and I just don't understand. Is there something wrong with me? Am I not appealing to yo-" Your rant is cut off by her lips. Her hands are holding you like glass, one on your cheek, one curled around your hip.

"There is nothing wrong with you." Her voice comes out as a soft whisper. "I'm sorry I made you feel like there was. I just knew that you don't have as much experience as I do. I didn't want you to feel rushed, or forced."

"Rushed? No, you could never.. I thought you just didn't want me that way." She immediately shakes her head. She kisses you again, more urgently this time.

Her hands grab anywhere they can, pulling you in. They're on your hips, waist, groping your ass.

"I do want you." Then they're picking you up and lifting you on the counter. "Let me show you how much I want you?" All you can do is nod as her lips trail down your neck. Her touch dances over your body, removing your top.

Her mouth follows soon after, sucking dark bruises into the skin on your neck and chest. She takes a nipple in her mouth and swirls her tongue around it. A low whimper leaves your mouth at the new, but not unpleasant, sensation.

Her right hand copies her tongue's motions on the other, pinching and pulling. Your body trembles against the counter with need.

She moves away from your breasts, kissing and licking down your stomach to your navel. Her hands unbutton your pants. She looks up at you as she lowers herself to her knees, silently asking for permission. You nod your head. You don't trust your voice. Your pants are off in seconds and thrown somewhere in the kitchen that you'll worry about later.

Her hand splays across your stomach and gently pushes you to lay against the tile. It's cold against your bare and burning skin, your back arching off of it but she keeps your hips pinned down.

You gasp as her teeth nip at the skin of your thigh. A breathy laugh leaves her.

"Shut up.." You mutter.

"Didn't say anything."

Your eyes roll in fake annoyance but you don't get the chance to reply as the cold air hits your bare cunt. Her thumbs pull your lips apart, admiring the sight before her.

"Fuck doll, you're so wet. All of this for me?" Her voice is husky between your legs and it stirs something delicious in your belly.

"Yes, all for you Sev.." She chuckles. Her teeth take the hem of your panties and drag them down your legs. She kisses your hips and navel, sucking hickies and marking you as hers.

"Please, Vika. Need you.." You whine. You can't bring yourself to care about how desperate you sound. You're sure that you look even more so from her position.

It seems, though, that your prayers have been answered because as soon as the words leave your mouth hers is back on you. This time it's between your legs.

She licks a long stripe up your pussy before stopping to suck your clit into her mouth. A loud moan reverberates from your chest as you lean your head back into the counter. Her tongue kitten licks at the bud before suckling on it like shes trying to nurse herself.

You've had people eat you out before but never this well. You don't think it could get better than this.

She moves down, opting to fuck you with her tongue instead. You definitely understand the appeal now. You've given yourself plenty of orgasms but this is the fastest one has risen before.

She feels it in the way you clench around her tongue and moves back to your clit. Her fingers fill up the now empty space, fucking into you in a gently but rough way only she could manage.

She's eating you like a woman starved and with the lack of sex the two of you have had she may as well be. If you didn't know better you might think this is her last meal.

Gasps and whimpers leave your mouth in a desperate way you can't stop.

"Fuck Sev.. ngh~ m'gonna cum, please.."

She smirks against you once more, speeding up her ministrations.

"Come on my tongue baby, make a mess on me." Her voice is muffled against you cunt, vibrations travel through your clit with her words.

You last maybe thirty seconds longer, hand tangled in her hair, before releasing over her tongue.

She laps you up, milking you for all that you're worth. She's never tasted anything more delicious. Her mouth doesn't let up until your whimpering from the overstimulation and pushing her head away.

She looks you in the eye as she sucks her fingers clean before kissing back up your body. Her lips lock onto yours and you can still taste yourself on her tongue. It makes your head spin in a way you've never felt before.

When you come back to earth, her hand is running through your hair.

"I'm sorry I made you believe that I didn't want to do that." She mumbles. "But now I may need it to be a daily thing." You giggle at her words.

"It's okay. I wouldn't mind honestly." She helps you sit up, a large hand cupping your cheek. "You didn't get to cum.." You whisper as you lean in closer.

"Don't worry about me, I'll get my fill later." The look on her face tells you that this isn't over. "I'm going to change out of these clothes. You just worry about dinner okay?" She slips your panties back on along with your shirt.

You nod, sliding off the counter. You wince at the mess you made but she's already wiping it up. Her lips meet your temple as she mutters a low, "I love you."

"I love you more." She shakes her head, chuckling before walking back to her room. You feel much better now, and you really can't wait for what she meant by "later".

[reagent-leon]

Okay guys, I’m really sorry, but this is going to be another vent piece rather than a proper essay. Once again, I’m here to despair about the inconsistency in Coyle’s comic design. 

So, as we can see, Coyle's uniform is based on the New Mexico State Police uniform

This image in particular.

Everything is present and correct, except that Coyle's uniform has a mandarin collar rather than an open one. It really bugs me because while the image has been manipulated slightly, it just kinda looks like they stuck the standing collar on top of the uniform without trying to blend it? I mean look, you can even see the badge on the lapel has been copied over to the comic, even though they didn't use the open collar. What the fuck is that?

This is derivative and I've mentioned it before in another post, but I'm going to mention it again because it still pisses me off. They even left the SP on his Sam Browne belt. SP stands for State Police! The Blackwell Police Department is a municipal police agency! The Oklahoma equivalent of the NMSP is the Oklahoma Highway Patrol.

Coyle having a Russian shoulder patch and no Sergeant's chevrons? Lazy. And I mean that with my whole chest at this point, and imma tell you why I'm losing patience with this comic.

So, going back to the original image, above the rectangular name badge is a badge that I couldn't identify.

In an earlier post, I misidentified this pin as something similar to the badges below.

This style of badge appears to be connected to the Union, given its laurel theme. I admit, I was kind of surprised to learn that Oklahoma and what was known as Indian Territory at the time, were a part of the Union and not the Confederacy, however, the American Civil War isn't my area of expertise.

But on closer inspection... do you see what I see? The four thunderbolts? That badge is an EOD, an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Badge.

Now that as a concept is cool as fuck. Coyle being part of the bomb squad actually makes a lot of narrative sense. Coyle is implied to be very good with electrics (and possibly just DIY in general, given we hear him referencing power tools). By the time he's killed his third wife, the man is rigging full-on saw traps to get rid of his in-laws.

So if Coyle's got the brains and the will, what's the problem? Well, the thing is, EOD badges were originally created for the military in the 50s, and we have no evidence that Coyle served in the Korean War to have earned such a badge, nor would he have reason to display it on his police uniform. Those credits don't transfer.

There isn't any one set Law Enforcement EOD badge, and it differs from agency to agency, but for a small agency like the Blackwell Police Department to have their own designated bomb squad in the 1950s... while it's not impossible, it's a pretty big stretch. If Coyle had been part of the Oklahoma Highway Patrol, it would make more sense as it's a larger agency, but from my limited research, even the OHP didn't have a formal bomb squad until the 1970s.

So while it would be super cool if it were canon that Coyle is a bomb disposal expert... I just don't see enough historical evidence for it.

I would give Red Barrels actual physical money for them to remake Coyle and Phyllis' comics in the original comic styles, because this photomanipulation-collage type shit just isn't it.

Imagine if something happened to Coyle that made him unsuitable to be a prime asset, so they take him on as an engineer... hopefully not in the same sleep room as Noakes.

I hope this rant has been educational, or at least entertaining to watch me get heated over. Coyle could be such an interesting character, but I keep running face-first into walls of inconsistency 😔

[allfortheslay25]

Hi!!! I love your blog and was wondering if you have any Milo and Warren hcs?

Spoilers for Milo’s Future

The first cordial conversation these two have actually happens at Eden’s (before it is ruined lol)

Like I’ve mentioned before, Milo’s goal while being with the Foxes was to improve their teamwork and help them win a game. One of their team bonding things he suggested was clubbing together so he took them to Eden’s since his family has a history there (and he could house them in the Columbia house which he bought from an old Fox when he was 15)

Wymack allowed the team to go out as long as they stayed in doors and didn’t get into too much trouble. Milo was stuck babysitting the real trouble makers and he unfortunately had a rude awakening that the bartender he met back as a kid (Roland) was not as chill as he thought he was

Warren let the cigarette burn away at the tips of his nails. Christen leaned closer to his knuckles to blow at the cherry end, smirking when he recoiled in disgust.

“You need to smoke it or it’ll die.” Christen said.

Warren stuffed his free hand into the leather confines of his jacket pocket, clenching his fist so hard his scabs split open.

“Disgusting. Let it die.”

Ash stumbled, leaning her weight into Christen as she blew a mouthful of smoke his way. “I’ve been sooooo generous. We’ve been so generous. You don’t want to let your lungs stay a virgin forever, babe, it’s embarrassing.”

The striker had been nothing but a nuisance to Warren since he moved to the states. Intoxicated and naked, she preferred to press his buttons and rob him of his anger management progress. But Ash was scum and Warren found hanging out with someone like her made him feel better about himself, as horrible as it was. He felt indebted to her after knocking her out of last year’s season. Warren looked down at the cigarette between her fingers. It was hard to tell the arm had ever been broken at all.

When her hands reached for his face, he moved his arm up, stopping her in her tracks. Christen pulled them back, far enough that Warren would be forced to take three steps forward if he so much as wished to snap their necks.

“My eyes are up here,” Ash cooed.

Warren glanced away from her long throat and scowled at the two oufs.

“Really, though, how do you expect to manage all that crazy without something to take off the edge? Smoking a cigarette is the least dangerous option we’ve offered you.”

Christen jostled her. “I don’t even know why you bothered asking the retard.”

Warren dug his thumbnail through his pointer finger and clenched his teeth so hard he’d be sure to crack his jaw.

Ash grinned and hip checked Christen. “I like him. Big scary European dog. Woof woof.”

Warren curled his lip. He didn’t know how far intoxicated she was but it couldn’t be as hard as their usual routine. He saw Milo empty their pockets before they left.

Just like that, Warren’s body sagged in content. The image of Milo’s beautiful eyes swirled through his brain like crystal waves at the beach. Sometimes, Warren got jealous of the sun, being that the evidence of its kisses freckled his skin every time he saw him. Warren would not insult God by praying for the man, but he begged his forgiveness every night for he knew who he’d see in his dreams. Such a twisted form of fate to introduce him to someone so addicting. It wasn’t right. Warren was sure you’d have to first taste something for it to control you so, yet here he stood, poisoned with no antidote for heartache. Oh, Warren wanted so deeply it burned. It will burn. The devil smirks at me now.

“Hey!”

Warren startles, his fist coming out of his pocket but then he sees the eye of the sea and stops. Milo was a sight to behold. He’d demanded everyone dress their best for this night out, as if it were a requirement for entry at this so-called ‘Eden’. Warren had allowed Ash to dress him and in turn, he’d lent Christen a few things. But Milo had surely tricked him. The man must be planning Warren’s murder, why else distract him with a flash of his gorgeous and freckled abdomen. So many freckles.

Milo stomped over to the blonde mooncalves. Christen once again pulled them away, far from where the young Minyard-Josten could smell their deceit.

“You two! Get back inside!” He shouted.

Christen and Ash moved faster than Warren thought possible, hiding the cigarette and Ash’s positively large pupils. Milo chased them to the back door of the club, a breathtaking view as the moonlight earned her turn to caress his face in her light. Warren swallowed the lump in his throat or maybe the Lord holds his tongue as punishment for his unfathomable lust.

“Don’t ruin the night for everyone! You both know Coach said to stay indoors!” Milo hisses at their backs.

He huffed, shoulders going down as he muttered something venomous under his breath. Warren’s face flushed at the intrusive idea that Milo ought to shout at him instead. Don’t waste your words on the air or the piss covered concrete. Cuss at me. Spit the poison at me, burn me with your glare. Warren vaguely recognized the heat from the cigarette threatening at the first knuckle of his finger. It wasn’t enough to bring him out of his longing. Milo’s teal coat emphasized the color in his irises, but paled in comparison to the makeup he asked the Captain to frame around his eyes after Barry David called him a slur. Warren had begun to realize Milo lived to spite others. He wore makeup to spite David, sung in the locker rooms to press the men’s buttons, trimmed his hair because Ash said long hair was more attractive on him, and pressed his chest against Warren’s just because he stole the ball from him during scrimmages. And if Warren found more ways to knock over Milo’s stick, just to feel the idea of Milo’s heartbeat against his own—

“Oh, Warren…” Milo noticed him, awkwardly dropping his tensed fists behind him.

Warren was too dumbfounded to speak. He bit his tongue to prevent it from getting him in trouble. Despite what the team thought, he wasn’t slow. English wasn’t easy, he found it hard to form a sentence that wasn’t as vulgar as he learned from the Sharks back in France. They taught him all the bad words first, then worse things so he’d follow along during their threats. But English, Greek, nor French—none of their vocabularies held the words Milo deserved to hear. However, this was his chance was it not? Couldn’t he start fresh? Couldn’t he apologize? He hadn’t ruined it all just yet. Milo isn’t like the rest. He closes the distance with Warren everytime they speak, he stands too close, closer than anyone on the team had the courage to. He could close the distance. He didn’t need Milo to hold him or fall in love with him. Warren was okay watching from the sidelines, listening to his voice was enough. Let me watch as you play exy with the kind of fire that devastates our earth, let me listen to you ramble on about anything. I’ll hang on to every word like clothes on a line or a painting on a wall. Just say yes.

Milo smiled, as if he heard Warren’s thoughts.

“Having fun?” He asked.

Warren bit down harder. He shrugged in lieu of an answer.

Milo glanced down at his cigarette. Warren was about to crush the offending stick until Milo leaned closer, taking a deep breath and giving Warren a soft look. “Sorry,” he said bashfully, “the smell reminds me of simpler times. It’s nice.”

“Do you smoke?” Warren blurted.

Milo paused, maybe not expecting Warren to speak at all.

“No… I can’t. But it’s a nice reminder that things hadn’t always been so bad.” He gives the cigarette one last gentle look before shrugging off the wall. “I’d better go back inside, make sure everyone is safe.”

Warren watched him go, because it’d be cruel to force him to stay. He looked down at the cigarette still holding on between his crooked fingers and brought it to his lips.

This is what the sketches looked like from three years ago lol

I would’ve added the rest of the scene (I wrote it three years ago) but the post was getting too long. Anyways, unfortunately the night ends when Milo is really put off by Roland (who’s been flirting with him since he found out who he was) so he’s trying to get his foxes to leave. Ashely refuses and is just doing drugs and chatting up some dude. Warren, pent up from the anger Chris and Ash stacked on him all night, went to civilly bring her to the cars. Ash badmouths him and comments on his mothers and his hard on for Milo (which is a joke since no one knows he’s crushing) so Warren snaps and breaks her jaw on the counter of the bar. They’re kicked out of Eden’s and Milo has to get them to the ER

Warren ruined his development with Milo who begins to be cautious around him now, keeping Warren at arms length and worst of all, Warren watched Milo’s hands tremble as he dialed coach on the way there.

[juwulry]

Ahhh I love all the Volt/Eddie stuff you've been writing it's made me have so much brain rotting with my friends and I wanted to share this idea. So image this after Eddie and Volt get turned into humans and kinda leave the reader to figure out themselves same for the rest of the other objects (their still all dating we love a thouple) they visit the reader and find that they have a human guest over and the guest ask the reader who Eddie and Bolt are and the reader just blurts out "Oh! There's are my- uh friends??" Not wanting to explain how they went from being a total loner to having two boyfriends And Volt raises a brow amused while Eddie is just like "oh is that what we are?" But before he can correct them Volt stops him and starts talking to the guest but every once in awhile places at the reader with a amused look while Eddie sits by reader with his hand on the back of there neck as the guest ask the reader if they have been wanting to get back into dating. Eventually the guest leaves and reader walks them out and as soon as the door shuts there's a awkward silence till Volt is just like "so do must of your friends stick their tongue in you or are we just special?". This idea has been stuck in my HEAD I just image them both having no mercy and just like "we'll I'd slow down for my PARTNER but not some friend" I love these men in such a unhealthy way.

PURRRRR I LOVE THIS IDEA i love me a good mildly jealous eddie and volt

[ghostgirl-22]

https://www.tumblr.com/ghostgirl-22/767591680266436608/vibratoranon-you-made-me-write-this-too-for-some?source=share

Okkkk pls tell me I'm not the only one who wanted this to turn into a lil locker room gang bang... just slutty suggestible Art getting so riled up by the teasing touches of his team mates he finds himself bent over the bench being used in both holes.

Patrick just there watching the whole thing knowing he controls Art's orgasm. It's his cock that'll make his girl squirt back in their dorm and that's it.

Thoughts?

(love your writing so much you're so talented oml 💖)

Nope, you were not the only one my darling 💫

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Explicit

—-

Patrick knows Art.

How silly he gets when boys want him. When boys really, really fucking want him. Surprisingly it happens all the time. Maybe it’s all the all boys dorm, all the hormones. Close quarters. And Art’s always been pretty. Tall and blonde, baby blue eyes, long lashes with his boy next door charm and stupid little know it all smirk. The kinda stuff wet dreams are made out of.

Patrick starts it actually. Right after practice. Arts pulling his socks up over his calves and Patrick starts teasing him in front of everyone in the locker room. Touching his legs and asking why they’re so soft and hairless.

“They really are soft,” another boy chimes in, smirking and stealing a touch.

“And pale,” one more teammate says.

“Do you shave them? They’re so smooth like a girl,” Another boy laughs.

“No, no I don’t… stop it,” Art pushes them off and they’re off to the races. The touching leads to playing with his hair, leads to asking if he’s smooth anywhere else, everywhere else. Art starts flushing as the rest of the boys pile on. They start teasing and touching and then it's easy. So easy.

He goes mindless so fast from the attention. Boys, half naked, playing with him and he’s sitting there—chewing on his hoodie strings, eyes all soft, wetting his lips on every other word. Not even aware he’s doing it.

Patrick gets so fucking hard watching him. It’s why he did it in the first place.

He knows he’s not the only one. Half the boys in school already want to fuck him. Though if Patrick pointed that out (when Art wasn’t cockstupid) he would just laugh and say “you just think everyone wants to fuck me.”

He doesn’t have the intuition for this kinda thing the way Patrick does. Didn’t even understand why he’d get so hard for the teasing.

Even so Patrick doesn’t expect it.

He’s chatting with one of their teammates, Jesse, laughing about something that happened at a party over the weekend. He’s got an eye on Art. Always has an eye on Art. Especially when he’s in this state. Jesse follows his gaze and leans in whispering… “He’s too pretty right? Like girl pretty.”

Patrick smirks, tilting his head to the side, so he can stare at Art properly. “I dunno.”

The locker room has mostly cleared but for Patrick, Art, Jesse and a couple of other guys, Craig and Justin, who are still teasing Art while he’s leaning up against the locker. Art is flirting. Always flirting. Silly, slutty, mindless, flirting. He can’t turn it off.

One of the boys has his fingers in Arts hair. One with hands on his waist.

“You know you should probably let me kiss you,” Patrick can hear Craig say. Arts all flushed, glassy eyes and stammering as Craig leans in, taking his mouth. Justin starts rubbing Art through his shorts.

“Mm shit, you’re so hard, aren’t you?” Justin says quietly.

Patrick feels something in his brain start to malfunction. Getting stuck on this image.

Holy fuck.

The teasing has never ever gone this far.

Art is whiny through the kissing. “I think I’m…” He looks around breathlessly when Craig lets up for a minute. He looks like he’s trying to find some kind of semblance of control but he can’t focus. Can’t stop letting them touch him. Hands everywhere. Lips all over him. Fingers in his mouth on his body, under his hoodie. Even as Justin starts grinding up against him. He’s pushing back. Dizzy, drunk with need.

Patrick can feel his dick growing achingly hard along his pant leg.

Craig pulls Art down on the bench, onto his lap, Art’s moving his hips before he’s even on him properly. Its like they’re already fucking but they’ve still got clothes on. “You should come to my room. Sleep in my bed.” Craig says, biting, kissing, touching while Justin is kissing Art’s mouth.

Art groans, riding against whatever Craig is giving him. Patrick can’t help but wonder if its big.

“Jesus,” Jesse sighs next to Patrick. Patrick can see that he’s also visibly aroused. “He’s so…”

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees.

“What about you?” Jesse whispers. “You ever fuck him, Zweig? You ever fuck your roommate?”

Patrick rubs his palms along his thighs, over his dick (yes, yes, fuck yes, but only after years of breaking, breaking, and breaking through sexual tension, is what he doesn’t say). He takes a deep breath and shrugs picking up his water bottle. “What do you think?” He asks, biting down on the cap.

“Of course you did.” Jesse says, lightly. “Better question, can I fuck him?” He asks.

Patrick smirks. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because… everyone knows he belongs to you.”

Patrick thinks he’s gonna lose his mind.

He’s not mad or angry or jealous. Just suddenly so… so hungry. He gets up from the bench seat to grab his stuff out of his locker. “Art are you ready?” He asks, like Art’s not two steps away from letting their teammates use both of his holes to slut him out properly.

For whatever reason his words register for Art. “Mm Patrick?” He looks up, empty headed, still settled on Craig’s lap. “I can’t find my…” he trails off, hopeless.

“I know,” Patrick says.

“And I’m all…” Art shivers as Patrick helps him to his feet.

“I know. Come on,” Patrick says.

Craig is grinning at Patrick, he tries to grab at Art’s leg one more time. “You can come over whenever you want Donaldson,” he says.

“Anytime,” Justin agrees with a sigh, looking at his ass.

“I think I need to…to go home,” Art says, stumbling forward in his little adidas slides. Patrick steadies him.

And oh god is he a mess.

Hickeys blooming all over, sexed up hair in his eyes, lips pink and kiss swollen. Hoodie halfway unzipped, falling off his bare chest and shoulders. He starts biting idly at the sleeve of his hoodie, (fucking oral fixation) while Patrick grabs at it and zips him back up.

“Yeah sweetheart, you need to go home,” Patrick agrees, breathless, grabbing the fabric and pulling him close. “Hey look at me.”

Art’s gaze is cloudy but he tries to follow Patrick as much as he can.

“You can tease them all you want, fuck them if you need to, but I only want you to come for me okay?” He whispers in Art’s ear.

Art nods, still chewing on his sleeve and as brainless as he is right now Patrick thinks he gets it.

It happens the second they get back in the dorm room. Just inside the doorway and Art’s all over him. He wants to be fucked, fucked, fucked for real. They do it up against the wall, on the bed, till Patrick rolls over all sticky and wet with lube and spit and come.

Art is all lucid now. Getting ready to go clean up. Doesn’t say sorry, probably doesn’t even remember how he got so desperate he almost let his teammates fuck him raw in the locker room. He’s just sated and warm, barely any clothes on, socks sliding off his calves and laughing at some dumb movie on the television.

And yeah. Patrick thinks he’d probably die for him.

Blergh, I have to admit this was kinda difficult to write because I don’t think Patrick really wanted to share but these OCs got farther than most methinks! One day I’ll just go for it… full on gangbang for that blonde boy.

[quibbs126]

So my brain had another thought recently, and so I figured, how else to convey this idea than through another meme redraw?

I swear, I don’t know why I’m doing it so much now

But anyways, I essentially have this mental image of Starscream, Soundwave and Shockwave all being roommates in the TFOne-verse, whether that was always the case or if that only happened after Megatron took over an essentially kicked Starscream out of his room (and/or Starscream didn’t want to share with him). I just think it’s a funny mental image

But I also have a specific mindset with this dynamic, in that Soundwave and Shockwave are dating/married, while Starscream and Skyfire were a thing in the past, but with Sentinel’s betrayal Starscream hasn’t been able to see him in 50 years. So basically he’s stuck unwillingly third wheeling while not being able to be with his own partner, and he just kind of has to live with this

Anyways, I just thought it was funny and wanted to share it

[mumms-the-word]

I can’t get Maelle’s ending out of my head

I know it’s already been discussed to death but like…first off that final image of her is burned into my brain cause it legit freaked me out, that whole ending was so eerie to me

so it surprised me a little see others here and elsewhere online saying they prefer the Maelle ending because everyone has come back to life. But they haven’t. Or, well, not in the way you’d think

Perhaps Lune and Sciel are the same as they were when Maelle first brought them back. Maybe they’re still the original Lune and Sciel, more or less.

But it’s clear Verso isn’t. Gustave and Sophie aren’t. Pierre isn’t. No one else that died or were gommaged are the same, because none of them are her original creations—they’re all recreations of Aline’s creations. They’re all a copy, and imperfect ones at that

Monoco warns us about this when he explains how gestrals return. They can come back to life, but they’re never the same. They lack all the memories of before, they lack all the experience. When Noco comes back, he’s a different Noco. As he grows, he won’t gradually become like the old Noco, he will continue to be a different Noco who is becoming his own unique version

(Granted Noco and Monoco are allegorical fo the family dogs, this idea that when one Noco-the-dog dies you can get another dog and name him Noco but it won’t be the same Noco. But still, narratively, we see this happen with Monoco, and I think it’s meant to be a sign or a hint that it would be the same for others inside the canvas)

Gestrals are used to this, and Monoco finds something beautiful in the fact that the original Noco, who was his mentor, could be reincarnated and have a fresh new beginning and become his ward (the second iteration of Noco, if you will). But he’s clear he mourns both his mentor Noco and his ward Noco when Noco is killed in Old Lumiere, and even after Noco is reincarnated again he mourns.

It isn’t the same Noco.

Maelle only really knew Lune, Sciel, and Gustave well. She also knew Emma, several orphans, and perhaps Sophie semi-well. But well enough to paint them back into existence exactly as they were? I just don’t see it.

And Verso is the clue. While Lune, Sciel, Gustave, Sophie, all of them look happy, there’s a sense of…suspension in her ending while everyone is waiting for Verso to play the piano. The silence is deafening. Verso, now looking a little older, may or may not have all the memories of his 67+ years in the canvas—perhaps he’s an entirely new Verso—but it’s clear he seems all too aware of his circumstances. He hesitates. He seems unwilling to perform, literally and figuratively. It’s not nervousness that stays his hand.

It looks like he’s weighing his options. Play (perform) for Maelle, put on a show…or get up and leave. But does he really have a choice?

Maelle’s smile in that scene seems strained, almost faked, performative. In some shots it almost seems like she’s crying, despite her smile, cause of the sheen on her cheeks. And then we snap to that one shot of her, with the paint dripping down her face, and we know she’s spent too long in the canvas already.

It’s hard to say what that moment means, if it’s just to warn us that Maelle is spending too much time painting everyone back into existence and trying to shape Lumiere into this world that she wants to live in with the others, or if it’s a suggestion that she’s exerting some kind of control over Verso. I don’t think it’s the latter. I don’t think everyone is a mindless puppet around her. But I do think it’s a hint that she might become another obsessed Paintress…and since she’s in the habit of repainting anyone who has been lost…

I don’t know. Maelle doesn’t seem to be in the business of painting original things. She can only copy. If she’s stuck in a cycle where she can only copy things, where she doesn’t go out to explore new places or meet new people or find new inspiration, then she and Lumiere will stagnate inside the canvas.

Either way, it’s a haunting ending. It’s a facade of happiness that is thinly painted over a darker, more desolate reality. You get this very real sense that Maelle will never leave the canvas. And I’ll say it—that’s tragic.

And what about the soul of real Verso? That’s what bothers me the most. He is so tired. He’s the soul fragment of a child who is plagued with nightmares from the Nevrons, who is trying to make sense of this fragmented world of his creation that no longer looks like his creation, and he’s tired.

But Maelle forces him to stay painting anyway. Because without him, there is no canvas. And without a canvas, she can’t have the fabricated world of her own making, where she can hide for what seems like forever.

Yeah. This ending will haunt me for a bit

[drowned-captain]

The Rebound - Pitfighter! Vi x Fem! Reader - Ch.1

A/N: Hellooo this idea came to me in my mind brain. This is going to take place during the time of Vi’s pitfighter era (duh). I’m kinda hitting the ground running with this one, so bear with me lol. I’m aiming for some angst and drama! This is pretty much the first fic I’m writing so I hope you readers enjoy! I’m also writing this on mobile (and I’m kinda new to posting on tumblr) so I apologize for any possible weird formatting. This will most likely be a multi-part story :) Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

MDNI! (18+ only).

TW// Mature themes like violence, drinking, possible drug use, infidelity, mean/triggering thoughts

Summary: You are a Zaunite going through a breakup. Your partner was once your entire world for nearly three years until you had enough of them going behind your back. After being reclusive in your home for weeks, you decide to rejoin society. You find yourself curious about Zaun’s latest fighting champion, but she might have other intentions with you.

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

You are laying in your bed like you have been for the past few hours. Or has it been days? Weeks? Who knows. The only time you made yourself get up was to grab a snack or to go to the bathroom. Other than that, being curled up in a bunch of blankets has been all the comfort you can give yourself without the usual embrace of your ex-partner. You have a photograph of the two of you pinched between your fingers, the image blurry from the pooling of tears in your eyes. You adjust your head on your pillow slightly to lay your cheek on a dry spot, inhaling deeply through your nose and cringing at the snot retreating back into your nostrils.

You roll over on your bed, facing the empty spot next to you. Your face crinkles in sadness at the absence of the person you considered your everything. In frustration, you shove the pillow next to yours and it falls off the bed, hitting the floor softly. Your mind wandered to how many people that lying rat had laid down in the bed you two shared. Your fist clenches in rage, and you merely slam your fist at the spot next to you. Your hand just bounces easily, encouraging you to sit up and toss the picture you were holding elsewhere as you slammed your fists into the bed. A frustrated scream escapes your lips before you tire yourself out, leaving you panting and wiping tears, snot, and saliva off of your face with your already soggy sleeves.

You remain seated there on your knees, just staring at the ruffled mess underneath you. The anger and sadness in your mind tore each other apart like a couple of fighting cats, and you slump into yourself. You finally pick your head up and look around your room, and all you see are reminders of them. Photographs, trinkets, and clothes that they couldn’t come collect because you were serious when you told them to never come back. You know that you’ll have to return them eventually, but it’s just too painful to even touch their possessions. You’ve had enough of surrounding yourself with these painful memories.

You bring your shirt to your nose and take a congested whiff, and despite having your nose compromised your head recoiled at your own stench. Groaning, you scooted yourself off of your bed. Your knees and ankles popped from not being used in a while as you walked to the bathroom. You glanced at yourself in the mirror and sighed at your state.

Your hair was stuck to your face from the tears, your eyes were swollen and red, entire face shiny from the oil buildup. You have to pull yourself together, girl!

After a much needed shower, you felt a little bit better. You wandered off back into your bedroom, briefly glancing out of the curtain on your window to see what time of day it was. It appeared to be later in the day, maybe too late to go out and actually do something. However, the pain from your surroundings was enough of a deterrent to encourage you to step out anyways.

You threw on some casual clothing, finishing it off with some light makeup. For the first time in a while, you felt pretty. It was almost like a little makeover for your depressed self… but you would’ve felt a lot better about it if the makeup you used wasn’t one of your many “I’m sorry” gifts from your ex lover.

You sigh, slipping some shoes on before locking your place and heading out into the streets of Zaun. It didn’t seem like much changed around the street except for the growing trend of people dying their hair blue.

Zaun’s noises were a much needed change from the echoing of your own sobs in your bedroom. You keep your head low as you wander around. You don’t really care where you end up— you just have to get some (not so) fresh air. You pretend not to hear whistles that you know are directed at you. In another world, the attention might have been nice. You left your apartment feeling pretty, but your mean mind once again beats you down.

‘If you were as pretty as you think you are, you wouldn’t have been cheated on. You weren’t pretty enough to them since they did what they did MULTIPLE times.’

You shake your head, feeling tears threatening to gather along your waterline. You sniffle and pick your head up, looking up at the darkened, foggy sky to blink the tears away. As your head returns to a neutral position, your eyes catch a glimpse of some posters on the wall that you walked along. The wall had many of the same poster, but most of them had been drawn on with blue spray paint. Your analytical eyes were quick to find a readable one.

It said something about where to place bets for tonight’s match in The Pit. There were the names of some contestants listed below, but you couldn’t care less about the names of the people getting their teeth punched out tonight. Judging by the distant noise, it doesn’t seem like it’s too far at all. However, the crowd of people coming towards you— some cheering and some angry — tells you that you just missed the fight. Oh well.

You walked against the crowd, letting yourself keep walking. There was distant music that was getting closer and some colorful lights coming from many buildings. You looked around, realizing that you had wandered into the ‘livelier’ strip of Zaun. People walking by smelled of alcohol, sex, and cigarette. This would normally bother you or warrant your face scrunching up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment.

With your shoe dragging to a stop, you look around the area and contemplate going back home for a few seconds. But you shake your head.

“No, I’m tired of being at the apartment. I’m going to treat myself,” you say to yourself with a determined look on your face.

“Treat yourself to a psych ward if you’re going to stand there talking to nobody,” says a random guy to your left. A bouncer.

You turn to face him, your face twisting into an awkward smile.

“You gonna go in or not?” He asks, crossing his arms. You look past him, your eyebrows raised at the amount of people in there. You can hear the bass of the music booming through the walls.

“Uh.. sure. Yeah. I’ll give this place a shot,” you say, clicking your tongue and winking at him for your lame pun. He just scoffs and stands aside, opening the door to let you in.

When you step inside, you contemplate turning right back around. There are so many people in here that you can feel sweat landing on you from all the dancing people. You awkwardly shimmy your way through the crowd until you reach the bar area. A groan escapes your mouth when you see that the bar is also pretty backed up. But alas! Someone gets off of one of the barstools. You shove your way past people and take a seat, sighing at the slight relief of not being elbowed or having your shoes stepped on by people lost in the music.

The bartender makes eye contact with you, and you yell out for two shots of raspberry vodka. After a few moments, the bartender slides two shot glasses of the tinted liquid in front of you.

As you reach for the glass on the right, a bandaged hand has already grabbed it.

“Thanks,” says the woman, throwing her head back and downing the shot before slamming it down on the counter. Her forehead bonks onto the counter as well, black hair sprawling out.

Your mouth is agape and your hand is still in midair above where your now empty shot glass rests. Your eyebrows furrow in irritation, and you nudge the drunk girl’s shoulder with your hand.

“Hey! That was not for you. You’re going to have to pay for that shot,” you say. The woman rolls her head to the side, an annoyed scowl on her face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she growls, her words slurring. She peels her face off of the counter and runs a hand through her hair, fixing her bangs into place.

Before you can say something to defend yourself, you close your mouth upon seeing those wrapped up hands of hers; the bandages on her knuckles were stained with blood. Her glossy eyes meet yours, the scowl on her face relaxing a bit upon seeing your face.

‘This girl is probably one of those fighter people. Better not agitate her even more.’

You quickly break the eye contact and grab your only shot left and down it, feeling the burn all the way down to your stomach.

“Who are you anyways? You don’t look like you belong here at all,” she says, leaning in a bit so you can hear her past the music.

You honestly can’t tell if she’s trying to find a reason to escalate a fight or if she’s genuinely trying to have a conversation. Glancing at her, you can see bruises on her face even underneath her smeared, black makeup.

“This was the only free seat,” you say, not making the contact with her in fear that you’ll get socked in the jaw. What if she perceives eye contact as a threat?

“Lucky me,” the girl says with as she plops her chin onto the counter. You breathe a sigh of relief now that her posture is a bit more relaxed.

“So do you have a name or not?” she asks again.

Finally turning your head to look at her properly, you answer, “It’s definitely not as important or well known as yours might be.”

Her silvery eyes glance up at you, “You watch the fights then?”

“I can assume that you’re one of those pit fighters judging by your, um…” you look at her bloody knuckles once more and at the bruises on her face, “demeanor.”

The woman lets out a laugh, “You’re a such a dork,” she slurs, picking her head up. “You could just say no. But I’ll have you know that I’m at the top of the food chain in that pit. You should come see me.” She flexes her bicep, and you glance at her beefy arm before looking back at her smug face. Drunk people are so damn weird.

“….Right,” is all you can say.

“Now how about that name of yours?” She asks with a smile, “I would like to know the name of the lady who bought me a shot.”

“I didn’t b— ugh.. whatever. It’s (y/n).”

“I like that name. Caitlyn is such a pretty name,” she says, smiling weakly.

“I said (y/n).”

“That’s what I said. (Y/n).”

You roll your eyes and disengage from the conversation by turning slightly away from her in your seat.

“You’re not going to ask me my name?” She asks, using her foot to turn your barstool back to her.

“…What’s your name?”

“Vi,” she answers, resting her head on her hand. You just nod, feeling awkward. Needing more liquid confidence, you wave the bartender down again and order a lemondrop martini.

“A martini, huh? Aren’t those usually called princess drinks?” Vi says with a wink.

“Since when?” you raise one of your eyebrows at her. Vi just laughs.

After the bartender brings you your drink, you take a sip and cough a bit at the strength of it.

“You don’t drink very often. I can tell,” Vi says with a playful smile.

“You seem to drink too much judging by your behavior,” you retort. You somewhat chug the rest of the martini, already feeling the buzz in your head. You order shot after shot, not really paying attention to the flirtatious stuff that Vi is telling you. You wonder if your ex lover did the same shit to the people they brought to your bed.

“I’m just having fun,” Vi says, having ordered some beverage for herself and taking a swig.

“No you’re not,” you say, the alcohol helping you speak your mind, “If you’re anything like me, you’re here to forget. To numb some type of pain.”

Vi’s face and body language went from drunken flirt to mild shock.

“Yeah,” you say, looking at her, “I don’t belong here, you’re right. But neither do you, is what I’m thinking. That’s what I’m reading off of you.”

Vi lowers her drink, staring at you.

“See, you know I’m right ‘cause you have nothing to say,” a smile on your face as your words slur.

Vi’s face turns into a scowl again, “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I don’t want to know a damn thing about you,” you bark, narrowing your eyes at her, “So stop flirting with me and get a grip.”

Vi stands up from her seat, her body tense. A bearded man who sat on the other side of her put his hand on her shoulder, making her sit back down. You were scared for a brief second, but you didn’t let it show. Thank goodness Vi had some sort of friend with her to keep her in check.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your wallet, leaving some cash on the counter.

Vi looks at her friend, briefly coming to her senses. She then huffs, her attitude completely changing. She takes a few gulps of her drink before saying, “You should really get a grip on yourself too, then. Don’t let it get like this,” she glances down at herself.

You don’t say anything in response, but you know she’s right. You have to practice what you preach.

You wave the bartender down once more, making a gesture. The bartender comes back with two plastic cups of clear liquid, and you push one towards Vi.

“Sober up, Vi,” you say. You stand up from your seat and take your cup of liquid, making your way through the crowd towards the exit.

Vi grabs the cup you left, taking a sip and expecting it to burn, but it doesn’t. It’s just water.

End of Ch. 1

Part two is here!

[thewanderingmask]

my submission for the hermitcraft season 10 fan art gallery: Xisuma Eternal! (actual size on left, embiggened version on right)

there are a ton of little thoughts that went into this and i will now go off about them at length (ramble under the cut)

let's start with the image layout and composition! my first idea was to do an homage to the original doom box art because of X's skin, but ultimately I decided on referencing this Eternal cover (hence the title of the piece) because it sparked some stronger ideas in my brain.

i still wanted to keep that link to the original though, so i did my very best to emulate the original logo with X's name - replacing the original texture with binary as one of many references to X's role supporting the technical side of the server.

(for no reason other than my own amusement, the binary in the letters is translated lyrics from X's verse in the hermit gang song. i don't even know how much of that is still visible after lining the letters, but i liked putting it there)

i've only been watching hermitcraft for a few months, and there's an awful lot of history i don't know about. so i focused on doing my best celebrating builds X has worked on here in season 10! i would have loved to include his base as well, but ultimately i ran out of room.

(there are still a few nods to other seasons based on knowledge i've acquired through osmosis. evil X is the most obvious, but i was also able to sneak in a couple small carvings next to the X in the title text!)

coming back around to xisuma's work on the technical side, that's why Evil X is backed by error windows. it's also why xisuma is holding a toolbox! it was the best visual metaphor i could come up with for the digital job of maintenance and repair.

(and of course he has a lovely cup of tea as well)

the allays (holding redstone) are partially in reference to farms X has been making, partially bringing back in that angelic/demonic vibe of Doom, and mostly because their intended role of supporters and helpers feels very thematically appropriate for X.

the lines in the sky are of course meant to evoke the shapes of mace race, and the black cube is a minecraft-ified version of the Soulside Eclipse logo.

(if you're not familiar, that's xisuma's music! it's good!! give it a listen sometime! it's on youtube!)

the silverfish at the very bottom are visual reference to the demon hordes of Doom - and of course they're also much more directly referencing X's very clever prank in impulse's city.

finally, on the walls of spawn we have the carved symbols - one for every other hermit. i remember X mentioning in a stream once something about fulfillment from supporting others. (i apologise if i'm remembering less than clearly.) it just felt like if i wanted to represent X, it felt important to include them as well.

and of course it made me happy to do something for Every hermit, since all of them

(smallishbeans/joel was actually the one i got most stuck on! there wasn't really a single item or symbol i could think of to narrow him down to. ultimately i decided on a torii gate and a little letter J, but i'm honestly still thinking about it)

ah right, and the Actual last thing: this turner out to be totally unnecessary, but i absolutely did draw this in the minecraft map hex code colours. it's a tricky palette to work with, and i learned a LOT about pixel art while trying to get the sky to look nice!

this piece took about 10 days to complete, maybe the longest i've ever spent on a single illustration like this - and honestly, i'm really happy and pretty proud of how it turned out!!

[prael]

Kinktember 2024 - A Retrospective

What. A. Month. I want to start with my gratitude to every single person who read, commented, liked, reblogged, sent asks, discussed, and otherwise interacted in any other possible way with this whole shebang.

To close it all out, I want to give some of my thoughts and peel back the curtain a little on Kinktember.

Some Facts

168,396 words. One hundred and sixty-eight thousand, three hundred and ninety-six words. Averaging at 5,155 words per fic. Wow.

52 unique idols made an appearance and four were featured on more than one occasion; Wonyoung, Karina, Chaewon and Sakura are the four idols who hold that prestige.

Writing time on these pieces varied heavily, while I attempted to constrict myself to writing each fic in a single day, some of them got far beyond initially planned, with the most amount of time being spent on day 18, the IU fic. That one took roughly a total of 20 hours including editing. The quickest was as short as a 2-hour turnaround on days 14 and 15 (Chaewon and Youngeun).

Special Thanks

I’d like to take a moment before giving my personal thoughts to make a special token of gratitude to certain people. While there has been so much support from so many people and I would love to shout everyone out, I’m limiting myself to just a few.

Firstly, to @maemisnippets for the message on 14/07/2024 that was simply “Stand and carry” in reference to Youngeun. That single simple message became the catalyst for this entire Kinktember.

Secondly, to @midnightdancingsol for taking the time to help me make the initial plan for all the days of Kinktember and making many great suggestions that spawned a lot of these fics. Also thank you to everyone else for your suggestions and ideas.

Finally, to @capslocked for a great many things, from discussing details as small as how to format my posts to everything else you did.

Your Questions

Did you set yourself a time to do each one like a challenge to finish each to make it manageable? I gave myself 1 day per fic, whatever time I could spare during that day would be all I had to complete it, I think for around 27 of them, I managed to stick to this schedule. Some of them did spill over into a second day, such as the longer ones like IU.

How the hell did you find the motivation/inspiration to complete the whole thing? Honestly, I found it incredibly fun. I think I often get stuck in bigger projects and my brain gets all foggy, but with all of these fic being quick and snappy, I never got that feeling. Things kept being fresh and exciting and I was pretty much always looking forward to jumping into the next fic.

How did you approach choosing your kinks? / How did you come up with more of the exotic kinks? First I started with the obvious ones, the ones that instantly came to mind, and just threw them into a list. There are some niche ones that I always wanted to write too, but never had a reason to, such as electrophilia and vicarphilia. So even the more ‘exotic’ choices, I was acutely aware of. Then to round it out I did a little research online and pulled together a list of ‘potential’ kinks, which allowed me to fill out the missing slots.

Did you find varying each entry to be easy or difficult? What went into your thought process when it came to setting up each of the entries and the kink involved? Collecting a list of varied kinks was rather easy, at least initially, once I cut that down to the ones I would like to write, I ended up with a few spaces, and those final few became really difficult. But that’s why it’s great to have a community to lean on and ask for ideas. The thought process wasn’t really anything special beyond that. I just created a list and then picked out what I wanted to write, and then decided on idols to feature in each one. This leads nicely onto the image below, I scraped this initial list from a DM with another writer. As you can see, the initial list I put together on day one contained a large number of the ideas that made it into the final cut. This also serves as an answer to the questions on what ideas I decided to drop.

How did you match the featured idol(s) to the kink you have planned? Was it based on their idol personality? Or was it just random? I approached it in a similar way to how I would with most other fics, where if I think an idol’s personality lends itself to the fic, then I will do just that. Of course, it’s impossible to be really accurate and I had to take some creative liberties where needed. Although, on some occasions, I did just throw an idol in there and write her without thinking about her actual personality too much. This usually happens with idols I know less about.

I'm curious how you went about writing some of the more nicher kinks like electrophilia? The simple answer would be to say that I approached it the same way as I did every other fic. None of the kinks required me to do any further research as they’re all kinks that I’m familiar with and am interested in. So in the end I just wrote what felt right.

Was there an idol that you started liking after finishing writing her? For the sake of my own enjoyment/motivation, I only chose to write idols I already liked. Though I would say that writing the Shuhua fic made me a lot more attracted to her than normal. I could also possibly put IU here too, since she’s not really on the forefront of my mind, but became much more so after writing her.

Was there an idol in particular that you 'wanted' to write, but ultimately switched it to a different idol instead? REI. How did I not write REI?! She was in the original draft list where I was going to do some form of bondage piece, but ultimately all the ideas I had for it were absorbed into other fics.

This feels like a good point to share this initial list I completed with Sol while planning. A lot of this remained true to plan, but you may spot some changes.

Now that it's done are you glad you did it or did you end up regretting your decision at some point? Overall, I’m happy and proud and think it was 100% worth it. I relished the challenge and it took me out of my comfort zone. Right now, the only regrets I have are the fics where I know I could have done more/better but I know that I have to accept that I did the best I could in the time constraints. There were times along the way when I had my regrets and wondered if I should even have bothered, particularly when a fic wasn’t well received, but I know now I had just to accept that.

Do you feel more familiar with your style/voice as a writer, if so: what have you discovered? Did you learn anything from this writing-wise? Discovered some new writing styles and possibly improved some? I think the most important thing I took away from this is how important it is to just get words down on the page. I have spent time previously stuck in my own head and grinding to a halt in a fic when trying to make things work. Kinktember simply wouldn’t allow that, so I had to adapt. I learned to be ruthless by deleting the things that didn’t work and pushing on without trying to be overly perfect. I don’t think I developed my ‘voice’ or style too much because I believe it did have to take a backseat at times in order to maintain pace. However, I did get the opportunity to try new things, such as FxF and writing for a gender-neutral reader and also varying the pacing within the fics. Fics such as the Kkura one where I cut together four short, connected scenes really suited the concept and were very fresh to write.

Which fic do you think the idol and the kink are a 'perfect' match? Maybe in terms of reader reception or how quickly you got into the flow state when writing it? Well, I wasn’t sure at the time, but I was told that Karina and dressing up as a maid worked really well. I also think there were a few really obvious combinations that I leaned on, such as spanking Chaewon and having Ryujin and Yeji scissor, or having Minju be a doll. Those are ones that just instantly clicked for me and I thought to myself it was a perfect match. I would say I entered the biggest flow state when writing the Moka x Yunah, I found it incredibly hot, so much so that I finished the fic and then when going to edit, I wrote the second scene. Idk I’m just really down bad for Moka rn. Also, I hear that I really nailed the Yunjin/Kkura/Chaewon dynamic, so probably that one too.

Is there a fic that you would have written regardless but just so happened to be included in kinktember, if that makes sense? I never really know what I’m going to write next until I’m writing it, and I never know if it will be posted until I post it. This makes it hard for me to really guarantee that anything in Kinktember would one day come to fruition. The closest to it would be part 2 of the Minji fic, How Sweet To Be Alone. I always wanted to follow up on it, so being able to add it as a kinktember fic became a bit of a perfect storm. There are other fics too that I always wanted to write, and maybe I would have one day, but kinktember made it a reality.

Would you do kinktember(or any other variant) again? Would you recommend writers to try it at least once? I would say I’m more likely to do it again than I am not, but I can’t guarantee it. As for recommending it to other writers… the honest answer is no. I feel that it goes against so many of a writer's natural instincts. It takes over your life. It consumes your time. You’re forced to work unnaturally hard and you’re forced to reduce your standards. I don’t think it’s healthy for anyone to push to do something like this.

Finally, throughout the month I had so many nice asks that I couldn't respond to, but I read them all and appreciated them all so much.

[peachyproserpina]

Time Flies

Sam (Warfare) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sam's hair is getting long, he really should trim that back.

Warnings: PTSD episode, panic attack, pregnancy mention.

Notes: Let me know if I missed any warnings. It's just a blurb from DMs that wouldnt leave my brain till i posted it.

Sam's never let his hair grow before, he's been in the forces for the few years and it just was easier to keep it regulation then schedule a cut anytime he's called back to base. But he's home now, been home for what feels like forever and 10 seconds all at once.

He's just lost track of time because now his hair is long. Brushing the tips of his ears and finally long enough to tickle the back of his neck. He's grabbing the electric razor and it buzzes to life, looking up at himself in the mirror to shave it back down and he stops. There's a stranger staring back at him in the mirror. It's him, of course its him, but its not. He's put on a little bit of weight, looks older, tired. The face of a man whose seen too much in his life. When he thinks of himself he's stuck with the image of that dirty scared reflection he caught during evac.

But he's not that guy anymore. Not really. There's always gonna be that kid who's in way to deep and in charge of making sure his brothers get out alive. Who's hurting and panicked and has to keep it together. Who has a newborn at home waiting to meet him and how he has to make it home. A wife and a house and a perfect little family he needs to protect. He's gripping the bathroom counter, razor dropped into the sink and buzzing away. Trying to stay in the moment, the now. Not back there, he can't fall back.

You're still waking up as you walk into the bathroom, bursting that bubble that Sam has worked himself into and he's trying so hard. So so hard to come back, be present, it feels impossible, he's drowning- your hands are warm. Lulled with sleep as you wrap them around his middle and smile into his back. Sam freezes, then you're peeking out from behind him. Giving him a warm smile and squeezing between him and the sink, your arms are resting on his biceps as they strain, your sleep shirt riding up just that little bit to see that little bump that yall made. That snaps him out of it, brings him right back to the present- he's quick as he wraps his arms around you. Trying to take his deep breaths, relax his shoulders, and all that other shit he's learned in therapy and group and what the Vietnam vets have told him while waiting at the VA.

"I love your hair." It's a soft whisper, your fingers have made their way to the back of his neck and are playing with the length there. Fingers soothing as they play with his hair. Sam's humming, holding you close and pressing kisses to the crown of your head.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗕𝗢𝗗𝗬 𝗛𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚

　　　　　　　　　𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔 x reader

SUMMARY: Where the hate that Y/N has been receiving on social media gets her on a path that she couldn't come back alone from.

WARNING: Eating disorder, dysmorphia, self-hatred, comparison. PLEASE read with caution!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N was home alone for the second week in a row, and to say that things were easy would be a big lie. Her days were always the same: Spending hours doing different physical exercises and other hours reading the most horrible comments from Harry's fans.

She could never say they were bad people, after all they loved and cared about Harry, but there was something within the fandom against her, and she wondered if it was because she wasn't famous or because she wasn't thin.

Her heart told her that she shouldn't worry about it, there were sweet people who defended her and always presented proof of how much happier Harry seemed to be when with her, but her mind screamed that it was option two.

Hours of sleep were lost with Y/N ​​in front of the mirror, without any clothes and with her hair tied up, her dark eyes with big bags underneath wandering over every part of her body while her brain made records of absolutely all the negative parts.

To say that she wasn't in agony every time she saw an old article about Harry's exes or comments comparing them all to her was an understatement, she could only feel disgusted with herself and her body, while all her past traumas came back with full strength.

With Harry away it made it easier for her to do her fasting and her long hours of physical exercise, in addition to going days without ingesting anything more than one or two leaves of pure lettuce, and lots of water. The feeling of the cold water running through her body and reaching her empty stomach was pleasurable, and all she could think about was how thin she only felt when her stomach was empty.

And without even realizing it, her best friend became her scale, and her greatest partner became her seamstress' measuring tape. Y/N had even printed out some images of the body models she dreamed of having every day, and pasted each one of them in different corners of the house, especially in the kitchen, with strong messages full of triggers that made her think twice before opening the refrigerator or cupboard.

It wasn't surprising that she had an exaggerated reaction when she was told that Harry would have a week without shows, and that in that week he would return home and, consequently, to her. Y/N wasn't prepared to see him again, or rather, she wasn't thin enough to do so. Her weak legs ran around the house, tearing off all the photos and messages stuck to doors and walls, storing them in a far away place, where he wouldn't find.

She tried to take a long shower and brush her teeth repeatedly to get rid of the smell that she got from the lack of food. And then she felt a little ready for what was to come.

It wasn't long before the sound of the key in the main door was heard and the doorknob turned, the tall, dark figure appearing in the doorway with a suitcase in one hand and a big smile on his face, his emerald green eyes searching for her.

Y/N smiled one of her best smiles and ran to meet him, careful not to throw her full weight against him. She couldn't help but feel uncomfortable as his large hands encircled her waist, the worry that he would feel the fat on her back regions running through her mind. But what she didn't notice was the confused look on Harry's face as his fingers felt how much smaller she was, and he wondered if she had started some kind of diet.

"I missed you so much, H." Y/N murmured against his shoulder.

"Not as much as I did, lovie. Every day, I just thought about having you with me, encouraging me and loving me, and then rewarding me." Y/N felt her body tense at the mention of the intimacy they both shared, the thought of him seeing her body, even though he had already seen it so many times that he had memorized every detail, made her fear.

"Why don't we take this suitcase to the bedroom and then see what we do?" She interrupted the moment, walking away with a fake smile and taking the suitcase from the taller man's hands, starting to climb the stairs, leaving a confused and worried Harry behind.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Two days had passed, days full of lies on Y/N's part and worry on Harry's part. Y/N skipped breakfast, using the fact that Harry woke up after her as an excuse, saying that she had already eaten breakfast; At lunch she couldn't just lie or make some excuse, so she simply took a spoonful of the food that the brunette cooked with so much love, and spread it across the plate, trying to give the impression of having a full plate; At dinner she simply said that she wasn't hungry and that she lost the habit of eating dinner after Harry went on tour.

The days went on like this, Harry felt confused about the situation, but it didn't seem like he didn't believe it, so a debate raged between whether to bring up the subject or not.

Until one day. Harry woke up with the morning sun shining through the open curtain, which Y/N ​​opened every day, his body was warm from the duvet and Y/N's scent surrounded it, like Saturn's rings.

The man got up and did his routine, going to the bathroom, taking a quick shower and changing, ready to go down to meet his loved one, who was always waiting for him with a big smile, sitting at the kitchen counter with her cell phone in hand and a cup of coffee, which was just for him.

But today was different, as Harry went down the stairs a muffled sound became clearer, until his brain registered that the sound was of crying, with a frown the man quickened his pace and chased the sound, concern settling in his eyes.

It didn't take long for him to find Y/N in the fetal position on the main sofa in the room, the cell phone in her right hand while her left hand covered her mouth, trying futilely to stifle the sobs that broke from her throat.

Harry ran closer, kneeling on the floor in front of her seat on the sofa and placing his hands on the girl's knees, stroking them lightly.

"Y/N what happened? Who made you cry like this?" His green eyes migrated from her half-covered face and her cell phone.

"H-Harry-" Her voice broke as the taller man's name came out as a whimper.

"I'm here, baby!" He got closer, wrapping his hands around the smaller girl's shoulders, placing his forehead on the top of Y/N's head, breathing in her scent.

"Harry, I don't think I can do this anymore..." Y/N whispered.

"Do what, my love?"

"Us, Harry." The man moved quickly, astonished by his girl's response.

"Did I do something? It was one of those fake news that I'm cheating on you, wasn't it? Baby, I never-"

"No Harry, no. I know you would never do that! And you didn't do anything, I just..." She sighed and looked into his eyes, feeling guilty when she saw the pain in his emerald orbs. "Look at me, Harry, look at this." She pointed to his body, letting a loud sob out.

"What should I be seeing? Besides a beautiful woman."

Y/N laughed in disbelief, shaking her head and feeling a hint of anger start to rise, it was clear he would say something like that just to please her.

"Harry, I'm looking horrible. I don't have visible ribs or a protruding collarbone, I don't have a thigh gap or hip bones, I don't have thin wrists and I don't have well-marked cheekbones, I don't have pointy shoulders and I don't have a defined jaw... I don't have delicate hands or thin fingers, my waist isn't extremely thin and my breasts are too big. Harry, I'm not perfect and I can't give you what you need."

At this point Y/N was crying a desperate cry, with strong sobs that made her body shake and thick tears that ran down her face. Harry had tears welling up in his eyes as his hands balled into fists in anger at whoever had put these thoughts in his beloved's head.

"Y/N, who made you think like that? How can you deduce what I want?"

"Harry..." She closed her eyes tightly, her mind betraying her by bringing up images of Camille, the girl seemed to be kind, but Y/N couldn't help but feel jealous of her perfect body. "I'm not like them, I'm not like her!"

"Who? Baby, please-"

"I'm not like Camille or like Kendall or like Taylor, and I can't give you the pretty, thin image you need, the media hates me and I've lost count of how many times they've told you that you're blind from being with me, and I can't disagree with that."

Harry shook his head in denial, feeling angry at the media and everything they post and say with the intention of always offending someone.

Y/N continued to sob, and the force her body exerted with the act left her weak, the lack of food began to appear again and her eyes saw stars while her head swam. Harry grabbed her arms quickly, steadying her.

"Baby if you keep crying like that you're going to hurt yourself. Take a deep breath for me, hm? I'll get you a glass of water."

The brunette ran to the kitchen, starting to look for the decorated glass that he knew was the girl's favorite. While opening drawers and cabinets, his green eyes found a piece of paper glued to the front of the bottom shelf, where some industrialized sweets were kept. Harry took the paper and pulled it out, seeing a photo of a body exactly as described by Y/N and a note next to it, his eyes widened at the horrible mentions written there and he tried to get up quickly and return to the room, holding the paper firmly in your hands.

"Y/N what is this?" The brown-haired girl looked up quickly, her greatest fear happening right before her eyes. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. "Tell me something, when was the last time you ate anything?" She shook her head, ready to say it was the day before, but Harry interrupted her. "I mean a whole meal with a healthy amount."

Y/N remained silent, her eyes now fixed on the floor covered by the shag carpet, the older man took a deep breath, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat. He walked over to the smallest one and put the photo in his pants pocket, promising himself to look for others like it deep in the house.

"Y/N this is a serious situation, you can't keep something like this to yourself!" He couldn't help but feel frustration, he felt guilty for feeling like that because he knew that it wasn't Y/N's fault, but with the way that all of that came down, it just made his head confused and upset.

"Harry I'm fine, that was just-"

"Baby I bet you haven't eaten in days, do you think this is healthy, that this will get you somewhere other than a hospital bed? Letting this situation compromise you like this because of other people... That's not good for you. You don't need to have the same body as them, you don't need to have bones showing or a flat stomach to be magnificent. Those pants you're wearing were tight until a few weeks ago, and look at them now, they're baggy..."

Y/N kept her gaze down, her eyes were filling with uncontrollable tears that threatened to flow at any second again, her cheeks were heating up and the force she was exerting to contain the tears was starting to generate an unbearable headache. She knew Harry was right.

"I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me everything is okay. Just look into my eyes."

The girl slowly raised her head, her eyes focusing on Harry's beautiful green ones, which now held so much anguish and worry, a tear escaping from the corner of his right eye made her lower lip tremble. She opened her mouth to state that she was fine and that everything was going to get better, but her voice seemed to trail off for a second.

Her body hurt, her legs were wobbly and her arms were shaking slightly, she felt her head feel heavy. It was a horrible feeling, beyond normal.

"I-I... Harry, I think I need help."

She whispered, her tears flowing freely now with the weight of her words. Harry nodded vigorously, relieved that she understood that this situation was not normal, and promising himself that he would be by her side through the entire process, no matter how long it took.

And that night, after his girlfriend fell asleep, Harry cried.

[mrypotter]

Nothing Can Capture The Sting

Harry James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Reader tries to replace Harry after they break up, but nothing captures the feeling she has when she’s with him.

Warnings: Angst, crying, mention of break up, brief mention of being tied up (no description), kissing? Cho (is she a warning lol-), let me know if there’s any others!!

Note: I really need to write for Harry more often, he’s my favorite! So here’s to the Harry lovers. ;)

Now Playing: Sailor Song Gigi Perez

Masterlist

Requests closed :)

She stared at the boy across from her, his dimples and fluffy hair showcasing his beauty. He was pretty, in a way, and he was smart too since he was in dark blue robes. But she couldn’t help but doze off while he was telling her something about his Charms essay… or was it Potions? She didn’t quite place the subject, for her mind was thinking of other things.

He looked a lot like Harry, she observed. His hair was similar, fluffy and defiantly not properly taken care of- she wondered if it could resist even the strongest of charms, just like Harry’s? And if she looked harder, she could tell he was basically an off brand of Harry. The two boys had the same eye color, despite Harry’s being brighter to her, and their dimples were oh so noticeable when they smiled.

The main difference between the boys was Harry had glasses, the boy in front of her didn’t. She placed them on him in her mind though, picturing him with the round rimmed lenses around his green eyes, adding an imaginary sparkle to them while she was at it.

She felt bad doing these things, changing the boy’s image in her mind when she was trying to move on. How dare she, changing his face while he was talking to her, smiling like he’s finally met the girl he’s been looking for?

“-did Snape give you detention yesterday too? And he said no, which was okay, but at the same time he did the same thing as me! I swear, Snape hates everyone but the Slytherins-”

Harry didn’t ramble.

He normally just complained and muttered to himself, but never rambled to her. He would most of the time let her ramble to him, yet he spoke openly about not being bothered by it, for he liked the sparkle in her eyes while she talked about something she liked… most likely another romance Muggle novel she read.

She have had finished one recently, not like she had any interest talking to him about it, for she couldn’t help but picture Harry instead.

What would he do if he was here?

If he was here, she was gonna be honest here, if Harry was here (and she pictured it so detailed that it hurt her chest) he could be leaning his head against the table with his arm, glasses crooked as he softly smiled at her, letting her know he was listening, running the tip of his finger around the top of his Butterbeer. The drink would still be around his lips, and every now and then his tongue would stick out and grab little by little before bringing it back into his mouth.

The image was so familiar to her, so comforting, that her brain stuck to it for the rest of the time the boy- was his name Robert?- told his story about how unfair Snape treated other Houses besides Slytherin. But who knows, though, had he moved onto another subject, or was he still rambling on about the same thing?

And, as she was walking back to the castle with his cold hand in hers, she couldn’t help but feel Harry’s splintered hands instead, imagining his thumb running over her skin in the most comforting way.

Yet Robert had no idea. How could he?

“I had fun today,” he said, bringing her out of her thoughts once again. “Care to do this again?”

She looked at him, matching his smile but the only difference was that his wasn’t forced. The eye contact she made with him was the first time she looked at him properly, taking in his genuine smile and how he seemed to actually like hanging out with her.

“Sorry, I don’t think it will work out,” she whispered, surprised he heard her with all the snow blowing around them. His curved up lips turned into a frown fairy quickly, reaching up to scratch his head in confusion.

“Oh, okay. That’s fine, I understand,” he said, a slight hint of disapointment waved in his voice. “See you around?”

The tone in his voice, whatever it was, she didn’t catch it but at that moment it didn’t matter to her, for she already gazed off, thinking of another while Robert walked away, the frown on his lips still present.

“You know, my father says that sadness isn’t permanent, that it is like life testing us before it gives us good things.”

The girl was sitting on a tree branch outside of Hogwarts, the breeze going through her knotty hair. Luna was next to her, drawing silly doodles in her notebook with colored markers piled in her robes. Blue was smeared all over the side of her palm, for she accidentally touched the marker’s ink before it dried. Luna had a fancy towards Muggle art supplies, and the girl was more than glad to lend her friend her things, for it was all worth seeing the glee sparkling in Luna’s eyes.

The girl had told Lina about her precious date and how it went terribly wrong for her (yet again) and amazing for him, only for her to say it wouldn’t work out.

The girl hummed at the saying her father once said, looking over at Luna and giving her a grateful smile. “Thanks Luna, but I’m not sad… well, I can’t lie to you. I’m nothing without him.”

Luna hummed right back, glancing upwards for a spit second before turning back to her drawing. It was of those creatures she often spoke of, the animal the you can only see if you’ve seen someone die. The girl couldn’t remember the name, for Luna has only said it once or twice, too busy saying fun facts about them that the girl couldn’t have time to slip in the question of their title.

“I miss Harry too, he avoids me in the corridors. The only time I get to see him is if I’m looking for my shoes that people hide. Which is often,” Luna mutters, voice almost blending in with the wind as it blows past them both. The girl swings her legs, feeling the prickly bark beneath her calves. She was weirdly grateful for the feeling, for it gave her something to bring her back to earth when her mind wondered off with thoughts of Harry and his bright green eyes she missed looking into.

“Do you think I’ll ever get him back?” The girl wondered suddenly, looking over at the Quidditch Pitch, seeing maroon robes flying around on brooms as they practiced. Normally, she would wait in the Gryfindoor Common Room for Harry, reading a Muggle book she was recently gifted or an old classic she loved re-reading, all until a certain Raven-haired boy entered the room. No matter how tired she would be, she would sit down on the couch and await his return.

Her body soon missed that, for now as she lays in bed wide awake for about an hour, awaiting for sleep to take her away.

It’s because Harry was such a big part of her life, her routine, that once he left it was like someone took the middle piece of her puzzle, ruining the big picture because of the obvious space there.

“Maybe, who knows,” Luna murmured back, reaching over and grabbing her friend’s hand for support. “Sometimes the universe gifts us people to hang onto, then takes them away. It may feel like torture, but it’s all for a reason. I know you’re probably used to hearing those words, and before you ask I don’t know the reason, but I do know that in the end all the tears will be worth it.” Luna was practically whispering, like the words she was saying were a secret only them two could witness, yet the soft hushed tone from Luna was comforting towards the girl, and she was forever grateful for her friend just then.

She responded with a gratitude- filled smile, squeezing Luna’s hand right back. “Thanks, Luna.”

Luna smiled at her, this one bigger than the previous one she expressed. “Anytime.” Then the sympathetic glint in her eyes turned to a teasing glitter. “Now, let me get back to my drawing, I haven’t finished it yet!”

She leaned her big book against the orange juice jug, already moving her eyes along the pages first thing in the morning. She liked to start her morning with some calm reading, ignoring the chatter of students around her. Her breakfast laid perfectly on her plate, for she had previously served herself, yet she knew that she wasn’t going to eat much anyway.

Normally, Harry’s glittering green eyes would peak in front of her hair that was hanging in her face from beside her, wiggling his eyebrows as he tried to crack a smile on her grumpy morning face. It would always work, yet sometimes now in the present she could find her brain tricking herself into thinking Harry was back next to her, forcing her to turn her head sideways only to find an empty bench seat.

She would do this every couple minutes, even though she knew it would be a trick, yet her heart hoped that he would magically be there for real that time.

Maybe one more glance, she asked herself, and he will be there? Maybe the flickering lights of the Great Hall won’t trick me this time?

But it all ended the same, for Harry didn’t sit next to her anymore but instead next to Ron and Hermonie on the other side of the Gyrfinndor table; it’s like he wanted to be as far away from her as possible.

She found herself staring longer than she should’ve, getting lost in the beauty of his profile and how he smiled while talking to Ron…probably about something stupid like Quidditch.

“They say it takes more muscles to frown than it takes to smile.”

She turns, facing two copy and pasted red haired Weasleys, both with matching grins that automatically made her day a little brighter (she still didn’t know how they did it).

Her frown deepened. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Fred- no George- shrugged with one shoulder. “Who said we were ‘they’?”

She felt her frown turn upwards a tiny bit, and the twins took it as a victory, for their grins widened.

“There it is, George, our job here is done.”

George smiled wide in response and turned at the same time as Fred to leave, both bodies spinning on their bottoms.

The girl reached for Fred’s forearm, —ignoring the dangerous wobble of the orange juice in the jug—gripping the robes that covered it. “Wait.”

Both twins shared a look before glancing back at her, settling back down in their seats (the hesitation before doing so didn’t go unnoticed by her).

“H-” she sputtered. “Has Harry said anything to you two? You know, since what happened?”

She found herself digging her fingernails into her wrists out of nervousness after she retracted her hand once she knew they weren’t going to leave.

They sighed in unison, leaning forward and lowering their voices.

“-I heard Lupin talking to Harry-”

“-wasn’t sure what about though-”

“-obviously about her what are you on about-”

“-you never know-”

“-ignore him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Lupin was talking to Harry about how he seems off lately-”

“-lost his good luck charm I presume-?”

“-no that wasn’t it-”

“-oh I know what it is go and tell her, Fred-”

“-Harry seems to be doing…better than usual-”

“-first to give Slughorn his potion-”

“-first to show up at Quidditch practice, besides Wood of course-”

“-has caught the Snitch at every single one I must tell you-”

“-and, surprisingly, I heard that he’s asked Cho to-”

The girl felt her guts twist into an uncomfortable knot. “Well it seems like he’s doing just fine without me,” she interrupted, legs wobbly as she stood up from the bench, grabbing her book and bag with shaky hands.

Fred and George didn’t seem to notice her exit after the statement, for they soon got into a mini argument about which is better: the lemon tarts or the apple pie.

Tears pricked her eyes as she left the Great Hall.

Of course Harry had moved on already. It was no surprise, since he broke up with her and seemed to run off as quickly as he could, almost like while they were dating she had him tied up.

Frustratingly wiping the on-coming tears, she hurried to Defense Against The Dark Arts, a class she shared with Harry (both fortunately and unfortunately).

She entered the classroom, the heavy feeling still present in her chest.

She tried to ignore her brain repeating the twins’ words about Harry- how did they put it?- “doing better than usual”.

Sitting down, she took her quill, parchment, and ink out only to discover something was missing in her bag. Her book was missing. She must have left leaning on the orange juice jug.

“Merlin help me,” she mumbled, groaning softly to herself and brain already coming up with a plan to retrieve it. She’ll have to get it on her way to Divinations, even though it’s all the way in the tower at the top of the school.

She was focusing on unrolling her parchment for notes when she heard someone clear their throat beside her, and, looking up, she saw the brightest green eyes she had ever seen.

Her breath caught in her throat, heart stumbling on it’s beats. He had an interesting expression on his face, an awkward smile upon his lips.

His hands held up her thick book, holding out to her as if he was afraid of its touch. “Um.. you left this.”

“Oh,” she breathed stupidly, reaching out and grabbing the book from him, painfully noticing how he was avoiding any accidental contact of their hands. “Thank you, Harry.” His name fell out of her lips far too easily, and it tasted so familiar on her tongue that it hurt.

His lips didn’t waver, nor did they widen, still nor did they part to speak. He walked away fairly quickly, and the way her vision blurred, the colors of his robes and dark hair blurring together in her eyes didn’t go ignored.

Something rushed through her, a hot, embarrassed flush rising to her cheeks and washing all over her body.

It felt unnecessary to cry, for he was doing a nice deed, but maybe it was the fact he didn’t say anything, avoiding any additional second of interaction so he could get away faster. It hurt to think back on how fast he was to leave; it was a shame on how she kept purposely thinking about it. His facial expressions. His hands avoiding contact.

It was like she was a disease he didn’t want to catch.

She ignored her wet eyes for the rest of the lesson, scrubbing notes down on how Mars is helpful for discovering what the future holds.

That night she had a strange dream. It had her rolling around, sleeping body confused on what her brain was doing to her, yet if one would see the soft smile on her lips they would then know it wasn’t a nightmare.

Her dream self was walking in the corridors with no shoes on, her socked feet quiet on the ground. It was strangely cold yet she was wearing short sleeves, her hands rubbing her arms to keep them warm. She didn’t know where she was going, at least she sleeping self didn’t, but her dream self did.

She travelled to an empty classroom, turning the dust covered doorknob and the space so dusty that not only was it imbedded it the corners of the walls, but it was also floating in the air, yet she didn’t cough.

In front of her was a mirror, and the only reasons she noticed it was because of the moonlight shining on its reflective surface as well as it being the cleanest item in the room; its shiny surface standing out generously.

Her dream self furrowed her eyebrows, and if one would look at her awake self they would see her actual brows furrowed, almost like she was having a bad dream.

Yet it was only out of confusion and curiosity, for she was wondering why the mirror was there.

She walked over to it, planning on touching the surface to see if it was as smooth as it looked. It didn’t have a single fingerprint on it.

As she reached out though, she caught her reflection in the mirror, and, looking up, met her own eyes.

She stared for a couple seconds before someone came up behind her, smiling as they made eye contact.

It was Harry.

Standing right there, holding her hand in his, the grip so genuine it made her want to smile.

She whipped her head around, begging for it to be true. “Harry-”

No one was there.

Just dust floating in the moonlight, and somehow the sight made her chest squeeze.

It looked so clear. So real. Like just looking at his hand holding hers made it feel like his skin was actually touching her. Why could she see him in the mirror, yet not beside her?

“Ahh, you saw Harry?”

This time there was someone there, Albus Dumbledore in all his silver beard glory, light blue robes on his body and sparkling eyes behind half-moon spectacles.

“Professor Dumbledore.”

He smiled at her in greeting, walking towards her slightly, leaning against the wall closest to her and slowly sitting down, crossing his legs like a preschooler sitting on the carpet, waiting to hear the teacher’s story. He didn’t say anything, just patted the floor beside him as an invitation.

Though hesitant, she moved away, away from the view of Harry in the mirror, and sat down next to him, reflecting his pose.

It was silent for a couple beats before Dumbledore’s soft voice broke it. He turned to her, smiling. “I see you’ve found the Mirror of Erised.”

Her head perked up, eyebrows raised. “What does it do?” She wondered, already thinking of possible reasons she saw Harry of all people in it.

“Ah, I thought you’d never ask,” Dumbledore said sarcastically, folding his hands in his lap. “When one looks into the mirror or Erised, they see their deepest and most secret desire.”

“So you’re saying that Harry is my deepest desire?” She asked, and her heart beat quickened when Dumbledore’s smile turned into a soft grin.

“I didn’t say that,” he reminded quietly, his voice smooth and gentle. “But it is you that has implied it.”

“I-” she hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should tell him her dilemma. “Me and Harry broke up, Professor. And I… I guess I miss him.”

The confession was both a little embarrassing and reviving the finally tell. The words felt stupid, yet she was relived that she could finally discuss with someone about it.

Dumbledore eased her embarrassment instantly when his lips stretched into an understanding smile. “Ah, young love, do they call it?” He asked, making her smile softly at him. “But you and I both know that deep down you can’t stay in sorrow forever, you must act upon it, take courage and do what you feel is right. You are in Gryffindor for a reason,” he explained. And the way he spoke, the way he put words together to comfort her, was enough to warm her insides.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said, getting up to leave, and he stood up as well, looking down at her gently smiling.

“Of course,” he almost whispered. “Now off to bed, little one, you don’t want Prefects discovering you were here.”

She bid him goodnight as well, turning to leave, before she turned back, eyes with a hint of curiousity. “Professor?”

He turned to her, smiling as a signal for her to continue.

“Is this real?” She asked. “Is this a dream? Is it happening inside my head?”

His smile didn’t waver as he smoothed out his robe sleeves, as they were rolling up naturally. “Of course it’s happening inside your head. Why should that mean that it’s not real?”

The girl woke up in a strange daze, mind fuzzy and she tried to recall the dream she had. It felt real, yet she had this distinct feeling it was all a dream, despite what Dumbledore said.

Yet, as she looked at her fingertips, she still had a hint of dust coating them from the dusty doorhandles of the classroom.

Ever since she woke up that day, she’d been thinking about Dumbledore’s words, advising her to do the thing she thought was right.

She couldn’t quite pinpoint which other she should take, since she had many options what she could do. Well, at least many options on how she should chase Harry down and force him to talk to her. At least then he could say how he was really feeling, good or bad.

1. Tell Hermonie that a friend of his said to meet him in the library, yet it is her.

2. March across the table and grab him by the ear. (Lower on the list but still an option)

3. Walk up behind him and whack him in the head with the very book he returned to her

At the end of her list, she decided that all of them were complete rubbish and she should properly offer him a chat between them.

So, when she left the Great Hall that morning, (glancing at Harry as often as possible, just as usual but this time felt different) she chose to chase him down in the corridors. They had a free period in the morning, which was rare, but nice and the perfect time to talk to Harry; no excuses about having to be in class.

And Dumbledore was right, she thought as she marched towards the dark haired boy and his friend with the reddest hair imaginable. She was in Gryffindor for a reason. She could do this, right?

Just as she was about to quit, she realized she was already so close to them so why not go with it?

Grabbing his robe sleeve, she yanked the boy outside in the courtyard onto the grass away from Ron. His protests were ignored as they moved further away from him, and he didn’t bother to interupt their upcoming conversation.

“Wha-”

His voice cut off as she led him to the boys dormitories, practically dragging the poor boy up the stairs and opening his door, closing it once they both entered.

She placed him in front of her, making eye contact for the first time of their interaction.

“Harry, I need to talk to you, if you will,” she requested, keeping her voice steady. She then realized she was still holding onto his robes, and, with a soft stroke to ease the possible wrinkles, she took her hand away, cheeks slightly flushed.

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, hands fidgeting by his sides. “Okay.”

She was a little surprised that he wasn’t arguing against her, just standing there shrugging like it was no big deal (then again he could’ve fought back the whole journey to his dorm but he let himself be dragged). Was the girl that he broke up with talking to him not meaning anything to him? Was he that over her that he could look at her and not feel anything?

The thought made her chest squeeze, yet she stood her ground and made eye contact with him once again. “I-”

She hesitated, fidgeting with her fingers just like he was. She was going to be honest, she had the confidence to walk up to him and take him to a private place, yet now that she thought about it, she never planned out what she was going to say.

He raised his eyebrows questionably, waiting her to say something.

She gave him a nervous smile, wiping her now sweaty palms on her robes. “I’ve…..missed you.”

Harry took a sharp intake of air, licking his lips and looking away from her quickly. He practically looked anywhere but her.

“You shouldn’t,” he said simply, leaning his weight on one leg to the other.

She suddenly felt tears arise in her eyes but she blinked them away, looking at the sky for a moment to keep them held at bay. Maybe it was what he said that brought the unwanted tears, yet she deep down knew it was because he couldn’t relate to her feelings. He didn’t miss her like she missed him, and what he said showed that.

“I know,” she almost whispered, voice so quiet like it always was when she wanted to cry.

“Good,” Harry murmured, and he started to walk around her towards the door, ready to turn the handle, giving flashbacks to her dream, grabbing the dusty doorknob-

“Wait, Harry,” she said, reaching out against her own accord, gripping his robe sleeve so hard he must have felt like he was being yanked then being held back.

He looked over his shoulder at her, slowly turning to face her yet her hand still stayed on his sleeve. He was met with her blurry eyes, tears streaming down her face silently. Her lips were parted, almost like she was gasping for air.

“I can’t help but miss you because there’s no-one like you, Harry,” she started. “I’ve tried to date other people, going on dates, sitting across from them but I’m only picturing your face instead of theirs. I- I love you, Harry. And there’s no one out there that I will love the same way I love you.”

Harry stood there, his robes still in her hand and his own wrapped around the door handle. His fingers left the object slowly, stepping forward making her arm not have to reach over so much to keep him from leaving.

His lips adjusted themselves, then parted while he figured out what to say. “I..I can’t be with you,” he spoke, almost whispering, and the sentence both broke and healed her at the same time.

“Yet Cho can be with you?” She couldn’t help but snap back, and tried to ignore the way he stepped back, a surprised look on his face.

“Cho? What does she have to do with this?”

“Fred and George told me you asked her to the Yule Ball, so don’t ask other girls out to dance with you if you say right now that you can’t be with me. It’s hypocritical.”

The anger in her voice was obvious, tear streaks still sticky on her cheeks yet her eyes weren’t as wet as they were previously. Now her eyebrows were bent in frustration towards him, all the unanswered questions piling up.

“You want to know why I asked her? It was because all I could think about was you. Every morning when I wake up and before I close my eyes to sleep at night, every thought is overturned by you. And I’ve tried to distract myself with school work, and you may have noticed, but nothing works. Even Cho can’t replace you,” Harry huffed out, shoulders going up and down slowly as he took in breaths.

“Then why did you break things off? It seems like we both feel the same way,” she pointed out, her heart sputtering at the thought of him thinking about her all the time, yet why did he break her heart if that was the case?

Harry took a deep breath, walking up to her and grabbing her hands, bring them up to his lips as he gently kissed her knuckles. She felt like she was a flower and he was trying not to wrinkle her bloomed petals.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt, I am the fourth champion of the Triwizard Tournament, and everyone is siding with Cedric, meaning that everyone hates me. I didn’t want to hate to aim towards you, so to protect you I broke us apart,” Harry whispered, looking into her eyes and trying to find a speck understanding, a spark of hope brewing in his chest, hoping that she would now see the reason he left her and take it as a valid one.

She did understand, but confused at the same time on why he didn’t choose to communicate. “Harry, in a relationship there is two sides, you and me. When there’s an issue on one side they discuss the issue with the other person, as you should with me. And I understand if you want to protect me, for I want you to be protected more than anything else, Harry, but we have to talk to each other,” She explained gently, and she was running her fingers through his hair at the base of his neck. His eyes behind his glasses were closed, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks with every stroke she made with her hand.

“I…I didn’t want to lose you- you mean everything to me,” Harry whispered, his green eyes opening as he said this, glittery eyes looking at her making his statement much more meaningful than it already was.

Her heart must of stopped, a pause of nothing that she could feel expect pure love towards the boy in front of her. Messy hair and all, she loved every part of him.

“You won’t lose me,” she whispered. She then smiled softly, moving her hands from his hair to his collar of his shirt, pulling him in by it, and kissed him. His lips tasted just like she remembered, and it felt like water finally reaching through the dam, a mix of emotions her heart could nearly handle. His lips were soft and gentle against hers, pressing back with as much love he could muster. Her heart felt like a blooming flower, Harry being her sunlight that was needed for her petals to expand.

She pulled away, his head almost instantly dipping into her neck to kiss the skin there with soft touches. “I love you, you know that right? I’m sorry I hurt you; it was the last thing I ever wanted.”

Each word was murmured into her hair, the strands preventing his voice to be fully heard, yet she could tell- feel- that he meant every word.

She turned her head and gave him a long kiss on the cheek, feeling his skin tingle under her lips.

“I know, Harry. Im just glad we worked it out.”

And she was, that was for sure, for now she had Harry back.

Her Harry.