#I had to go through my bookmarks and skim through most of these to try and remember finer details of them

[lilbitofmac]

Any (sfw) ironstrange fic refs?

Sorry for the late response on this— my memory is always pretty spotty, so I have trouble recalling good fics to recommend!

I’ll give you a top ten request, how about that? These are all AO3 fics!

End of Infinity by FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls — I feel like if you’re a big shipper of ironstrange, you’ve gotta check out this absolute masterpiece of a fic!! It’s a suuuper slowburn, clocking in at 291+ chapters and still ongoing. Normally, I don’t read fics that aren’t finished, but trust me this one had me sobbing for days. Check out their other works, as well!!

The Blood in Your Veins by Aelaer — Wowowow, this fic absolutely shook me to my core. If you’re okay with some heavy angst, I would 10000% recommend this. Aelaer’s writing is so engaging and the care and understanding they have of Stephen and Tony’s perspectives and motivations are *chef’s kiss* Also, any fic that can actually make me care about the original characters within it? Automatically raises my respect for them.

The Sorcerer of Ephemeral Colors by Imagined — I LOVE FANTASY AUs FOR THIS SHIP!!!! Mage Stephen and Prince Tony go together so fucking well, I could go absolutely insane UGGHH!! This is another big boy fic, but the progression and story-telling, as well as the world-building are done so well!! If you like Fantasy AUs, you’ll love this fic!

(Sober) Companion by funkylittleidiot — It’s been a minute since I read this one, but I was thinking about picking it up again! Another AU fic, this time No Powers with the twist of Stephen helping people recover from their addictions! I wasn’t so sure about the premise at first, but honestly I loved how the author handled the subject matter from what I can remember. Heavy on the Tony angst. I really just love fics where Stephen takes care of Tony =w=;; I think this one is sfw? I really need to reread it 😅

The One to Bet On by airas_story — UGHHHH I LOVE THEIR WORK SO MUCH!!!! This is another fic that’s still ongoing! I am absolutely a SUCKER for time traveler Tony. It is so interesting to see what he does in the past to fix the future, and so far I’m really enjoying where they’re taking the story! Check out their other fics, as well, if you enjoy this one!!

Embers by surveycorpsjean — Idk man this is just a soft fic with these two 🥺💕 Steve and the other Avengers do make an appearance; there’s no character bashing or anything like that, but they don’t take up too much time in the fic! Stephen is just so smitten in this, and I absolutely adore it. Also another author you should check out their other works!

A witch’s cat by harpywrites — TONY GETS STEPHEN A CAT, AND ITS THE CUTEST THING EVER UGGHHH!!! Such a soft, feel-good fic, I absolutely love how Harpy writes Tony here. Seriously, if you just want a quick fic to make you smile, this is the one for you. If you want some heavy Stephen angst, though, check out the rest of Harpy’s works!! She loves to torture the poor sorcerer 💀

dream a little dream of me by DarkKitty1208 — You asked for sfw fics, so I’m not sure how deep angst can get before you call it quits? But if you’re cool with it, I highly recommend this one. Heavy Stephen angst with Tony helping him through his struggles; the imagery in this fic is stunning!!! Kitty has a very good understanding of Stephen and his struggles, so it’s super engaging to see this man trying and failing to cope with his demons! If you want more Stephen angst, check out Kitty’s LIBRARY of fics. Stephen never catches a break istg.

The Affection Thief by airas_story — I’m cheating by including them again on this list, but mostly it’s because I’ve run out of sfw fics 😅 THIS ONE IS SO DAMN CUTE!!!! Stephen gets turned into a cat and shenanigans ensue!! It’s such a simple concept, but the way my heart melted at how they wrote Stephen in this *sobs*

Annnd I’ll cheat for the final one, too.

Prophets in the Graveyard by FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls — Another Fantasy AU fic because god I can’t get enough of them!!! This time with a murder mystery twist ohohoho! Another long boy with a slowburn because I love to torture myself in the best of ways. Again, this author just handles world-building, pacing, and characterization so so so fucking beautifully in their works. If you haven’t read from them, I beg of you to check out their fics!!

(Honorable Mention: you should absolutely also check out atypicalsnowman’s collection of works. I particularly love their “whatever souls are made of” fic, but it does have eventual smut!! Just seeing how Stephen and Tony would navigate a situation where they use a soul bond to defeat Thanos is ugghh so good.)

#this took me almost two hours to type out #my memory is seriously so bad #I had to go through my bookmarks and skim through most of these to try and remember finer details of them #hopefully you find something you’re looking for on this list!! #response #ironstrange

[therulerofallpotatos]

Fic Tag Game

Tagged by: @wincestation, @realisticintentions, @realmermaid333, @cosmic-lullaby, @suchaladyy, @beri-allen

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

149

2. What's your Ao3 word count?

361,707 words.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Wednesday currently. Teen Wolf for six years. Harry Potter, Hannibal, Thorki, Starker, Twilight (Bella/Carlisle and Bella/Aro), The Umbrella Academy (not that i got very far before getting obsessed with wyler), and Madrigalcest (Primarily Brumira)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Overall?

Fuck It (Steter, Teen Wolf, 3,396)

When it Needs Fixing (Steter, Teen Wolf, 3,339)

Hostile Takeover (Steter, Teen Wolf, 2,781)

Absolution (Steter, Teen Wolf, 2,691)

Wandering in the Dark (Steter, Teen Wolf, 2,250)

In Wednesday?

Her Monster (Wyler, 708)

Hold Me Close (Wyler, 593)

Revelations (Wyler, 499)

Warning, She Bites (Wyler, 464)

Impressing Wednesday Addams (Wyler, 387)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Sometimes. I reply when I have something meaningful to add. Otherwise it'd get very repetitive and generic and that kind of soulless connection isn't really the point of this kind of thing. I adore my comments nonetheless and I read them a lot.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hold on. I gotta skim my list.

update: i do not remember some of these fics or what happened in them

Maybe Modi the Brave (MCU, Thorki). This was an angsty fanfic of a fanfic. There was a happy ending in the original fic, The Rescue by madwriter223

I'm not counting Absolution because it was immediately followed by a sequel. But technically, it did get me the most angry sobbing comments which i treasure to this day.

The Final Straw was angsty but it was also dumb and half-cocked and the closest thing to an embarrassment on this account. It was literally just a half-thought half-scene of my 18yo self's emotional state in 2018 that is very evident that I wrote this angrily in study hall. I wrote a lot of fic in that high school during classes. Like a lot. It was my school computer. I got plenty of use out of it. There was no structure or coherent plot. I didn't even hint at anything deeper to be explored in your own minds. I didn't want to look at it long enough or think about it long enough. I just wanted it out of my head. If I didn't have a strict no deleting my works policy, or hiding from my past art policy, I would probably have deleted it within the week of posting. I do not understand how it has the kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks that it has. I guess it resonated. Good for y'all. I mean it.

Literally just the entirety of Tyler's Bad Year is meant to be about a very traumatic time in a young man's life and him surviving it. I'm not going to go through them and try to pick out "the worst" one. That's not really the point and it'd be largely subjective.

I'll Eat You Raw has an angsty ending but angstiest? I'm not sure.

I don't write a lot of bad endings. Open endings? sure. Complicated endings? Absolutely. But unhappy endings? No. I don't often have the desire.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Jesus fuck we want to be here all day? Ok lemme look through shit again.

Wandering in the Dark has a whole story behind it. There was actually two versions. Only one was posted to ao3 and is the "canon" version. I wrote this fic for a high school assignment my senior year. We were assigned to pick a chronic disease out of a literal hat, then write a story around it. We had complete creative control so I took that chance to write teen wolf steter fanfic in class and actually have it be on task for once (I got an A in that class btw). The reason my teacher got a dark ending version is because by the time he got back to me on the maximum word count, I'd already finished the canon version and it was way too long. I couldn't trim the fat, so I wrote a different ending to shorten the story. That version is one of the angstier stories I've written. The one posted and linked above, is the very happy by comparison. This fic is also designed to be read by someone who doesn't know shit about teen wolf.

Through Thick and Thin was also extremely happy. As is Her Monster. Benevolent Gods was meant to be very hopeful. The Hale Pack (Undying) was the end to a series that was my baby for a long time . Like long enough you can see my writing evolve as you go. Part one was one of the first things i ever wrote. Like ever. The last part was years later. Jasper was meant to be a very light-hearted, happy story as well. It's extremely sweet and fluffy. You was also very happy and the epilogue cemented that happiness. Warning: She Bites literally had a happy end that unknowingly prevented a main character committing suicide in the near future. Saving lives by being horny. Wednesday Evening, and every installment in that series, is excessively happy as well.

Alright I ran through my list of fics. These were the ones that stood out. There's too many to really commit to one answer tbh. Especially because the way they're happy varies.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. Or. Well. I'm sure I do. I block antis on sight and I wholly reject purity culture, and I haven't really been the target of a major attack or anything. I don't get as many hateful comments as one might think, and I don't entertain the ones I do get. I've been accused of vile shit of course because of a fic I wrote. I don't remember what fic or even what ship it was for because I don't dwell on them really at all. Aside from that, I get more entitled but probably ignorant to how they come off as entitled comments that aren't really that big a deal. Just a bit of a peeve sometimes. I honestly think the majority of them truly believe it's a kind gesture when they say it.

9. Do you write smut? What kind?

Yeah. You could say that.

What kind? In a word? Intense. I could make a joke or a long elaboration on my niche in hyde sex and whatnot, but at the end of the day, intense. Even my most laid back, domestic, slice of life fics have a sense of intensity to them because otherwise I get bored and it feels soulless and it's just not my writing style.

10. Do you write cross-overs?

When I feel like it. When I have an idea.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I have a steter fic on a russian fic website that was translated years ago. I have no idea which it was or if it's still there. Wait! I might remember. Yeah no. I don't remember. It wasn't the one I thought of.

12. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No. I've started to outline one before but it went nowhere and we both forgot about it.

13. What WIP you would like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Harry Potter and the Night that Changed Everything.

I had a whole novel basically planned for it. Writing Bellatrix and a Harry who was raised by Bellatrix took a lot out of me emotionally, and I lost steam.

Also, a Bella Swan/Marcus Vulturi fic that i also had a novel length plot planned out, wrote three chapters for, and then lost steam when I left the fandom due to getting the life sucked out of me by a bunch of toxic people in the fandom killing my joy. Those chapters are just collecting dust in my files right now. I'd like to go back to it one day and finish it in some form or another. Maybe it's original enough I could actually just write an original novel out of the scraps I already have. Actually, to be honest, it is probably original enough that I could write it as an original story. There is not a lot of Twilight there that is necessary to the story and can easily be written out. Something to think about maybe. Ironically not the first prompt I thought up initially for Twilight that I then realized nothing about Twilight was necessary for the idea I had, and I just wrote it without Bella entirely. This is how my original zombie novel started and then immediately evolved into an entirely different thing that has nothing to do w Twilight. Like literally nothing. I had to work to put the Twilight into that one. Not the other way around.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

wyler (steter and tomarry honorary).

15. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and characterization

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

pacing. movement heavy scenes. Longer projects if only because I have less practice at them.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Yeah. If it fits, I'll write it. I won't pretend to be fluent, but I'll do my best. Probably won't do anything too complicated for the sake of realism of my abilities. Especially if it's not Spanish which I at least have spent time trying to learn.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

Teen Wolf

19. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Listen...

We've established how well I am at picking one end all number one.

Fuck ok. back to the list.

Water of the Womb was one I was planning to write for almost a year and it turned out pretty good I think. Actually no.

No. It's not a fic that's been posted yet.

I think the favorite fic I've ever written is I Bit Him So He's Mine. it's my "Wednesday is a Hyde season one rewrite au". It's my first novel that is more than just a future novel. It's hit 40k and I have to start Act 2 still. It's my first proper murder mystery where the mystery is the primary plot equal to the romance. I've had a lot of fun with it, I've put my heart and soul into it, and I really look forward to calling it ready to post. Once it's done, you guys are getting regular updates for a long time.

20. What fic would you want to rewrite one day?

Out of the Fire haunts me. It was a lesson to learn. I had the desire to write a steter/hannigram crossover and zero plan of any kind outside that. It crashed and burned because I only had a first chapter in me. I recently met a local and successful author who recognized my ao3 username because of this fic and remembered me years later enough to compliment my writing (I cannot express how much that meant to me). Wait no that might have been Mark of an Angel which also haunts me, but I didn't have zero plan. I had almost no plan, and lost steam when I hit a creative block at a bad time. Normally, I'd have just sat down and workshopped a starter outline and wrote myself out of that block, but I lost steam so I never did. Different deal. Not as impactful in my creative journey. Out of the Fire, however, was very important to me because of why it failed, and remains very influential with every new project I start. Actually rewriting/finishing that project would be a defining moment for me as a writer, I think. At least to me personally.

Tagging: @duplicitywrites, @dispatchvampire, @dark-visitors, @fiktorsempra, @graciebirdie, @gardenoblues, @grim-reaper-barbie13, @gabelish, @killingdoll, @lavender-lotion, @lovepoison9, @wednesdayandherhyde, @udunie, @itshype, @insomniac1994, @onlyangelxo, @obsidianpen, @ourdramaqueen, @persephoneed, @pororoh, @badmoodbatflowers, @brascu

#wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #wyler #my writing #tomarry #wednesday fanfic #teen wolf #steter #hannigram #thorki #harrymort #not all of my teen wolf fics were steter but most were #i am also v proud of my stallison fic #sometimes i just write one fic for a ship i had an idea about but only really had the one passion project for #this also included jasper/bella #and was going to include marcus/bella #i had a Caius/Bella idea as well that I never had the chance to start

[anyoneseenadam]

The Moon Spirit - five

Pairing: Fenrys x reader Dorian x reader

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

Warnings: violence, creepy people, scary queen Maeve, tiny bit of angst, Fenrys being a sweetheart, sad memories

word count: 2.9k 

A/n: so this parts a little shorter than usual but it’s also a bit of a filler part so next time we should be reuniting w my one true (or 1/2 true ig) so I hope you enjoy and pls comment and let me know what you think!!!!!!!!!

----------------------------------------------------

As much as you tried you couldn’t sleep. There were a million thoughts nagging at your head as you tossed and turned, skin clammy against your sheets. You ached with grief still, having lost Dorian and Chaol – the only family you had ever known. Yet your thoughts were consumed with Fenrys, his dark eyes and easy smile, the deep timbre of his voice and the coarseness of his calloused hands against your skin.

By three AM you knew you weren’t going to sleep, instead lighting a bedside candle, and retrieving the books you had hastily shoved under your bed – opening them to try an ease the conflicting emotions swirling in your chest. You had bookmarked a chapter on ancient spirits due to Albert’s advice, skimming over the words until something caught your eye.

The sun and moon spirits were venerated deities in their time. Born from the natural power of the earth – the Sun controlling earth and fire and the Moon water and air – they were regarded as saints of their time, undefeated sources of power that even the darkest of creatures (see page 79-98) feared.

You paused, skipping through until you reached where page 79 lay, but it appeared the books had been ruined, the pages hastily ripped from the seams and the paper yellowing where they should meet the spine. You frowned, running a finger over the ruined book before moving back to where you were reading, adjusting your position so you were sat more comfortably.

The sun spirit was a symbol of healing, life, and vitality. Drawn to farmlands where their power was worshipped as they brought life to the crops and livestock and healed the poor, the ruins some temples created in the honour of this saint can still be viewed today in the deep country of Erilea.

The moon spirit was instead a symbol of wilderness and the wild country. The saint was believed to protect young maidens and surround the vulnerable with her pack of wild wolves, empowering many. Wolf shifters were known to be drawn to the maiden saint, an innate desire to protect their goddess similar to her sister’s desire to protect the farms.

Both saints were held as symbols of power, sisters in arms filled with unbridled natural magic, however in their last years the power could no longer be passed down from daughter to daughter as war was set upon the world. The Sun saint was one of the first to give their life, whereas the Moon was presumed extinct as she hid to protect the most desperate.

Many have theorised what happened to the sister’s bloodline. Some presume it simply got too muddled that while a descendent could exist today, they would exist without any of the old power. Some believe the spirts reverted back into their natural states and now exist as the earth beneath our feet, the air we breathe, the water we live off and the fire that warms our homes. But some, the wishful thinkers among us, believe that while the knowledge of these spirits has dwindled through the years, the spirits will still exist in our world – waiting to be awakened by the dark forces once again.  

You slammed the book shut, shoving it back under your pillow as you calmed your racing breaths – mind going a million miles per hour as you tried to decipher why Albert wished you to know this information. But no matter what excuse you made in your mind all you could hear was “sisters in arms filled with unbridled natural magic” as you remember the guard’s bodies, sliced in half with power you didn’t realise you held.

There was a drawing beneath the final paragraph – two ghostly looking women; one with fair hair and the other with dark, both holding their hands out as they formed swords of pure light energy. Bodies lay at their feet the drawing a crude representation of their power but you could not help but examine their perfect strokes, bodies sliced as if they were cleaved apart.

Your hands shook as you gathered yourself, dressing quickly and shoving the book into your bag - all but racing out of the castle as you moved down the steps that lead to the town without much thought. You had taken one step into the forest when you felt a presence beside you. You turned, expecting to see Fenrys beside you but where instead met with the nearly identical eyes of his twin brother.

You stepped away from him, “Hello?”

“Why are you out here, it is not safe at night.” He demanded and you raised your eyebrows.

“What is it with you men and needing to know everything that goes on in my life?” you were too sleep deprived to be dealing with this.

“I saw you leaving your room and for all I know you could be a spy; it would’ve been foolish of me to not follow you.” He paused, “And I do not lie about the danger – skinwalkers lie in these forests.”

You shivered, your brief knowledge of monsters that roamed these lands enough to make you reconsider, but you needed to see Albert and your day tomorrow was already too full for a trip down to the library in daylight.

“I need to get to the library,” you whined slightly, and Connall tilted his head – weighing up his options.

“If I take you, you’ll be safer.” He decided, reaching out to grasp your upper arm before you pulled away, stepping back, and crossing your arms across your chest.

“No. I need to do this alone.” You voice was firm as his eyes filled with an unknown emotion. You couldn’t feel the tug on his heart ordering him to keep you safe, couldn’t understand the same feeling Fenrys felt every time you looked up at him.

He faltered slightly before moving, “Stay there, I’m going to get Fenrys. If you leave I’ll tell Maeve.”

“That seems rather childish,” against your better judgement you cracked a smile, and he stopped a large, rough hand reaching out to hold your face gently. He moved to speak but stopped himself, shaking his head before stepping away and disappearing before your very eyes.

You stood alone for a few minutes; head cloudy as you fought back thoughts of the wolves you couldn’t deny seemed attached. You tried to convince yourself that maybe they just had a crush – maybe they saw you as a damsel in distress and just wanted to keep you safe because of some over-powering fantasy of being the knight in shining armour. But try as you might – you couldn’t escape the sickly feeling consuming your entire form, a stone settling in your lower stomach that made it hard to breathe.

You felt Fenrys presence before you saw him, turning as his scent invaded your senses to meet his dark eyes, puffy from sudden awakening. He moved to grasp you hand, concern apparent in his eyes as Connall disappeared behind him.

“What’s so important then?” he asked, a softness to his voice as you moved closer to him – resting your head gently on his chest and inhaling deeply before straightening.

“I don’t want to endanger you,” you sighed, and he looked around before nodding and whipping you away, grasping your shoulders when you stumbled and instead found yourself in the city centre where only a few stood, swaying as they stumbled home.

He swung a heavy arm around your shoulders and leaned down so his breath tickled in your ear as he smiled, “Just pretend we’re on a date, people will ignore us. What’s going on?”

You leaned deeper into his side and smiled up at him, your words barely above a whisper, “I might know what I am, but I need to speak to Albert.”

He pushed your hair back with a gentle hand as he started leading you in the vague direction of the library, “So what are you?”

“I’m not sure yet, but do you know of the ancient spirits?” you asked, never letting your love-sick smile falter, even as Fenrys face paled.

“I know basic history surrounding them. My mother, she grew up in a village that protected a temple of the moon.” Then his gaze travelled down, stopping between your collarbones as he reached a hand to tap the stone lying along your neck, “She wore a gem just like that, said it was to commemorate the lost spirit. It’s what I noticed first when I met you.”

“I think I might have inherited some of the power.” You paused, embarrassed as you looked down, “I was able to do something that I’ve never heard of a Fae doing, but there was a drawing in the book I read.”

“What did you do?” he asked, drawing to a stop in front of the closed library doors.

You opened your mouth to speak – the image of the guards’ split bodies, spurting blood flashing to the forefront of your mind as you paled at the memory. You closed your mouth and shook your head, stepping away from his gentle hand that remained resting against your collarbone.

“I cannot help you if you don’t tell me the truth,” he sighed and your bottom lip trembled, turning away from him as you pulled him to the back door of the library, unlocking it with the hidden key and stepping into the dusty backroom.

“I don’t,” you stumbled over your words, “I can’t talk about it, if anyone hears that I’m here.”

Fenrys eyes darkened as he watched your growing panic, pulling you back to his embrace and leaning down to eye level – two large hands gripping either side of your face as he shushed you. “Look, I don’t know who you’re running from, but they’d need a hell of an army to get past the Cadre. Fuck they’d need a million soldiers to get through me alone when you’re concerned. So you don’t need to worry about that.”

You blinked owlishly at him before sighing. “Have you ever been to Adarlan?” you asked, Fenrys nodding briefly.

“Well, when I was a child I was chosen to be the Crown Princess – or more so the Crown Prince’s wife.” Fenrys stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he stood up straighter. “I was raised to be a queen, side by side with my betrothed after the age of twelve so we could learn to rule our future country together. I had to undergo training and lessons in language and art and science, and you name it. And I did public appearances with the Prince a lot so the public would learn to trust me.”

“And this prince, did he hurt you?” Fenrys asked, mind whirring with ways to exact revenge.

“No! No, never. Never Dorian.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath through your nose, “But I think his father learned of my power and was afraid. There’s no magic there you see, so I was under a constant glamour and never knew I was fae, but I think the King knew. And he tried to kill me.”

“But when the guards came to kill me, I managed to kill them first. With a light that just came from within me - I still don’t understand how, their bodies just split in half, a perfect cut, like I had a long sword. So I ran and ended up here, but the king is still looking for me and he will kill me if he finds me – he’s already told Dorian I’m dead.” You met Fenrys eyes again and he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Well shit, you can never be easy can you,” you laughed slightly but it didn’t meet your eyes, so he said it again, “as long as I’m here. No one is going to hurt you.”

You nodded and leaned into him, before tugging his arm, “we need to speak to Albert. I need to know what’s going on with me, what I can do.”

“And we will,” Fenrys muttered, eyes on the doorway where your first friend stood, a concern glazing over his eyes.

“So you know now,” he smiled sadly, and you nodded.

“How did you know?” you asked, the question had been itching at the back of your mind since you met him. Albert simply smiled again and stepped closer, unphased by the brooding man behind you as he tapped the stone on the end of your necklace.

“That is no ordinary charm,” he said, “That’s the moon stone. The original moon stone that contained all of Indu’s original power.”

“Indu?” Fenrys asked.

“The original Spirit, the first.” He sighed, “You my dear, are her predecessor.”

--

It was a couple weeks later when during training Fenrys finally worked up the nerve to ask, “So this Dorian, you loved him?”

You looked at him from your plank on the ground and glared, “You really pick your moments don’t you.”

“I just was wondering if I have any major competition, I’m not huge on sharing pretty.”

“Well he thinks I’m dead and has already moved on so I’m sure you’re fine,” you quipped back, voice hardening as you focused your eyes back on the dirt in front of you.

“Hmm, maybe I should find a way to eliminate any competition permanently,” he ignored your frustrated expression continuing on, “Like all the competition, every male that looks at you.”

“I’m not a thing to own,” you grumbled as he laughed.

“Would make my job at wooing you easier though,” you dropped from your plank to your knees and flicked an arm out at him – making his knees buckle from the force of your power and fall over. You stood to stand above him and looked down with your eyebrows raised and arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Yeah, you’re not doing a great job right now,” you deadpanned as he gaped up at you.

“When did you learn to do that?” he asked, pulling himself back to his feet.

“I’ve been practicing with Rowan,” you dropped your voice, “He’s a very good teacher, maybe I should go see if he’s interested in wooing me since you’re bringing up trauma to try sleep with me.”

“Hey, hey,” he put his hands up, “I’m sorry love, but don’t you go near Rowan I called dibs.”

“Again with the owning!” you slapped his chest, a laugh finally coming out as he pulled you into him.

“I can’t help it darling; I want you to be all mine!” he exclaimed dramatically, nuzzling your neck before playfully biting down gently as you batted him away, squealing.

Your giggling was interrupted however, by a stern cough from behind you making you both look up and pull away from each other like sheepish teenagers, facing Lorcan who stood with a glare on his permanently frowning face.

Fenrys straightened at the sight of the man, his face dropping, “Yes?”

“You have a target,” was all he replied and Fenrys sighed, glancing apologetically at you before walking away – presumably to pack when Lorcan stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“She has a target,” he clarified, nodding at you, “You go as a mentor.”

“She’s not ready,” Fenrys argued as you stood getting smaller and smaller in the background.

“Rowan says she has progressed quickly in her use of magic, Maeve says she’s ready.” He paused, “Do you want to be the one who argues that?”

If looks could kill you were sure that Lorcan would be six-feet-under by now, but alas. Fenrys turned back to you, reaching you in three large strides and grasped your upper arms in order to look down into your eyes, a sea of emotions swirling within his dark eyes.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked, aware the question held little meaning. You bit your tongue and nodded sharply – turning your head to Lorcan and clearing your throat under your breath.

“When do we leave?” your practice paid off well as you heard no tremor in your voice despite the lump in your throat.

“Maeve wants you gone within the hour.” He said, voice lacking all the sympathy you had become used to within Fenrys and even Rowans voice.

“Okay, help me pack?” you turned back to Fenrys, a quiet dismissal Lorcan happily accepted as he left the two of you alone, Fenrys silently seething. “It’s alright, we’re going together at least?”

He smiled at your attempt to make it better and pulled you into his side, kissing your forehead. “Yeah, she’ll need at meat cleaver to separate us.”

“I’m sure she has one,” you spoke without thinking and his head whipped to you.

“And you say my timing is bad,” he took you to your room, pulling a leather rucksack from below your bed and pulling out some clothes for you while you gather underthing’s. He wiggled his eyebrows when you shoved a lacy pair of underwear in, and you punched his shoulder.

“I dress for me, not for you.” he held up his hands laughing before stepping away.

“I know, I know, I’ll let you finish this and go grab you some weapons and money.” He frowned again, “You sure you’re ready for this?”

“What choice do I have?” you smiled sadly at him, and he returned it, his age showing – just for a second.

“Yeah,” he paused, “you’re right.”

#throne of glass #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys x reader x dorian #fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys x dorian #fenrys x reader #dorian havilliard x reader #dorian x reader

[vesselslut]

One more secret won't hurt / Bunny x reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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Chapter 5: The shores of Metahemeralism

My curiosity gets the best of me, and I take a seat one table closer than I was last time. I’m still carrying the damn Frankenstein book around, the essay still unwritten, so I take it out, both to look less like a stalker and to actually try to do some reading. Most of them are quietly reading as well, except of course for Bunny, who’s talking Henry’s ear off about yet another thing I know nothing about. Thanks to Judy now I can put a name to all their faces, but it only makes me feel even more like a stalker, knowing small details about these people I’ve never spoken to.

Henry seems quite amused at whatever Bunny is saying, his eyes going back and forth between Bunny and the paper he’s holding in his hands. I look down at my book and try to make out what they’re saying.

- “I tell you; this might be my best paper yet. Professor Morrow is gonna be all over it when I turn it in,” Bunny’s excited words cut through the silence in the library.

- “Bunny, I’m still not sure ‘Metahemeralism’ actually exists…” says Henry, shuffling between the few sheets of paper in his hands. “Also, why does it look like this? What’s up with all the space?”

- “Huh? Oh! Well, it needed to be 5 pages long, so I triple spaced it, pretty smart, huh?” I can hear Henry snort and I look up to see him covering his mouth with a hand, trying to remain composed. He lets out a small chuckle. In all the times I’ve seen them around campus, I’ve never seen Henry smile once, much less laugh.

- “Hey B, you want me to take a look at it? See if it needs any corrections?” Francis asks from behind his pince-nez. I’ve never seen anyone wearing pince-nez in real life. I’m not sure they even make them anymore, so I wonder if he’s wearing an antique pair or if maybe he had them custom made. They just add to his quirky charm.

- “Nah, don’t worry about it. I just want to turn it in and be done with it. Plus it took me 2 weeks to write, so I’m pretty sure it’s a masterpiece.” Bunny says, triumphantly.

- “What was it, again? ‘Methemeralism’ I mean,” asks who I assume is Richard, Judy’s crush.

- “It’s ‘Metahemeralism’, “Bunny corrects, confidently. “Comes from Latin, it has to do with irony and the pastoral.” They all looked up at him, dumbfounded. I’ve read hundreds of books throughout my life, both for school and for fun, and I’ve never heard about Metahemeralism either.

- “Bun, wasn’t the paper meant to be about John Donne? Are you sure you didn’t mean ‘metaphysicalism’ or something?” Camilla asks, sweetly. Genuine concern in her eyes, as she closes her book, one finger sandwiched between the pages as a bookmark.

- “Oh, John Donne, John Schmone. I did mention him a couple times, but the star of the paper is definitely Metahemeralism. It’s the glue between the poet and the fisherman!” he speaks with his hands, as much as with his voice; he waves them around and then brings them together, interlocking his fingers, as if they’re the poet and the fisherman being glued together, whatever that means.

- “Let me take a look at that,” says Charles, yanking the paper from Henry’s hands. He skims the paper for a few seconds, and suddenly bursts out laughing. Bunny’s glaring at him, clearly offended by the reaction. “ ‘And as we leave Donne and Walton on the shores of Metahemeralism, we wave a fond farewell to those famous chums of yore,’” he reads off the paper. “Bunny, you’re right, this is a masterpiece,” he wipes a tear from his cheek, and hands the paper back to Bunny, with a soft pat on his shoulder. The others are all fighting their own personal battles not to burst out laughing. Bunny seems unsure if Charles was being sarcastic or not.

- “Well, we’ll see if Julian likes it, he’s gonna be the one grading it after all,” he says, with a nonchalant little smile. “I’m gonna put the masterpiece away now, unless anyone else wants to take a look at it.”

- “Could I take a look at it?” the new voice startles me at first, but I am completely frozen when I realize it is coming from me. The six of them fix their eyes on me, just as startled by my interruption. I make eye contact with Bunny and immediately feel my knees betraying me, but I do my best to remain stoic. I’m not sure where the confidence came from when I spoke up, but it certainly abandoned me after the damage was done. Several seconds pass before anyone says anything. From the corner of my eye I’m pretty sure I see Camilla giggling and sharing a look with Francis.

- “Uh… Sure. Here you go,” he finally answers, extending his arm with the paper towards me. I stand up and walk the few steps that separate our tables, and take the paper carefully with the tips of my fingers, careful not to wrinkle any corners or smudge the ink. He looks confused by my interest in his paper, but still gives me a smile. He stands there while I quickly read through the paper. It doesn’t take too long, considering he really triple spaced it. I feel everyone’s eyes staring at me, expectantly. The paper is a bit all over the place, touching on many topics without actually concluding anything relevant. It could be a good draft; it just needs a little more work connecting the ideas to each other. I’m still unsure if Metahemeralism is even a word, but it’s definitely an interesting read. I reach the end and I find myself smiling widely at the paper.

- “So…?” His voice breaks my trance, and I look up at him startled. “Did you like it? What did you think?” It feels like they are all holding their breaths, waiting for my answer. I suck at speaking in public, or under pressure, or both at the same time, so I take a deep breath to avoid stammering once I begin speaking.

- “I did like it,” I confirm. “I would work on it a little more to connect the ideas more smoothly, but it has potential. I’m not a classics major though, so don’t take me too seriously.” I chuckle, handing the paper back to him.

- “What’s your major?” Camilla asks from her seat, right in front of me. Her big eyes staring at me, making me feel almost as weak as Bunny’s.

- “I’m a literature major.”

- “WHAT?! A lit major! Of course I’m gonna take your opinion seriously!” yells Bunny, beaming at me. Just as expected, his energy is contagious. I beam right back at him. “I’m Bunny, nice to meet you,” he extends his hand to me. I look at it for a second before I realize I’m supposed to shake it.

- “Oh, right. I’m Y/N,” I shake his hand. “Nice to meet everyone,” I add, feeling their eyes still on me.

- “That’s Henry, and Richard. Over there is Francis, and these are Charles and Camilla,” he points to each of his friends, and I pretend I didn’t already know all their names. A wave of ‘Heys’ and ‘Hellos’ erupts from the group.

- “Whatcha got there?” asks Camilla, and I see her eyes are on my hands. I’m still carrying the damn book, still very unread.

- “Oh, I have to write a paper about Frankenstein and it has to be original and revolutionary so I was trying to re-read it to see if I could come up with anything, but my brain is still blank.”

- “Original? About Frankenstein?” Francis scoffs, rolling his eyes. “They should’ve assigned you a less ancient book if they want something original.”

- “That’s exactly what I said!” I exclaim, happy to have someone agree with me, though it comes out more as an excited shriek. Camilla and Francis giggle again, and I feel my cheeks blushing. “Well, I’ll let you all get back to your stuff-” I start saying, feeling bad about interrupting the group of strangers, but Camilla grabs my wrist. I look down at her, confused.

- “Wait, no. Sit down. Maybe we can all brainstorm some revolutionary ideas about Frankenstein, we’ve all read it, I’m sure,” she says, dragging her chair to the left and pulling me down in a seat between her and Francis. She winks at me and takes the book from my hands, skimming through a few pages.

They all start throwing random ideas at me. Most of them are definitely not original, stuff about the novel that has been overanalyzed for 2 centuries already. I still write everything down, every idea counts. Maybe I can combine some parts of an idea with bits of another, and create a new, better idea. I see the irony as soon as the thought crosses my mind. Through all the chaos and voices speaking over one another, I try my best not to look directly at Bunny for too long, scared of giving them the wrong impression. Now that I’ve spoken to him and everything seems less mysterious, less unreachable, I can finally stop overfocusing on it.

Half an hour later I have a rough draft of what my essay could be about. Henry suggested I analyze what the book would’ve looked like if it had been written by Percy instead of Mary; and Francis suggested I analyze how society would’ve responded to the book if it had been written by a man instead of a woman. I’m not sure how original it actually is, but I’ve never read anything from this perspective, and that’s good enough!

- “Thanks guys. I’ve been trying to write this fucking essay for like a week,” I say, putting the book along with a bunch of crumbled up papers with discarded ideas, into my bag. “And Bunny, thank you for letting me read your paper,” I say, turning to him.

- “Nah, thank you for reading it!” he says, smiling broadly at me. “I’d love to hear some of those ideas to make it smoother sometime…” he casually adds.

- “Sure thing, anytime you want,” I say, writing down on one of the discarded pieces of paper. “Here’s my number, just let me know!” I look at the rest of them, “You can all save it to your phones, in case you need help with anything literature related,” I add, before turning away towards the exit. A wave of ‘Thank yous’ and ‘Byes’ flowing behind me.

Outside the library, I breath in a mouthful of fresh air. I feel my shoulders lighter already. I knew I only needed to find the courage to speak to them to chase that overwhelming mess of thoughts out of my brain. I remember what Judy said about them when I first asked, and I could definitely see some of it firsthand, like Henry’s seriousness, but I couldn’t help but liking them all. Sure, they’re a bit strange, but then again, so am I. There’s one thing Judy was totally right about, though, Bunny is indeed very nice.

#the secret history #bunny corcoran #this one was fun to write #francis abernathy #camilla macaulay #judy poovey #henry winter #charles macaulay #richard papen

[m-r-nicely]

Returning the Favor

Bela Dimitrescu x OC

Word Count: 1629

Chapter Summary: Bela has gotten used to most of Seraphine's habits and routines. What happened the night she breaks them?

_______________

Seraphine flopped onto a soft surface as Bela shut the library doors. She readjusted herself on the cushions, thankful for her pants preference, so her legs weren't hanging off the side of the furniture. Bela walked around, skimming the titles and authors to find a particular book.

"Looking for this?" Bela turned around at the sound of the youngest and her cheerfully taunting tone.

Daniela held the Bethany Wiggins book in her hands. She made sure not to open it, not wanting to see what would happen if the bookmark fell out of this particular book. Bela was going to say something, but her sister had already moved to plop down next to Seraphine on the couch. She draped her arm around the human's shoulder.

"You don't mind if I read with you, right Sera?" Daniela batted her eyelashes at Seraphine, bringing out a mischievous and knowing smile from the latter.

She leaned her head on the youngest Dimitrescu's shoulder. Her words were spoken innocently but had a playful and devious undertone, "Actually, would you read it to me Dani?" She dramatically laid her arm over her forehead and raised the pitch of her voice, "I am suddenly feeling quite faint."

Bela wanted to be upset at the two for very obviously trying to instigate her, but then they would have the satisfaction of their games working. She rolled her eyes and made her move toward the sofa. Upon approaching she saw there was no space to sit.

As if on cue, Daniela gasped, "Oh my. Sera...it appears we are on the loveseat," Seraphine was practically snickering as she already knew where this was going. "Does that mean you are," a dramatic pause, "in love with me?"

Bela had Seraphine on her lap before Daniela even finished the word love. The two younger women laughed at the reaction they inevitably got from the eldest Dimitrescu. Bela huffs, knowing they mean no harm and she actually tends to enjoy their light teasing. Seraphine snatches the book from Daniela. Bela allows her sister to lay her head on half of her lap as she shifts so Seraphine would be more next to her with the human's legs draped over her own. She runs her fingers through the youngest Dimitrescu's hair as Seraphine opens Stung to the bookmarked page and begins reading aloud.

----------

Bela blinked in response. She understood, but she didn't understand. Why would prey offer their blood to a predator? While Bela initially was shaking her head, Seraphine would remain steadfast and, as Bela predicted before, stubborn.

Another month passed with this back and forth of Seraphine offering her blood and Bela telling her off. Why Bela was refusing something that, in normal circumstances, she wouldn't have hesitated to take with or without permission, she herself had not the slightest of clues. Maybe she felt guilty for the bruises on the human's back, or the one around her neck. This particular human did save her life, so not killing her would just be common curtesy.

Over that month Bela had observed the human cook, clean, go hunting, travel into the village, give her guest a tour of her home, show her how to keep the water warm and not freeze when bathing, and then she finally trusted Bela enough to give her back her sickle.

With all of this, Bela had learned to calculate the average amount of time each of the usual tasks took Seraphine to complete. While cooking, cleaning, sleeping and bathing would vary, she noticed the woman never hunted past dusk and never stayed in the village for over six hours. Having learned this, it sparked some concern in Bela when it had reached late into the night and her host had yet to return from hunting. It was beautiful weather in the early morning, but there was a rather sudden blizzard in the evening. She was pacing in the living space while she contemplated what might have happened to the woman. Should she go out to find the woman? No, how would Bela help Seraphine if she herself was dead from the cold?

Bela needed something to distract herself so her mind would stop coming up with scenarios in which Seraphine did not return. Despite not liking how attached she had become to the younger woman; she made her way to the woman's room. There was a shelf with some books displayed upon it, at least one had to pique her interest.

Turns out the two women had similar taste in what they chose to read. Bela had already read most of what Seraphine owned, but two books stood out as unfamiliar titles.

The first was Tick Tock by a Dean Koontz, a title and author the vampire was unaware existed until now. The other had a bookmark peeking out from between the pages. It was Stung by Bethany Wiggins.

As tempting as the latter was, Bela wanted to know what exactly Seraphine was reading, she respected that it was likely off limits at the moment. She remembered one time when Daniela had chosen a book Bela was reading and she forgot to put the bookmark back in after it fell out. Bela ignored the youngest for two months. So, the vampire picked up the Dean Koontz novel and left to sit down at the table in the living area.

Surprisingly, the book held her interest for about three more hours, her attention only diverting when the door to the house swung open.

The first thing Bela could smell was blood. She wasn't unfamiliar with the scent, but this was particularly potent.

Fresh.

The hunched figure was clearly in pain as they pushed the door back into place. Bela put the book down, not caring that she'd lost the page she was on, moving slowly towards what certainly smelled like Seraphine.

The human in mind turned around to expose her shivering and bloodied form. One hand clung to her coat so tight her knuckles were almost as pale as Bela's skin, while the other was pressed defensively over her chest. The blood was not only soaking through her clothes but also dripping onto the wooden boards beneath their feet. This was the second time Bela found her thoughts being easily predicted by this human.

"It was a lycan," voice hoarse and strained, "I left behind the doe I had to get away." Seraphine hobbled further into her home as she spoke.

Seraphine made her way to the bathroom and shut the door. Bela took this time to clean up the blood and snow that had dripped onto the floor. Why she felt the need to clean like some maid, she refuses to even try to fathom. After waiting yet hearing no sounds of water run, Bela was hesitant, but eventually she lightly tapped her knuckles against the door.

"Seraphine?" she questioned. There was some muffled shuffling behind the door.

After a full moment without a response Bela announced she was entering the room and took in the trembling form standing in front of her. Where was the snarky and confident woman that she had become so familiar with? What exactly happened out there? Bela reached her hand out and Seraphine kept her eyes fixated on the movement. The human winced but did not object when Bela, as gently as she could manage, pulled the coat and shirt from her body.

A deep gash starting from the sternum that traveled down slightly to the right and hooked back around to just under the left breast. It looked to have been caused by a single clean swipe.

What did this? A lycan should have left a bite, a rough or torn scratch, and definitely some bruises. There was no way a lycan caused this, even with a weapon.

Bela had sat still that first day she woke up and allowed Seraphine to treat her wounds, so she saw no problem in returning the favor by doing the same for Seraphine now. When she moved around the woman to draw a bath, she could feel the human's eyes follow her. Making sure the temperature was one she knew Seraphine deemed good enough, not thinking about how she knew, Bela allowed the tub to fill. She turned to find the smaller woman stock still and watching every move she made. What Bela thought was a bit odd was how she didn't feel uncomfortable by the staring. Bela moved slowly, to allow Seraphine the chance to refuse the assistance or the touch, as she carefully undressed the trembling human standing in front of her.

When the tub had filled to a reasonable amount Bela stopped the water flow and gestured for Seraphine to step into the bath. The human made no move to do so. If anything, it seemed like she took a tiny step back. This didn't upset Bela, who prided herself on her patience, but she needed to get the woman into the tub to clean her wounds before treating them. Moving slowly again, Bela tried to gently lift Seraphine, who was shaking even more at the action, into her arms and turned around. Lowering the woman into the warm water was easy. Bela was pretty sure she heard a knock but ignored it.

Being unsure of what to do next Bela asked, "Would you prefer me to let you bathe on your own?" She saw Seraphine's eyes glisten with gathering tears as the woman subtly nodded her head.

----------

Bela feels soft finger pads run from her temple to her cheek. She let her eyes focus on what was in front of her.

"Hey," Seraphine whispered, "you still with me?"

Bela turned her head, "Of course," and lightly nipped at the fingertips resting near the corners of her mouth.

#bela dimitrescu x oc #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #dimitrescu sisters #dimitrescu family #SWM?

[legobatjoker]

btw went thru a fun little journey thru my ao3 subscriptions (bc for some reason instead of bookmarking it whenever i wanted to save a fic id subscribe to it) and like. the thing is i was trying to find cs fics mostly bc i rly stopped reading fanfic esp for cs (mostly bc so many people out there unfortuantly do not get it. and i dont care to expose myself to those fics and i am scared that thats what most of the carula fics out there are) and i wanna find the fics i rly loved again to so if id still like them but i didnt wnat to like. go through every single work i had subscribed through to see waht fandom it was for (bc you cant see that w subscriptions until u click on the fic itself literally why tf didnt i use bookmarks -_-) so i want mostly skimming through and opening fics with titles that intruged me or i thought were fics id want to look at again (bc i was quite liberal w the fics i wld subscribe to which makes me wonder how i ever found the fics that i really realy loved) and after doing this for a while i literally said out loud "i swear all of these fics are coco or she ra" bc the fact that my ao3 is the sma e from when i had a year and a half long coco obsessetion and just bc she ra was so huge ihad more fics to read for that fandom than any other meant that was true and then i saw a fic titles "red roses" and then went "BUT NOT THIS ONE!!!" and made like the exact face of the comic abt thinking the word penis while driving as i opened it in a new tab bc that literally had to be a carulia fic and i tell you the scream i scrumpt when i switched to that tab and saw it was infact a prinxiety fic (not even a good one if memory serves correctly. i just saved it bc i was abt roman leaving red roses outside virgils door and as a carulia and prinxiety obsessed girl who is also obsessed w parallels i saved it just for that)

STOP BCUZ THATS ALSO SO GOOD okay the way i have been thinking abt prinxiety lately. like ok they were so real

#the scream i wouldve scrumpt as welll!!!!!!!! #anyway i hope u do find the good carulia fics tho AHBHYSBHS #mewtuals #castle.answers

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

A Difficult Question

Word count: 3000

Warnings: continued second-hand embarrassment? 😉 tickling, fluff as always

This is in response to a prompt from @sigyn-laufeyson0609 for a sequel to An Embarrassing Secret. Thanks for the idea friend! 😊 I snuck in a little soft Loki toward the end, just to switch things up a little!

* * *

You had avoided Loki for a solid week after he had revealed he knew about your blog. Although he didn’t seem to find it as strange as you’d have expected him to, you couldn’t help but feel a little exposed. Your writing wasn’t something you’d intended to show anyone, much less the tall, handsome, alien god who made you feel giddy every time he said your name.

Despite your concern that he would tell the others, no one else so much as breathed a word about your little secret. Either they were too kind to say anything for fear of embarrassing you, or he truly hadn’t told anyone else. You hoped it was the latter, although you supposed it couldn’t get any worse than Loki finding out.

You couldn’t avoid him forever, though. The first time you ran into him, other than those brief moments in passing where you ducked your head or turned the other way, you were sitting in the library again, this time actually reading something rather than typing on your laptop. (No way were you risking leaving that out in public again…) Loki had entered the library without your knowledge, having been engrossed in the novel you were reading while sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs. A sudden squeeze to your side alerted you to his presence, causing you to jolt and whip your head around to find the god smirking down at you. He shot you a wink before continuing on to browse the shelves.

Somehow, that brief interaction had eased your anxiety around him. You didn’t really want to stay away from him, after all. And it seemed like he was going to treat the whole situation as a game, which in a strange way made you feel better about the whole situation. You would much rather he use this little secret for some lighthearted flirting versus making a big show about it.

So, you went back to your usual routines, no longer trying to shy away from him. He rewarded you with the occasional poke to the side while passing by you in the hallway, or a quick pinch to the soft skin above your knee during movie night with the team. And, maybe, you started trying to provoke him a little more. Doing little irritating things like stealing the last cookie right from under his nose or changing the channel during one of the rare moments he was actually watching something on the television usually earned you a couple extra scribbles to the belly, or a fluttering of fingers to the neck.

It never lasted longer than a couple seconds at most, though. Most of the time that was plenty for you, just long enough to make your heart beat faster with adrenaline and for heat to prickle in your cheeks.

But not today.

No, today you were really in the mood to be tickled senseless. You were even making sarcastic comments to some of the other Avengers, hoping that someone might just decide they’d had enough of your sass. Although no one else knew you actually enjoyed it, everyone was aware that you were more ticklish than the average person. It was uncommon for the others to take advantage of it, but on rare occasions Thor or Tony would dig their fingers into your ribs to get you to stop talking if you were being particularly annoying. Today, though, no one was getting the hint.

You didn’t see Loki until later that evening, when you stumbled across him in the common room. He was alone, sitting on the couch with his back leaned up against the cushions and his feet up on the coffee table. He had a book in his hand, which he seemed pretty focused on, turning a page every few seconds as his eyes skimmed across the aging pages.

“You’re hovering again,” he observed suddenly, never once lifting his gaze from his book. Startled, you left your position from the doorway and entered the room, taking a seat on the other side of the couch.

“I’ll never understand how you know people are there without even seeing them,” you marveled.

“I’ve told you before – it’s impossible to sneak up on me.”

“Well maybe I’ll be the first someday.” You sat back against the couch, and silence blanketed the room, save for the occasional crinkling of the pages of Loki’s book as he continued to read. You realized that this would be the perfect opportunity to try to provoke the Asgardian to tickle you – you were alone in the common room, and he seemed to be in a state of focus where he would be pretty irritated if you broke his concentration.

You wanted to be subtle, though. You wouldn’t want him to think you were asking for it, after all, and as he was the only person who knew about your secret, you figured he would see through you pretty quickly if you tried too hard. So, you started simple by leaning forward and picking up the remote from the coffee table, turning on the television. You found a program he had previously expressed disinterest in and set the channel to that, settling back against the couch cushions, and turning up the volume.

Loki was silent despite all of this, so you stole a glance in his direction. His brow was furrowed a little, but his gaze was still fixed on the pages of his novel. Need to try harder, you thought to yourself. You cranked up the volume a little more and laughed a little extra loud at every joke. After trying this for a few minutes, you risked another glance in his direction.

Nothing. Not even a flinch.

You were starting to get a little desperate. The desire for someone to tickle you had settled itself like a flame in your belly, and it had been slowly building all day long. But you were too proud, too embarrassed to just come out and ask for it. You had to find another way.

You turned your body so you were leaning back against the arm of the couch and stretched your legs out across the couch cushions, your feet only inches away from Loki’s leg. This time, you didn’t even chance looking over at him, knowing he wouldn’t try anything if he thought you were expecting it. You sat still for a maddening amount of time without finding any success in your attempts. You stretched one leg out a little further and tapped his leg with your foot.

Nothing.

You tried again, this time with a little more force. At long last, the trickster looked up from his book to glare at you.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone flat.

“Uhh… no, sorry,” you replied quickly. He turned his attention back to his book, and you turned back to the TV, feeling a bit deflated. Your mood was still gnawing at your insides, though, and you weren’t quite ready to give up just yet.

You waited a few moments, trying to think of another way to get on his nerves. Maybe you just needed to try a different angle.

“So… watcha reading?” you inquired.

“Shakespeare,” he stated without looking up.

“Oh. That’s really old though, isn’t it?”

“’Old’ is a relative term. What you consider ‘old’ is actually quite new for someone my age.”

“Right. Because you’re old too,” you snickered. This got him to look up at you again finally.

“Pardon?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Well, like you said, ‘old’ is relative. So, compared to me, you’re really old.” You held his gaze, a triumphant grin threatening to spread across your face.

“Yes, I am ‘old’ compared to you I suppose. And yet, you still seem to like what you see.”

Your face flushed hot.

“I- well- that’s not… never mind,” you huffed, turning away from him once again. You heard his book snap shut, the cover making a small thumping sound as he set it down on the table.

“You seem a bit off today. Is there something with which you require assistance?” You glanced up to find his blue-green eyes fixed on you. It was difficult to read his expression – he wasn’t annoyed, but he wasn’t overtly amused, either.

“What? No. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re watching a television show you and I both know you hate, laughing loudly and turning the volume up, and just generally trying to capture my attention,” he listed. “If I didn’t know any better, I would assume you were trying to get me to tickle you.”

“W-what!? Pshh. That’s… that’s ridiculous,” you stammered, folding your arms defiantly across your chest. “Just because I don’t mind it doesn’t mean I would ask for it.”

“I see.” Loki sat back against the couch again, picking up his novel and reopening it to his bookmarked page. “So, you won’t mind if I go back to reading in peace, then?”

“Nope,” you affirmed, popping the P for emphasis. You leaned back into your seat once again, your arms still crossed. You changed the channel to another show you were more interested in so you could try to forget about this whole thing by distracting yourself.

Once again, the room fell silent, with the exception of the voices on the television and the flipping of Loki’s book pages. Your heart sank deeper in your chest in disappointment. You almost had him there – why did he have to go and ruin it by observing out loud that you wanted to be tickled?

“Honestly, y/n, you look as if someone put something sour in your drink,” Loki said finally, placing his book back on the coffee table.

“I’m fine,” you insisted flatly, refusing to look at him.

“I’ve told you before – if you want me to tickle you, all you have to do is ask.” You observed him in your peripheral vision, your stomach swooping at the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“No,” you stated.

“No? No what? No, you don’t want me to tickle you? Or no, you refuse to ask?”

“Just… no.” You pulled your feet closer to your body, sitting crisscross on the couch with your arms still folded across your torso. Loki chuckled, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You sound like a petulant child.”

“Do not!” you argued. Loki didn’t respond – he merely held his hand out at you, silently noting that you’d proven his point. You huffed and turned away from him, pretending to turn your focus back to the television.

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do, darling,” he sang, scooting closer to you on the couch. “You are hoping to provoke me sufficiently to make me retaliate and tickle you. You’ve been doing so since you saw me from the doorway. Don’t try to deny it.”

Heat was crawling up your neck into your cheeks again, and you squeezed your mouth shut, shaking your head defiantly. He shuffled a bit closer, now only inches away from you. “I’m sorry to tell you, dear, but you’re going to have to ask me properly.” You let out an involuntary groan at that, your heart pounding at the sheer proximity of the god beside you. “Use your words, darling. What is it that you want?”

Your resolve was breaking. This whole exchange was only enhancing your lee mood, and he’d made it clear that you wouldn’t get anything out of him without actually coming out and asking for it bluntly. It was difficult to form the words in your mouth.

“I… erm… could you… uh…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” he teased, his smirk broadening.

“Could you… would you, maybe… couldyoutickleme?” The words finally came tumbling out of your mouth, and as soon as you said it you found yourself pinned down on the couch, the god of mischief hovering over you with a victorious smirk on his face.

“Now, y/n, was that really so difficult?” Before you had the chance to tell him exactly how difficult it was, he cut you off by digging his fingers into your ribcage. He knew it was a weaker spot, drawing rambunctious laughter from you as you grasped his wrists. You weren’t really making any effort to try to push him away, of course, but it gave you something to do with your hands. “For someone who wanted this so badly, you’re making it exceedingly difficult with your incessant squirming.”

“I cahahan’t help ihihit!!” you exclaimed, arching your back as his fingers darted down to your belly. He wouldn’t give you the chance to get accustomed to one spot, quickly moving to scribble into your sides or drill his thumbs into your hips. It was exactly what you’d been hoping would happen all day today, and yet still you could barely handle it as ticklish shocks wracked through your body.

“Let’s see, now – where else are you ticklish? I don’t have your little narratives open for reference this time, so I suppose I’m going to have to find out for myself,” he pondered aloud, tone laced with mischief. “Ah! How about here?” Loki slipped his fingers under your arms, causing you to clamp them down to your sides. That didn’t stop him, though, continuing to vibrate his fingers into your uppermost ribs. The sensation made you shriek, throwing your head back and laughing with abandon.

“Nohoho Loki! Not there!” you cried, feebly pulling at his wrists as much as you could with your arms pressed to your sides.

“No? On the contrary, dear, I think it’s a perfectly effective spot.” You twisted involuntarily, accidentally rolling off the couch and face first onto the floor with a thud. Loki was at your side in a flash, kneeling beside you with a hand on your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yehehes,” you giggled, heart fluttering at the idea that he was so concerned about you possibly being hurt. You turned to roll onto your back to look up at him, but he pressed down on your shoulder, holding you in place.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked ominously, his fingers moving to dig into your ribcage with renewed vigor. Not being able to see his hands was so much better worse. You tried desperately to roll onto your side but each time he would shift both hands to the newly exposed side, forcing you to roll back onto your stomach to protect the sensitive skin there. “Shall I ‘go in for the kill’ as they say?”

“No! Don’t! Anything but that!” you pleaded, although you both knew your heart wasn’t really in it.

“Sorry, darling, but as I recall, you did ask for this.” With that, his fingertips scribbled into that wretched spot on the back of your upper ribs. You kicked your feet against the floor in ticklish agony, your laughter pitching up an octave. Before long, your laughter grew silent, prompting him to ease up on you and scratch lightly at your sides. You turned to roll onto your back, and he allowed it this time, chuckling at your disheveled state. You took a moment to catch your breath, chest heaving with exertion, and you twitched occasionally when his fingertips found an extra sensitive spot on your side.

Loki’s fingers stilled against your sides, and you frowned up at him, feeling a sense of loss without his touch. He laughed heartily at that, a genuine smile spreading across his lips.

“Silly girl, was that not enough for you? Do you need me to continue?” Before waiting for your answer, he reached down and fluttered his fingers behind both knees. You squealed in surprise, giggles spilling from your lips. Loki sat on your shins to avoid any accidental kicks to the face, shifting to knead at the soft skin just above your knee on your inner thigh. You hadn’t anticipated just how unbearably ticklish that spot could be.

“Wait wait wahahait!! Stahahap!!” you cried, trying desperately to yank your legs out from under the Asgardian.

“Ah, I see I’ve identified a new– what do you call it? ‘Death spot’?”

Your laughter was growing hoarse, and Loki took this as his cue to let up again, getting up off your legs and kneeling beside you. You were exhausted, but the endorphins coursing through your veins made you feel giddy.

“That… that was mean,” you said breathlessly.

“I’ll remind you once again, you asked for it,” he retorted.

Loki stood up and offered you a hand to help you off the floor, which you gratefully accepted. You stood there awkwardly for a moment, not certain what to say. For the first time, you noticed Loki was also at a loss for words; his hand moved to the back of his neck, and he glanced around the room, uncertainty in his eyes.

On a whim (or maybe it was just the residual adrenaline, you’ll never know) you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around the bewildered god in front of you.

“Thanks, Loki,” you whispered into his shoulder. He stood frozen for a moment before finally sliding his arms around you as well, squeezing you tight.

“Anytime, love,” he replied, his voice low and gruff, softer than you’d ever heard him speak. You hugged him for another moment before releasing the trickster and hurrying off to your room, hoping to hide away before you could say anything to ruin things.

And, you can bet, you would be doing some more writing tonight.

Part 3: A Cozy Evening

#ticklish!reader #loki tickle #tickle fic #tickle fluff #marvel tickle #soft loki

[thewritinggrindstone]

Identifying Harmful Repetition in Your Writing

Something I’ve encountered ad nauseam over the last few projects I’ve edited is a relentless repetition of words, phrases, and ideas. One of the most frustrating and confidence-destroying issues a reader can encounter is poorly executed repetition, which can stem from different problems, including:

Too much reliance on your natural stock phrases.

Limited vocabulary.

Not proofreading close enough or editing thoroughly enough.

Lack of confidence.

Not writing with the reader in mind.

I want to preface this with the fact that obviously certain types of repetition aren’t bad. Repetition is an incredibly powerful tool when used effectively, and what’s effective is subjective per book and per reader. That’s a massive topic for another time. This post is specifically about egregious uses of repetition, the types that any good editor or beta reader will point out as in need of fixing.

Stock Phrases and Words

Every person has their own unique lexicon, a repository of words and phrases they naturally will draw upon when they speak, write, and even think. There’s a reason clichés are prevalent, and that’s because the brain likes the path of least resistance. It’s easy to mentally grab those words and phrases that are constantly in arm’s reach, those words and phrases that are comfortable and familiar, but constantly doing this while writing and then not changing them can result in overuse that is noticeable on both stylistic and technical levels. It can also lead a reader to the understanding that you haven’t thought critically about what you’re writing, which can and will undermine their confidence in you.

If you’re writing a first draft, don’t worry about this too much. You probably just need to focus on putting words down, not exactly what those words are. Repetition is an issue that can and should be intentionally fixed during the revision process.

If this is a problem that bugs you even when you’re drafting, there are different ways of dealing with it. I tend to be highly aware of most repetition within my work, and because I constantly edit as I write, backtracking to add/move information as I go doesn’t tend to interrupt my workflow too much. If I know I’ve already used a word and can’t think of something better after several seconds’ thought, I’ll use the repetition and immediately flag it somehow—usually with a “repeat” comment—so I can deal with it once I’ve completed the draft. Opening a thesaurus or dictionary tends to be more disruptive during drafting than it’s worth, but sometimes it isn’t, and you will need to determine what works best for you according to your own style.

Once you’re ready to target the issue of repetition, you will need to work hard, think hard. Don’t settle for the easy word, the stock phrase, the cliché. Discard the timeworn, the tired, the used-before. Play with language—try to come up with new phrases, unique descriptions. Get silly, flip rocks over, dig around under them, push things as far as you need to create something different, then go back and edit again, refining what you’ve written until you’re satisfied.

It’s going to be a process. It’s going to be difficult. It won’t be natural at first; you’ll need to form new pathways in your brain, just like when you learn any new skill, and that’s uncomfortable, but if you persist, your writing will be fresh and alive and won’t be as prone to being bogged down by reader-infuriating repetition.

Limited Vocabulary

Tying into the idea of your personal lexicon is the size of it. No matter how much you pay attention to precisely what words or phrases you’re using, you won’t have much in the way of options if you don’t have at least a good-sized repertoire to draw from.

Increasing your lexicon is something that just takes dedication and time. You can’t rush it, you can’t force it, but you can be deliberate in growing it. Read broadly, maybe bookmark or sign up for your favorite dictionary’s word of the day, or keep a word cache of interesting words or phrases you like.* I have a document titled “word hoard” in Dropbox where I keep all unusual, unfamiliar, or beautiful words I encounter as well as their function(s) and definitions. Most of these words haven’t properly entered my own lexicon yet, but actively being aware of words that are anywhere from slightly to completely outside what you usually use will help you become a more mindful writer.

* I got this idea from Barbara Baig’s Spellbinding Sentences, which is one of my favorite books I’ve ever read on writing.

Lack of Proofreading/Editing

The identification and elimination of repetition hovers somewhere between content editing and technical editing. It’s an easy problem to skim over, especially when you’re the writer because you’re likely too familiar with every word you’ve put down, and issues like this tend to fade into the background. This is particularly true of writers who have reworded or reorganized a given piece of writing, since repetition can easily become lost in the jumble.

If possible, set your project aside for at least a few days—preferably a few weeks or even longer—then come back to it and read it with fresh eyes while intentionally noting and commenting on or highlighting all uses of repetition, big and small. If you aren’t sure if it’s something you repeated, flag it anyway—you can always check later.

If you don’t have time to set the project aside for a while, read your work aloud. If you can’t bear reading your work aloud or you aren’t able due to circumstances, listen to the document instead. Word has a read aloud function, and there are many online text-to-speech websites where you can paste a piece of writing. The unnatural cadence of the artificial voice might be weird and awkward at first, but listening won’t fully engage the “reading” portion of your brain, and you’ll likely find it easier to notice uses of repetition, among other problems. While writing this post, I have listened through it three times, tweaking phrasing and eliminating repetition—and deleting some of the harsher statements—as I go.

If you’re feeling really brave, have another person read your writing back at you. Nothing like being uncomfortably hyperaware of every word you’ve put down to recognize pretty much every single problem within your work. Just do not overcompensate and decide that nothing you’ve written has any value at all (it does), or that you’ll need to change everything (you don’t). If you approach this method with the understanding that it’s going to be awkward but are nevertheless determined to get something useful out of it, you’ll benefit, especially if your reading partner is willing to help you with any areas you feel you need assistance in.

When editing for repetition, if possible, pay attention not only to noun/verb/adjective usage. Go deeper. What types of repetition are you prone to using? Do you begin a significant portion of your sentences with conjunctions? Are there certain conjunctions you use more frequently than others? Do you reiterate entire sentences two or more times with only slight variations in wording? Do you return to the same idea numerous times? What about tone, do you use lots of rhetorical questions? Sarcasm? Self-deprecation? Self-boasting? Do you frequently return to the same imagery or settings or use of metaphor? Or grammar—are there certain punctuation marks or grammatical conventions you use more than others? Do you have a sentence construction you consistently fall back on?

Again, some of these questions might require an outside opinion for you to find suitable answers, but becoming self-aware of not just what you do but why you do will help you recognize these patterns, which in turn can help you mentally eliminate repetition before it even makes it past your fingertips.

Lack of Confidence

Widespread repetition of sentences and ideas is often a major symptom of a writer who isn’t confident in their abilities to communicate what they’re talking about. “If I just tell you this fact again, surely you’ll believe me this time. I’ll make you believe me. Do you believe me now? What about now? Now? Now?”

The painful truth is... no.

Encountering mindless or fear-based repetition is extremely frustrating for readers. Inevitably, without fail, every single time I edit a book by a writer who has repeated themselves over and over and over again, with every single repetition, I increasingly doubt both their credibility and their ability to pass on important knowledge to me. I feel either patronized and insulted, or I feel annoyed because it seems like the author threw their thoughts down on paper in whatever order they came out and then hit publish with

no regard for how those thoughts will be perceived by others, and

no regard for how they are wasting the reader’s time.

Please, please do not undermine your credibility by repeating yourself. Readers usually only need to read information one time for them to absorb it, maybe twice, so trust your readers. If the reader needs to come back to information, they have that ability. Do not force unnecessary repetition in their faces. Always assume readers are at least as smart as you. If you don’t need the information repeated, give your readers the same respect.

Increasing your writing confidence will once again take time and effort. You’ll need to determine why you’re not confident and then seek out methods of correcting the issue(s). In general, fear of not being heard or understood tends to be the underlying cause of repetition, so learn how to be deliberate in your writing. Say what you mean to say. Say exactly what you mean to say. Understand that you have something important to share with the world, so share it—then stop. Readers will appreciate you for not wasting their time.

 Writing for Yourself

Yesterday I finished editing a project just over 88,000 words. Nineteen chapters. Almost 250 pages.

I hated every word, and I learned nothing.

If it had been a line edit, I could’ve cut the book’s word count down below 50K merely by eliminating all of the repetition. This author is infatuated with the sound of their own voice, talked on and on and on merely to hear their own self-revelations and how special they are compared to everyone else stated again and again in near-identical sentences.

I’m editing another book right now that is less self-important and is far more interesting on the whole (and is thankfully over a hundred pages shorter), but again, the author has repeated themselves sometimes three or four or five times, with some phrases appearing over fifteen times, and I can feel my resentment growing. If an author isn’t going to take the time to put forth a thoughtfully crafted piece of writing, why should a reader likewise invest in it?

There is absolutely nothing wrong with writing for yourself. You should—you’ll learn a lot about yourself as both person and writer, and you’ll enjoy writing more, and you’ll (hopefully) be able to refine your skills.

But if—if—you intend to share your writing with the world, if you actually have something to say, you need to be aware that you have a duty to make yourself understood without wasting people’s time. Do not make people regret having picked up your writing by being so in love with the sound of your own voice that you are no longer courteous to others.

Love your writing. Love it fiercely and passionately and with reckless abandon, but reach a place where you know how your writing is going to be perceived at large. Use as many words as you need to get your point across and no more.

In Closing

If you’re still having difficulty identifying repetition within your own work, ask someone who is skilled at recognizing this issue to look over your writing. It’s always easier to recognize repetition when you haven’t written it, so fresh eyes can give you the insight you might not be able to see yourself.

Know your audience. A children’s book will require a different level of repetition than an instruction manual or a sci-fi novel or an autobiography. If you’re reading a recipe, you’d be annoyed and confused if the author told you to add the same ingredient twice due to shoddy proofreading. Write and repeat accordingly.

Whatever you’re writing, make a point of intentionally performing at least one round of editing with the intention of eliminating unnecessary repetition. Your readers will appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.

#writing #repetition #editing #proofreading #advice #red talks

[klaus-is-the-real-number-1]

She moves in her own way (Number 5 x reader)

Ask: Could you do a Five x reader where the reader is sarcastic like him, but polar opposites at the same time? Like they are scared to talk in public and prefer tea with milk and sugar, they try to be very kind and sweet to others. They bonded over a book they were reading in a coffee shop and starting talking there, they were super shy, but after a few minutes of conversation Five got them to open up?

A/N: Hope you enjoy this! I changed it up a bit to being in a library first like getting the book then into a coffee shop. i uh posted this then deleted it so this is like version two that might be better but now im just stressin,, this could also be made into a pt 2 tbh

Words: 1559

Books towered high in the dimly lit building, the smell of paper resonating throughout with history dripping from every page. Aimlessly, your fingers skimmed over the spines of the many books, the worn down fabric feeling like a secret code telling all their secrets of every reader. As you walked you waited for a book to call out to you, for you to read every word as if it was the last time you would ever see a book again. Then a calling came, causing you to stop dead in your tracks. Pulling the book from its tightly packed shelf, you peer at the familiar cover; a book that you could recite every word without flaw yet every time you read it you felt like a child opening a toy on christmas. Gently, your thumb ran over the endented title of the book, The Odyssey by Homer.

Book in hand you walked down the stairs, hand running down the wooden banister that leads to the desk, it was a familiar walk down the spiral steps. Your gentle steps echoed throughout the library as you descended, preparing your library card to sign the book out for what must be the near 20th time. Smiling at the familiar receptionist, you slid the book along with your card towards her and watched her scan your card before taking the slip out of the front of the book, just before she scanned it she looked at it to be met with line after line filled with your name from checking it out.

“Hun,” She says as she just puts the slip back into the book. “I’m going to let you keep this book.” Before you could even open your mouth to protest she cut you off. “I insist, hunny, you seem to be the only one who ever signs it out and we can always order another.”

“Thank you so much.” You smile at her, slipping the book, your book, into your bag. She slides your card back over the counter towards you and winked as you picked it up, smiling again, you head towards the doors and onto the busy road. The streets were bursting with life, cars beeping and whizzing past and people loudly talking. It was a contrast to your slow quiet life, keeping out of the way and too yourself as much as possible. Most would see it as a tragedy but the ability to lose yourself into another world is something magical, to shut away all your problems and become someone else.

One drop of rain fell from the ever darkening sky, only to turn into two, to three to be an increasingly heavy stream, your pace quickened as you saw the neon light for the town diner coming into view, offering itself as a safe haven from the ever worsening weather. The bell chimed as you walked in, warm air hitting your face as it snuck out the door behind you before you could close it.

Once you were in you spot an empty table in the corner, out of the way of everyone and pull out The Odyssey, eyes reading the words that you had read over and over again. Your finger danced over the page as you read, getting ready to turn the page.

“Tell me, O Muse,” A boy said as he slid into the seat opposite you. “of the man of many devices-”

“Who wandered full many ways after he had sacked the sacred citadel of troy.” You finish the sentence and lock eyes with him, only to look back down to your book when his eyes started to linger for too long, making your face turn red. You knew all too well the opening lines to the Odyssey, not even having to think about what came next.

“What can I get you guys today?” The waitress smiled at you both, yet the boys calculating eyes never left yours.

“Please can I get a tea?” You asked softly.

“With sugar and milk?” You just nod at her and smile, watching her return the gesture.

“Coffee,” He says still looking at you before sharply flicking his eyes to the waitress. “black.” Then his eyes landed right back on you.

“Thank you.” You say to the waitress before she walked away, your eyes trail down to your book but become distracted as holes were being burnt into your soul. “You know it’s rude to stare.” A smirk broke across his face at your words, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t realise people causally read Homer.” His eyes continued to burn into yours, clearly enjoying your ever reddening cheeks.

“Can one not enjoy a classic piece of literature?” You posed, placing your bookmark into the worn book before setting it down onto the table. Breaking his gaze to look at the waitress as she placed your drinks on the table, you smile at her before gripping your hot mug, letting the warmth seep into your fingers.

“Do you know it in ancient Greek?” He sipped his coffee, seemingly challenging you.

“Not yet but I’m learning, it’s hard to teach yourself a dead language.” You look down at your book, unable to match his stare without making yourself too uncomfortable. He clearly didn’t get the hint from your fidgeting and now crimson face how uncomfortable you had become, or maybe he simply didn’t care.

“I’m fluent,” He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I could teach you sometime-”

“Yeah, let me just clear my schedule for a stranger who has been staring at me non-stop and being kind of creepy, seems like a solid plan.” You sarcastically say to him, taking a sip of your tea. For the first time he looked away from you and smiled to himself, being shocked at you sudden sarcastic outburst.

“I’m Five.” He stuck his hand out for you, your eyes flicked from his face to his hand before reaching over and taking it.

“Y/n.”

Five seemed to relax, talking in a softer tone and easing off the staring. He started asking questions about you, mainly your reading and opinions on Homer, as well as opening up about how his father made him learn it in ancient greek from a young age. Five was a very peculiar boy who hid behind a mask, he was a closed book with a lock around it but you were determined to find the key. 

Somehow, you had cracked and agreed to his offer to teach you the dead language of ancient greek but the way his face broke out into a genuine smile made it worth it, as much as you didn’t want to admit it it, Five was growing on you. 

The next day you found yourself sat in the library, legs swinging freely under the chair you were sat in, eyes following Five as he walked up and down the aisle looking for books. Just when you thought he found the right one, he’d sigh and place it back to then walk to the next set of shelves. Eventually he gave up his search, sighing in defeat as he returned to your table. “Come on, I’ve got the books we need at my house.” He pulled you up by your hand and began a fast paced walk with you trailing behind him like a lost puppy. 

Not paying attention to where you were walking, you bump into Five who had stopped dead in his tracks, now facing a large building. Hand still in yours, he stepped forward and pushed the gate open and made his way to the door.

“You live here?” He just smiled at your question before continuing up to the door. His house was like a mansion, it was a mansion, taking up nearly a full block. Silence filled the air once Five closed the door behind you, the large building having no signs of any other life. He gently took your hand again and started walking through the mansion. Dust particles were floating like fairies in the streams of sunlight that beamed through the windows, illuminating the wooden furniture and portraits that looked as if they hadn’t been seen in years, stuck in time until someone would come along and free them. 

Suddenly you found yourself in a brightly lit room, your eyes took a second to adjust before being able to get a good look. You were met with shelves on shelves of books, definitely being able to qualify as a library on its own. Dust caked the books, like it was a room frozen still. “Wow.”

“No one really comes in here anymore.” He says leaning against a large wooden table. 

“If I lived here, I’d be in here all the time.” His eyes followed you as you walked over to one of the shelves, running your finger over all the pristine condition books, each one woven in fabric with a hardback cover. “You’re staring again.” You say as you turn to Five, his eyes locking with yours.

“I just haven’t met anyone like you before.” You smile at his words before walking over to the table and placing your bag down. His eyes lingered for another few seconds before he jumped into life, confidently pulling out books from the shelves like he knew where they were from memory. “Alright, let’s do this.”

#number 5 #number 5 x reader #number 5 fluff #number 5 imagine #number five #number five x reader #number five imagine #number five fluff #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves fluff #five hargreeves imagine

[imma-potatoo]

For the bthb, may I request Logan and U!Patton with Thrown Down The Stairs? Maybe with some Remus or Janus comfort later? Idk, I just like your writing style and am crazy for Logan angst.

@badthingshappenbingo

Send me a prompt with a character! Please specify ships! No romantic prinxeity, r*mr*m or U!Janus and U!Logan please!

You wanted Logan angst? You got Logan angst~

Prompt: thrown down the stairs.

Warnings: U!Patton, blood, gore, choking, scratching at throat, concussion, thrown down stairs, pinning, graphic abuse, punching, slapping, ask to tag

(I'm really sorry this took so long. Wifi problems and family shit)

-----

Love

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Logan walked out of his room, humming a small song (Crofters the Musical, but that was only for him to know) dress shoes clicking softly on the wooden floors while he skimmed over the book in his hands. The mindscape was just as bustling as usual, he could hear Janus lecturing Remus in the darker half of the mind about how stealing Roman’s sword and turning it into a dagger was inappropriate and that he’ll have to make Roman a new one. Roman himself was sulking in his room playing Burn from Hamilton on loop because “Remus is dead to me like Hamilton was dead to Eliza”…. Logan didn’t get it. Virgil’s music was turned on max; like always but this time he was trying to drown out Roman’s complaints with My Chemical Romance. Patton was most likely baking in the kitchen once again.

Logan flipped open to the page he left off on; he had just started this book so he wasn’t too far in. He couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face as he started to read,

The person who was supposed to love me the hardest-the most unconditionally-has always wanted me gone. No matter how hard I tried to be perfect. Now, this boy-who knows all my imperfections and has seen all my hurt laid bare-wants me to sta- Logan’s reading was interrupted by a door clicking open.

Logan looked up to see Patton closing his bedroom door. An ear to ear grin plastered on his face, it was a little too much teeth for his comfort. Patton locked eyes with the blue side, “Hiya kiddo!”

Logan slipped his bookmark back into the thin pages, “Greetings Patton.” Logan waited for a second or two for Patton to walk beside him; after all, when someone comes out of their door, you have to wait for the other to join you on your walk.

And Patton did, they started towards the staircase; Logan tracing the book pages with his fingers. “So! Where ya headed kiddo?!” Logan had always thought Patton was a little too cheery for his tastes, but that was just the father’s personality, he couldn’t change that.

“I’m headed to the imagination to read,” for a brief second, Logan forgot who I was talking to, “It's actually quite an interesting book! The Dangerous Art of Blending In is considered a must-read for pride month and is based on the author's true story,” Logan continued to talk; eyes twinkling with excitement and pure joy as he went on to explain the main character’s arc so far.

The blue side steeled his expression to his happy grin, “That sounds interesting kiddo! Can I see it?”

Logan grew stiff, but continued walking with Patton until they made it to the top of the stairs, Logan shifted his eyes downward and handed the book to Patton. Morality swiped the book straight out of Logan’s hands, he pulled it open to a random page and started to read. Logan watched in horror as the older side’s expression shifted from mild curiosity to confusion, to disgust, and finally to anger.

“Why are you reading these horrible things, Logan?” Patton’s smile was gone, eyes cold and disapproving as he stared into Logan’s eyes. “This is something Remus would read. Why. Are. You. Reading. It.” Patton stood tall, teeth formed into a sneer as he stepped closer.

Logan took a small step backward, “I-I-”

“Shut up.” Logan hit the wall when Patton hissed through his teeth, “Come on Lo-Lo! If you read stuff like this, you’re just as bad as Remus and Janus! You don’t want to be like them, do you?” Patton was inches away from Logan’s face. His breath hot on his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

Logan gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “W-well, I thought that Even and Henry’s story was a sweet story about overcoming hardships, even when you’re put in a bad si-” The stinging pain of Patton’s hand hitting his face stopped him in his tracks. Tears leaked down as Logan raised his hand to his cheek.

Logan looked at Patton with wide eyes, “y-yo-” The blunt end of a punch struck his face, Logan could only stand in shock as he felt his lip start to leak crimson, “Patton stop!”

The so-called father pushed his hand against Logan’s neck, keeping him in place even while Logan clawed at his hand and own throat, attempting to pry Patton off. His nails dug into his flesh, small warm droplets of blood pricking out of the skin as Patton tightened his hold.

“You, Lo-Lo-Bear, need to learn when to shut up~” Logan was sure that his neck was going to be bruised, all he could do was wheeze a suffocated breath in response. Patton applied his sugar-sweet smile once more, looking into Logan’s eyes with a twisted fascination.

Logan attempted to speak, he knew that he couldn’t. But words were his weapon. Without his voice he was helpless, and he refused to give in to the father figure’s torment. Patton had always been particularly touchy, touching them when it wasn’t necessary. Hands grazing over their shoulders or swiping things from their hand to look it over. Patton had also always been particularly violent. Pushing them against walls over little things and whispering threats. It didn’t make these situations any less terrifying though. And this was the first time Patton had taken it this far.

Logan’s hands were covered in blood. His blood. Gore covered his fingers and Patton’s hand, a few small beads hitting the floor; as well as Patton’s cartoon-themed sneakers. Long thin scratches ran up and down his neck, his nails had thick pieces of skin underneath the nails.

Patton raised an eyebrow at the side’s attempt to pry him off, he huffed a breath and let go of Logan’s neck.

Logic fell against the wall, hands immediately wrapping around the sluggish bleeding at his neck, Logan breathed in short ragged breaths eyes wide and staring at the floor. Breathing in the sweet addiction of oxygen.

Patton smiled, eyes skewed shut while the side on the floor held himself tightly. “There! Didn’t you learn your lesson kiddo?” Patton waited a second or two for Logan to respond, his breathing calm and steady as he swirled the crimson liquid on his hand. “Right kiddo?” Patton bore his cold eyes onto the crumbled side, he barely waited a second before seizing Logan’s wrist and pulling him to his feet.

The cyan side held Logan by his tie, right in front of the staircase. Logan could barely process anything before the side in front of him smiled, locking his eyes. And then, he let go and pushed Logan down the steps.

Logan fell, hitting almost every stair on his way down. He could feel his blood vessels burst as his arms scraped on the wooden railing, splinters indenting into his flesh. His head spun when it hit the stairs, glasses flying off. Logan could barely tell what was happening to him as he hit his head repeatedly, he knew that he heard a crunch from his left arm and right leg when he hit the bottom landing.

Logan laid on his face, breathing hard and rapidly. His mind was fogged over, no coherent thought could pass through as the ringing sound that suddenly plagued his mind filled his senses. He couldn’t hear his father figure climb down the steps, taking care to step over the blood spatters that covered them.

Patton poked Logan in the ribs with his shoe, giggling when the side groaned in pain. “You really should be more careful kiddo! Stairs can be pretty dangerous you know!” The cyan side took one last look at his victim before pulling Logan’s book from his pocket.

Patton opened the book to its center point, before grabbing each side of the novel and ripping it in half. Pages floated down like butterfly wings, gracefully falling as they surrounded the broken side in bitter mockery of the book. Patton threw what was remaining of the book onto Logan, his demeanor just as peppy and upbeat as ever, even while covered in another’s blood.

“You really need to be more careful with your possessions, Logic, such a tragedy, you know I love a good book.” Patton walked back up the staircase to his bedroom, while Welcome to the Black Parade blasted from Virgil’s speakers, Logan barely responded to the father figments door slamming.

Logan had no idea of how long he let his blood stain the carpet, but his mind grew even fuzzier as the room grew black. He allowed the sweet bliss of sleep to cloud his function telling him to stay awake. He closed his eyes, only to have someone shake him.

“-GAN! LOGAN WAKE UP!” The panicked voice of the deceitful side flooded his head, he tried to force his eyes open; muscles spasming. “There we go! Come on starlight! Stay awake! Remus is coming back with the medkit! Just stay with me!” Logan followed his voice, the smoothness and composed attitude of the yellow side was gone. Logan hated seeing the silver-tongued side like that.

“I-I see you have a copy of The Dangerous Art of Blending In! It’s such a good book right! I l-ove how the author wrote Henry! Don’t you? Come on Logan, stay awake!” Logan looked into the terrified side’s eyes. The enchanting yellow and brown eyes kept his focus even if they were clouded in fear, he wondered why he never noticed the flecks of green surrounding the slivered pupil before.

“I GOT THE MEDKIT!” The horse voice of Remus broke his concentration on the pretty eyes, why did everyone call Janus a monster anyway? Was it the scales? Logan could only wonder as the two dark sides hastily applied the first aid. Voices scared and rushed as they faded into the background, Logan could only focus on how Remus’ mustache was perfectly curled into its position, even when it was soaked in tears. Tears? Why were they crying? Patton said that they were monsters, and monsters don’t cry. Then again, monsters don’t help people either… 

Logan watched the two sides dig into the kit as fast as they could. Janus even removed his gloves.

Logan gazed at them tiredly, mouth lightly sagged open, “There we go! I think we can move him now Jan!” “Good! Let’s get him out of here before Patton comes back, I think he did this…”

Logan could feel his body raising to meet the ruffles of Remus’ tunic. The small teeth that embellished the ends of the fasteners rubbed against his shoulder. He didn’t have the energy to make any noise as the two sides took him back to their side.

He doubted he would ever return to the picture-perfect family he once belonged to ever again. He had his actual family, ready to help him through everything.

Janus bought him a new copy of his book too.

#Sanders sides #bad things happen bingo #deceit sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #ts logan #ts janus #ts remus #ts patton #unsympathetic sides #unsympathetic patton #U!Patton #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #Logan angst #logan sanders angst #My writing #tw blood #tw gore #tw choking #Tw pinning #tw scratches #Ask to tag #tw abuse #tw bold text #janus sanders

[sgt-peppers-lonely-writer]

Where Is Your Boy- John Lennon

Pairing: John Lennon x reader

Words: 1109

Plot: (requested by @courage-grace-rose) You and John have been friends since you were little and one day at school John's friends decide to have a little fun until John steps up to them.

Warnings: bullying

A/N: OH BOY MY FIRST REQUEST I SERIOUSLY WROTE THIS AS FAST AS I COULD BECAUSE I WAS SOO EXCITED AND I HOPE THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED (also when thinking of a title the first thing I thought of was Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy by Fall Out Boy...)

~

He was known around school as the most troublesome boy that ever was. He always was like that: playing pranks on people, talking back to the teacher, getting into fights ever since you knew him since you were five.

Now you and John Lennon were in high school and let's say it hasn't been like previous years. John was still your friend but he also had a different group who were as mischievous as him. John and his group would pass you in the hallway, the other boys would sneer at you while John grinned and waved. You knew that they didn't like you and wouldn't do anything unless John was around.

And one day John wasn't around.

You were minding your business outside of school, reading a book while sitting on the grass and waiting for John to get out of detention since he wrote a rather inappropriate note just for the math teacher, when the group of boys surrounded you. You looked up at them and smiled, "Are you waiting on John too?"

"Not exactly," one smiled evilly as you put in your bookmark. "John isn't here to save you now."

Another boy grabbed your book and started to rip the pages out of it while two held you back. The leader, the one who spoke to you first decided to go through your bag. You struggled against the two boys, trying to free yourself but they were much stronger than you.

"Lookie here! A journal?!" He snickered as he pulled out a leather binded book. You mentally groaned as you forgot that you placed it in your bag.

"Stop!" You yelled as you tried again to fight against the boys. The leader untied the little ribbon and flipped through it.

"Dear diary," he mocked as he read a page. "I got accepted into choir, isn't that exciting! John's always talking about starting a band so maybe I can sing a few songs with him."

The boys around you started laughing and some of them made some retching noises. Tears were brought to your eyes as you realized that John wasn't here to save you.

"Dear diary," he mocked again, "Tonight was supposed to be some big important dance but I didn't go. I snuck over to Aunt Mimi's and John and I stayed up in his room-"

"Please stop it! Stop!" You cried out.

"-joking about books and music. I've never realized how nice his laugh was or how his eyes sparkled in the light. John has his special little quirks that makes him so unique. He's been my best friend since we were little and I still learn about him more and more each day. That's why I fell in love with-"

"Let her go!" Someone yelled and everyone looked up and saw John, looking rather pissed off.

The two boys holding you immediately dropped you, sending you falling to the ground. You quickly wiped your tears before anyone saw.

"We were just having fun, weren't we, (Y/N)?"

"You call that fun?! She's crying for Christ's sake! They were holding her still!"

"Yeah, all fun and games," the boy smirked. "Besides, I don't understand how your friends with her, did you know that the bitch's in lo-"

John snapped and grabbed the collar of the one who had your diary, making him drop the book out of fear, "Get out before I bash your fucking bloody face in!"

The boys scattered and your diary was page down in the grass. The pages of your reading book were flying across the school yard and your stuff was tossed everywhere.

You stayed on the ground, trying to collect yourself as John quickly went to gather the torn pages from the book. You saw his shoes and you looked up at him, your face red and blotchy.

"I'm sure you can get another copy somewhere, but it's nice to have the pages just in case."

"Thanks," you sniffed while gathering the pages from his hand. You looked back down and skimmed through the pages, trying to put them in order, but you were really just avoiding John. If he heard what you wrote about him...

His shoes disappeared and you let out a shaky sigh of relief. He probably was headed back to Aunt Mimi's or going to beat up the boys who did this to you. You wanted nothing more than to just be alone right now.

But your breath stopped again as the leather bounded book was handed to you, the page still open. At the bottom was a little sketch you drew of John after you admitted your feelings to a book. You quickly swiped it and stood up, trying to gather everything and put it in your bag.

"(Y/N), wait-" he spoke up as you finally put everything in your bag.

"I'm sorry my mom is waiting for me, I'm late for supper. I'll see you tomorrow, ok?" You said quickly while not even looking at him. You went to run but he grabbed your wrist.

"No, let me walk you home."

"John, seriously, I have to go."

He glared at you and you had no choice but to let him walk you home. So you both walked down the street, neither of you saying a word.

He knew, you thought, he knew and he's going to hate you after this. He was going to walk you home and then never talk to you again. Years of friendship wasted all because you caught feelings.

"Did they hurt you?" John asked, trying to start a conversation.

"No," you muttered softly. "Not really."

"I really hope that you can find a new book. I know it was a favorite of yours."

"John, it's ok, really."

You both remained silent until you got to your house.

"Thank you for saving me back there. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," you told him.

Before you could leave he leaned down and kissed you gently. You were taken aback by this because you weren't expecting it at all.

He pulled away and ruffled your hair with a faint smile. "I always had feelings for you, birdie. Besides, you're obvious about who you fancy."

"What?" You whispered, still shocked by it all.

"(Y/N), I may be failing calculus but I'm not exactly stupid. Here, take this, I think they know not to mess you you anymore."

John slipped off his jacket and put it in your hands. "I'll see you tomorrow."

And he walked next door to where he lived. You stayed outside and John gave you a wink before going inside.

#the beatles #the beatles imagine #john lennon x reader #john lennon #teddy boy john #teddy boy john lennon

[orangeoctopi7]

A Negligible Price

I guess it’s becoming a tradition for me to add another chapter to A Minor Inconvenience every year for @stanuary . I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s just that the prompt “Sacrifice” got me thinking about this story and where I thought it could go, and then I got writing and I started coming up with ideas for how I could actually put a finish to this story. So yeah, hopefully it won’t be another year before I post chapter 4, but not promises!

Also, first time I’ve had to do this, but:

CONTENT WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE/MARTYR COMPLEX AND SUIDICE ADJACENT THEMES.

* * *

Bill rushes to gather himself together again. Now that Sixer and his idiot brother have caught on, he knows they’ll probably be making a move against him soon. The time for lying in wait and keeping a low profile has passed. He’s been getting faster, better at finding the tiny flecks of gold scattered into the dark abyss below. 

Unfortunately that also means that he’s noticed that some missing pieces just never turn up. As an interdimensional being who’s existed in countless dimensions across innumerable timelines, Bill likes to think he knows himself pretty well now. What he’s made of, how much power he’s accumulated, what he’s capable of. And if he had to estimate now, which he does, he’d say he’s been reduced to maybe a third of his power. Roughly two thirds of him are missing. 

What happened to those missing pieces? Were they simply deleted by that memory eraser? Did he leave some of himself behind in that physical form he left to enter Stan’s mind in the Fearamid? Bill can only guess, but really, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting out of this moron’s brain and starting again on his path to a universe free of rules.

* * *

Stan recovered from his latest memory lapse quickly, despite the fact that it was the worst one he’d experienced since he sacrificed himself to the memory gun last summer. The experience had clearly put Ford on edge, and as much as he tried to bottle up his emotions and remain calm, Stan could practically feel the panic coming off him in waves. 

They were both relieved when they reached Spitsbergen. There was a hospital in Longyearbyen, where Ford insisted they stop to give Stan a check-up. Stan felt fine, but if it helped ease Ford’s nerves, then he could sit through a check-up.

Explaining Stan’s condition to the doctor was a struggle, considering English was not his strongest language. They definitely got across that Stan was experiencing memory problems, but the doctor seemed to be under the impression it had been caused by an injury to the head in an accident, rather than a purposeful exposure to a memory-erasing device. 

Eventually, Ford had lost his patience and just asked if they could use the CT or MRI machine themselves. The doctor spoke enough English to tell them that the nearest CT or MRI machine was in either Iceland or Russia.

The elder Pines twins left the hospital in low spirits. Ford kicked at little pebbles as they walked down the street.

“There’s a research facility in Ny-Ålesund. Perhaps we could sail up there and commandeer some equipment to rig up our own CT scan…”

“I think it’d be easier to just hop on a plane back to the States at this point.” Stan suggested.

“If we’re going to hop on a plane somewhere, it’ll be to Reykjavik, where we won’t have to pay an arm and a leg for any treatments.”

“Yeah, we’ll just have to wait half a year.” Stan rolled his eyes. “I don’t think they’re gonna take ‘revived demon in my head’ as an urgent need.”

“Probably not…” Ford admitted.

“And you’re sure you didn’t figure anything else out the last time you were pokin’ around in my head?”

Ford grit his teeth. The truth was, he was afraid what would happen if he tried to revisit that memory. The cold flames of the memory eraser had felt so real, even just revisiting it in Stan’s mind, and they seemed to be the trigger of his latest memory lapse. Would they have a similar effect within Ford’s own memory?

“Nothing I’ve been able to make sense of.”

Stan grit his teeth. “So what now? Just leave that jerk in my head?”

Ford sighed. “I want to do some more research into what we’ve learned so far. Perhaps a trip to the library will help me find some insight. But truthfully… I may have been too hasty with punching out Bill, when I encountered him. He’s a liar who can’t be trusted, but he’s also a braggart. If I’d just let him run his mouth a little longer, we may have learned something about what he’s up to.”

* * *

Longyearbyen’s library wasn’t any bigger than the public library in Gravity Falls, and had significantly fewer books relating to Bill and mind magic, but it did at least have access to several library databases that Ford couldn’t typically log into from the Stan’O’War II. (According to Fiddleford, these databases could be hacked into quite easily, but Ford didn’t have the time or the wherewithal to learn how) It would have to do for now. Ford took a seat at a computer, and with a little help from a librarian, he was soon scrolling through peer-reviewed articles from different archeologists and anthropologists and folklore experts and descendants of the Aztecs and Mayans debating who Xolotl was, what his role was in the Aztec religion, how much his lore changed from Pre- and Post- Colombian invasion, and so forth. 

What he’d learned so far was interesting, to say the least. The things that most people agreed upon was that Xolotl was a god of death, fire, and lightning. What caught Ford’s attention was the fact that they were also the god of twins and deformities. He glanced down at his twelve fingers, which rested awkwardly on the small keyboard meant for people with just ten. It seemed odd that Bill would call on this particular death god, when they seemed far more likely to be a patron to Stan and Ford. 

While Ford puzzled over this new information, Stan browsed the library, looking for something to entertain himself while he waited. Unsurprisingly, there weren’t a whole lot of English books in this Norwegian library. Luckily, it wasn’t long before he stumbled upon an extensive comics section. Even though he still couldn’t read most of them, the pictures were at least enough that he got the gist of what was going on.

 European comics were very different from American comics. They featured a lot less costumed superheroes punching bad guys and a lot more weird, quirky characters setting out on adventures and exploring the world. They also seemed to lean more heavily on comedy rather than drama. Stan decided he liked them.

He’d been looking at a story about some rich duck when he noticed he felt odd. He didn’t know how else to explain it other than to say that his brain felt itchy. The more he concentrated on it, the more it faded away, but when he went back to looking at the comic and got absorbed back into the story, it came back.

After almost an hour of the feeling coming and going, Stan decided he was not imagining the sensation. He stuffed a tissue into the comic as a bookmark and got up to see what Ford would have to say about it. Almost as soon as he laid eyes on his brother, a wave of anger washed over him. Just like the itchy brain feeling, it went away almost as soon as he stopped and thought about it, but it had been so strong, that he couldn’t deny it had happened.

“Hey.” Stan tapped his brother on the shoulder as the old researcher skimmed an article about why the Aztecs associated lightning with twins.

“Hmm?” Ford acknowledged him without looking away from the screen.

“Am I forgettin’ to be mad at you about somethin’?”

That got Ford to turn and look at him. “Are you having a memory lapse!?”

“I don’t think so, but just a second ago I looked over at you and I felt really mad all of a sudden. Can’t really think of a reason why, though. I’m just wondering if maybe the other day, when I had the big blank-out, maybe we missed somethin’?”

The old researcher’s face contorted with guilt. “You have ample reason to be mad at me. I didn’t stand up for you when dad kicked you out. I never reached out to you for over ten years. I expected you to drop everything and help me with my problems without any explanation. I refused to thank you for saving my life--”

“Yeah, no, none of that stuff.” Stan shook his head. “I remember all that stuff, and I’ve already forgiven you and junk. Mmmm… did you try to enchant the mop again and not let me remember it?” But even as he joked that the underlying reason must be the latest chapter in a minor argument, he knew that couldn’t be right. The sudden bloom of anger had been much more deep-seated and horrible than that. It had felt like… it had felt like Ford had ruined everything. 

To be fair, there had been a long period of Stan’s life when he had felt like Ford had ruined everything. But Stan was over that now, and this brief brush with anger had felt even more heated than that.

Ford gave him an appraising look. “Were there any other memories or emotions associated with this feeling?”

“Oh yeah, my brain was feelin’ itchy right before that.”

“Have… you been using shampoo?” Ford asked, unsure of what to do with this information.

“Not my scalp, genius, like the actual thinking part of my brain!”

“... I can’t even begin to guess what that means.”

“Ugh, I don’t know how else to describe it, ok? It’s like somethin’ was squirmin’ around in my mind!”

The brothers wore twin expressions of realization as the words left Stan’s mouth. 

“We need to get back to the boat.” Ford stood from the computer desk abruptly.

“Yep.” Stan set the comic he’d been reading down on the desk, not even bothering to remove his improvised bookmark. 

* * *

Bill throws his hands up and roars in frustration. He can’t seem to take control, even when the moron’s mind is zoning out, losing himself in some stupid comic book. He’s already in the mind! He’s been here for months! He knows his way around here. So why isn’t it working? Is it because he never made a deal with this guy? That shouldn’t matter! The last thing they did before the whole memory gun thing was shake hands! 

There's no time to waste complaining, though. Sixer will be poking around here any minute. Bill needs a plan. Before, he'd spent millions of years in the Nightmare Realm planning. Now he's making everything up as he goes.

It's clear that Bill can't just take control of Stan like he'd been counting on. But do the other two know that? He might still be able to use that to his advantage.

If Bill is going to trick these losers and get out of here, he needs to play his opponents right. Luckily, he's got years of experience fighting against Sixer. It's the Big Mackerel that he worries about. 

Before, Bill hadn't paid much attention to Stan. He thought he understood what made the simple con man tick. But then, in the end, he found he didn't understand at all. Even after months of being trapped in his mindscape, Stan is very much still a mystery to Bill.

But there is one thing about Stan that Bill does understand.

He’s willing to sacrifice himself for his family.

* * *

Once they were back aboard the Stan’O’War II, Stan allowed himself to relax, just a little. At least here his surroundings were familiar, and the only person he had to worry about was his own brother.

Under normal circumstances, “the only person he had to worry about” meant he didn’t have to look over his shoulder for law enforcement or old criminals who might recognize Stan from his drifter days. 

Today “the only person he had to worry about” meant the only person he could possibly endanger if Bill was able to take control of him. Ford was the last person Stan wanted to put in danger, but he also had to admit, his brother knew more about the demon than any other living being on the planet. 

Stan may have been able to relax a tiny fraction once they were back aboard their boat, but not Ford. Ford was in full-blown panic mode.

He frantically searched around the storage room for something, anything, that could help protect his brother from Bill. Unfortunately, they hadn’t thought to bring unicorn hair or moonstones on their voyage. He did have titanium, but he wasn’t confident enough in his emergency medical knowledge to perform cranial surgery on his own, and he doubted they’d be able to find a doctor crooked enough to do it for them. Currently, his best idea was to build an updated version of Project Mentem, but that would take time. Time he wasn’t sure Stan had.

“I can re-enter your mindscape and shatter him again.” Ford decided, pulling out the candles again. “That should at least buy you a few days.”

“Ok.” Stan nodded. He’d definitely prefer to know Bill was shattered again, and not moving around in his brain. “But it’s not like he’s doing anything right now.”

“He’s probably trying to get us to lower our guard.” Ford assumed. “I’ll need to tie you up. He usually makes his move while his victim is asleep.”

“If I need to fall asleep for your spell while tied up, we’re gonna be waitin’ a long time.” Stan warned. “I dunno if I could even fall asleep right now if I had the world’s most comfortable bed.”

“Fair point.” Ford nodded. “I may have to drug you.”

“You gotta be kidding me!” It was abundantly clear that Ford was not kidding in the slightest.

“Would you rather be used as his puppet!?” The old researcher shouted. The outburst rang in the air for a few seconds while Ford tried to steady his breathing. “Stan I… I’m sorry, I just--”

“It’s ok.” Stan pulled him into a hug and tried his best to calm his brother down. “I know you’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared for myself.” Ford explained in a small voice. “I’m scared for you. Waking up to find that you’ve hurt someone, it’s-- I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all you--”

“Stanford, look at me. We’re not gonna let that happen. What if we do it while I’m awake, like we did with the memory before?”

Ford nodded meekly. “That… that could work.”

“You can still tie me up if that makes you feel better.”

The old researcher bit his lip. “...It shouldn't be necessary...”

“Ford.”

“...But it probably would ease some of my fears, yes.” he admitted.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll go get the rope.”

Still unwilling to let his brother out of his sight, Ford followed Stan up to the deck while he retrieved said rope. Once they were back below deck, he wrapped Stan tightly in a large blanket before sitting him down on a chair and tying him up, to ensure he was as comfortable as possible while still restricting his movement.

“How do you feel?” Ford asked as he lit the candles.

“Like I’m about to be shipped back to Oregon in the mail.”

“And Bill…?”

“I haven’t felt anything else from him since we left the library.”

The lack of activity should have reassured Ford, but instead it just added to his general unease. At least he was able to compose himself enough to perform the incantation.

Just as last time, after a flash of light, he found himself on the deck of Stan’s mindscape, with Stan himself standing beside him. This time, though, Bill was floating there, waiting for them.

“I KNEW YOU’D BE BACK HERE AFTER I GOT YOUR ATTENTION IN THE LIBRARY!” The demon taunted. “OH, AND LOOK. STANO HERE EVEN MADE A MENTAL CONSTRUCT OF HIMSELF WITHIN HIS OWN MIND JUST SO YOU WOULDN’T HAVE TO FACE ME ALONE! HOW CUTE!” He prodded Stan in the stomach like he was the Pillsbury Doughboy.

“Back off, bucko!” Stan threatened. “We’re here to break your whole face!”

“WHAT, YOU COULDN’T WAIT UNTIL TONIGHT TO DO IT IN YOUR DREAMS LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO?” Bill asked, voice dripping with false innocence. 

“We’re not able to risk the chance of you parading about in Stanley’s body.” Ford growled.

“HA! YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN ANYONE, FORDSY, I ONLY DO THAT TO STUBBORN KNOW-IT-ALLS WHO WON’T WORK WITH ME WILLINGLY.”

“If you think I’m gonna work with you willingly, then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.” Stan grunted.

“HEAR ME OUT, MAC! WE BOTH WANT THE SAME THING HERE! ME, OUT OF YOUR SAD PATHETIC MIND!”

“You can’t leave!?” Ford asked in surprise.

“WHAT, YOU THINK I ENJOY SPENDING TIME IN THIS BOZO’S MIND? YOU THINK I WAS PLOTTING MY REVENGE?”

“Honestly, yes.”

Bill gave a long, mocking laugh. “AHAHAHAHAHA! YOU REALLY THINK I CARE ABOUT A COUPLE OF INSIGNIFICANT FLESH SACKS LIKE YOU?”

“We’re the insignificant flesh sacks who killed you!” Stan reminded him.

“WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY. THE BEST REVENGE IS LIVING WELL.”

The brothers exchanged a suspicious glance. They highly doubted Bill actually believed that adage.

“BUT I CAN’T EXACTLY LIVE WELL TRAPPED IN YOUR MINDSCAPE. I MIGHT GET BORED AND DECIDE THE BEST REVENGE IS KILLING YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY WITH YOUR OWN HANDS.”

Ah yes, that was more along the lines of what they expected from Bill.

“So you’re saying you’ll just let bygones be bygones if I cooperate with you?” Stan asked skeptically. 

“WE’LL GO OUR SEPARATE WAYS, NEVER TO MEET AGAIN!”

“And what are you planning on doing once you’re free?” Ford asked coldly.

“NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, SIXER.” The demon waved him off. “NOW ARE YOU GONNA HELP ME OUT OF HERE OR NOT? THE SOONER THE BETTER. YOU TWO AREN’T GETTING ANY FURTHER AWAY FROM THE AVERAGE LIFE EXPECTANCY OF A HUMAN MALE, AND FISH FACE HERE DOESN'T EXACTLY TAKE GOOD CARE OF HIS BODY.”

“Hey!” Stan shouted indignantly.

“Why should Stan’s life expectancy factor into this?” Ford asked.

“HMMM? OH, NO REASON.” Bill said evasively. “I’M JUST, Y’KNOW, IN A HURRY.”

“You’re an immortal, extradimensional being. You’ve been trying to find a way out of the nightmare realm since before multicellular life developed on this planet. If you’re so sure we’re close to the end of our lives, why not wait until we’re out of the way? You must realize we’ll try and stop you from starting Weirdmaggedon again!” Ford reasoned.

“WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT STARTING WEIRDMAGGEDON AGAIN?” Bill denied. “AND MAYBE AFTER A BILLION YEARS, I’M TIRED OF WAITING!”

“Unless you aren’t immortal any more.” the old researcher concluded.

“YOU’VE SEEN FOR YOURSELF, FORDSY, EVERY TIME YOU OR YOUR IDIOT BROTHER SHATTER ME, I PULL MYSELF BACK TOGETHER.”

“Immortal in the mind, perhaps. But what happens when the mind you’re occupying finally dies?”

“ALRIGHT, YOU FIGURED IT OUT!” Bill sneered. “I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN A GENIUS LIKE YOU WOULD. YEAH, MY LIFE’S TIED TO THE BIG MACKEREL’S NOW. SO WHAT? YOU GONNA KILL YOUR BROTHER JUST TO GET RID OF ME?”

“Of course not!” Ford barked.

“Hey, I’d be more than happy to take you down with me if it meant making sure you never hurt anyone else ever again!” Stan challenged the demon.

Ford stared at his brother with wide eyes. “Stanley, no!”

“Hey, relax, I’m not talkin’ suicide or anything.” Stan assured him. “But he’s right about one thing. I’m not gonna live forever.”

I’ll only do it if I have to. A stray thought cawed overhead.

Stan cussed under his breath as Ford gaped at him with a mix of alarm and pity.

“I’m not gonna take it back.” Stan insisted after a moment. “If that’s what it comes down to, to keep him from hurtin’ you or the kids, then I’m taking him down with me.”

Ford placed his hands firmly on Stan’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eye with all the intensity he could muster. “We won’t let that happen!” 

Bill laughed at them cruelly. “RIGHT, CUZ YOU’VE HAD SO MUCH SUCCESS STOPPING ME IN THE PAST.”

“I’ll find some other way!” Ford insisted.

“I’M SURE YOU COULD, WITH TIME.” Bill agreed. “BUT I’M GONNA STRANGLE YOU IN YOUR SLEEP BEFORE THEN!”

Not if I strangle myself first! Another one of Stan’s stray thoughts called.

Ford gave his brother a frustrated shake. “No! Stanley, I swear to you, that won’t be necessary!”

“Alright, that’s it. We’re not havin’ this conversation in my brain, where you can hear all my unprocessed thoughts.” Stan decided.

Suddenly, Ford’s form and everything around them flickered and began to fade to white. Stan and Bill were the only ones who remained solid and whole. Stan was waking up? But he’d never been asleep before the spell in the first place!

“Don’t you try any funny business!” Stan pointed an accusing finger at Bill. “I’m coming back to shatter you into a million smaller pieces as soon as I fall asleep tonight!”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Stanuary 2021 #This jerk

[emwritesfootball]

Sotto Voce: Chapter Three | John McGinn

Word Count: 1,866 Warnings: masturbation (female), oral sex (female receiving)

- - -

With no way to promote this newfound venture, John isn’t sure it’s going to do well, which is why he’s surprised when he checks the sites a few days later to find that he’s had a few thousand hits. The comments on some of them surprise him, too - people listening seem to love his accent and a few even want more videos along the same theme of punishment.

The days leading up to his next recording are filled with an intense amount of one-sided sexual tension. Things aren’t awkward between the two of them - unless you count the fact that he’s gotten off thinking about her once for his audio - but that doesn’t stop John from constantly questioning her actions or trying to spin something into a fantasy he can use later.

Case in point. It’s their usual weekly movie night and she’s got her legs across his lap. He’s absently tracing patterns on her calves and she doesn’t seem to mind, except when she shifts and adjusts every-so-often. When she does, she lets out little whimpers that are driving him mad with need, and John’s somewhat scared that she’ll move the wrong way and find out he’s got a raging hard-on. Thankfully, it never comes to that, but when he goes to bed that night, he knows exactly what he’s going to be recording tomorrow.

“You’ve been a tease all week,” he starts, opening this week’s fantasy with much more confidence. “Don’t try to play innocent with me, love. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking. There’s longing and need behind those beautiful eyes.” He chuckles, shaking his head and leaning in on his elbows as he speaks sotto voce into the microphone. “I know you felt it, too.”

“Come here, love,” he murmurs, patting his lap. “Come straddle me. I want you to feel just how hard you make me while I kiss you. Don’t hold anything back - I’ll know.”

John only feels foolish for a moment as he brings his forearm to his mouth. The sensation of his lips on skin, even his own, override his senses as images of his roommate fill his head again. It’s wrong, he knows, but he can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have her like this, and on some level, these fantasies help quell his lust for her.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, imagining her eyes fluttering closed as he brushes his thumb over her cheekbones. “Are you gonna let me kiss your neck?”

He waits a beat for the answer, and then he starts kissing his way down his forearm. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He says, making sure the microphone picks up the smirk in his voice. “Will you let me mark you, love?” He chuckles, kissing the same spot on his arm a few more times and holding. “Good girl.”

He imagines the shiver that would run down her spine at his praise. John’s seen the way she reacts to certain words and he knows that the phrase would drive her wild.

“Let me slide my hands up your thighs,” he continues, painting the picture with his voice. “Oh, does that turn you on - when I run my fingers over the edge of your shorts, making you buck your hips? Can you feel how hard my dick is for you, love? Does it make your pussy wet?”

John groans into the mic, his eyes involuntarily closing as he pictures her breathy whimper of need as she gasps a short ‘Yes’ against his neck. When he pushes her panties to the side, he imagines finding her wet, chuckling, “Look at you - such a mess! You’re positively dripping for me, love.”

“If I slide two fingers inside of you, will you cum for me?” John asks, visualizing her response. “Fuck,” he groans. “I just felt your pussy clench around my fingers when I brush my palm against your clit. Want me to do it again, don’t you? Needy thing.”

He makes a few more gestures and groans, giving her sufficient time for her orgasm to build. “You gonna cum for me, love? Yeah? Nngh - fuck! - your pussy feels so good squeezing my fingers like that. Keep going - I want every last bit of your orgasm. Thaaat’s a good girl.” He pauses, breathing heavily like he’s actually made his roommate cum. “Let me lick your juices off my hand. Mm, you taste so good… will you let me go down on you later tonight? Stick my tongue in that juicy pussy while you thread your fingers through my hair and ride my face?” John chuckles again. “You’d like that, wouldn't you? Naughty girl.”

He ends the audio session a little after that, going back and editing as needed. Within the last week he’s learned how to add in and layer sounds over each other, so he does just that, making sure that this audio is better than the last.

Luckily for him, he hits ‘Upload’ seconds before his roommate comes home, and he can breathe a sigh of relief that she still doesn’t know what he’s up to.

***

She finds it completely by accident, and she can’t believe she didn’t find it sooner. It’s up on one of her most frequently-visited sites, right at the top under Featured New.

The man’s username is TheScottishLad, and the moment she clicks on his most recent audio, she’s hooked. It doesn’t help that his accent makes her picture John and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out too loudly. He’s long-since gone to bed and of course she can’t sleep that night, needing relief in the form of an orgasm. Not for the first time, she’s grateful that his room is on the other end of the house as she finds the toy she wants to use and turns it on.

The audio is titled ‘Bathroom Tease’ and it’s the most recent of his fifteen or so uploads. She makes a mental note to bookmark the page after she’s done with her orgasm, but the second she presses ‘Play’, she loses all rational thought.

“You’re teasing again, love.” The man’s voice invades her ears through her headphones and sends a shiver down her spine. “I’m getting ready for work, and you’re teasing again. You think you’re so coy, sitting on the counter in nothing but my shirt and that sexy smile, but you have no idea what I’ve got planned for you.”

The image he conjures up makes her think back to earlier in the week. She’d been doing the exact same thing - sitting on John’s counter as she watched him get ready - except, she knew, this was going to end much differently. This time, she’d actually get to cum instead of leaving his bathroom sexually frustrated.

“Spread your legs, darling - I wanna stand in between them. God, you look so sexy in my shirt. You can’t expect me to keep all this sexual frustration to myself, can you?” He chuckles and she lets out an audible moan. “Naughty girl, though - you’re not wearing panties!” He makes a tsk noise with his tongue and she can practically picture John shaking his head at her as this man asks, “What are we going to do with you?”

“Make me cum,” she whispers to herself, thrusting her toy in and out of her dripping pussy. “Please!”

“Let me run my fingers up your thighs.” She pictures John’s hands as the voice narrates, and it makes her unbearably horny. So far, it’s everything she wanted him to do to her in the bathroom earlier in the week and she needs to know how this ends. “Your little gasp is so sexy, love. Tell me… is that how you’re going to sound when I make you cum?”

“Yes,” she whimpers, biting down on her bottom lip as she arches her back into his invisible touch.

“Lean back on your elbows. I wanna see all of you. Thaaat’s it - good girl.” The way his accent trips over the praise has her head spinning. She’s always wanted John to call her that - even if he’d only mean it platonically - and hearing it said in a Scottish accent (even if it isn’t his) makes her pussy clench around the toy. “My, my - someone’s made a mess. Maybe you should’ve worn panties, but then again, that would take the fun out of what I’m about to do now. Open your mouth; I want you to taste yourself off my fingers.”

She dips her fingers between her legs, whimpering when the pads of her fingertips skim over her clit and she can feel how wet she is. It doesn’t feel weird when she lifts her fingers back up to her mouth, pretending they’re John’s as she swirls her tongue around them. She imagines the look on his face when her eyes connect with his, the brown turning shades darker with lust.

“See how good you taste? That’s why I love going down on you. Kissing-” he pauses, and the sound of lips on skin fill her headphones as he continues, “-my way up your inner thighs before I get to your sweet centre. Can you feel my breath on your clit? Does it excite you? I can see your pussy puckering, desperate to clench around something. Are you desperate for me, love?”

“Yes,” she mumbles, her thoughts barely coherent now. “Yes, so desperate, John. Please!”

“Normally, I’d take my time with you - make you beg - but I don’t wanna be late for work again because I made you edge too many times and gave you that orgasm you were craving. You’ve got a minute to cum, love, and if you don’t, that’s your own fault.”

The sounds of mouth-on-pussy have her reeling. She’s pretty sure the audio murmurs dirty things to her cunt while he continues, but she’s lost in her own little world thinking about John. She imagines her legs wrapped around his shoulders, her elbows shaking as she struggles to hold herself up while he goes down on her.

When he starts to count down, she loses it.

“Five.”

She turns up the vibration on her toy.

“Four.”

She starts to breathe heavily, panting in little whimpers as her orgasm builds.

“Three.”

John’s name is on her lips as she starts to thrust faster.

“Two.”

She cries out, “Oh, God! Please!”

“One. Cum for me, love.”

Her pussy spasms around the toy as his command triggers her orgasm. It’s one of the most intense orgasms she’s had all year, and the man she’s picturing in her head is none other than her friend and roommate. Sure, she’s had fantasies about him, thoughts she’d never acted on, but she’s never actually had an orgasm while his face is on her mind.

There’s a small twinge of something that she feels when she pulls the toy out of her pussy and sets it on her nightstand - she’ll clean it in the morning. Right now, she’s too spent to do much else except turn over and hook her leg around her body pillow as she drifts off into that perfect post-orgasm-satisfaction sleep.

#sotto voce series #my writing: john mcginn #john mcginn imagines #john mcginn x reader

[ickle-ronniekins]

duet | love notes and roses

DUET MASTERLIST

desc: george weasley wants nothing more than to catch your attention, and what better way than with a valentine’s gift? he’s got it all figured out; ribbons and roses, and jokes about nifflers. what he doesn’t have figured out is your oblivion when it comes to his feelings.

A/N: hi everyone! here’s the second installment of the collab with @thoseofgreatambition; we’ve been pretty much squealing like a bunch of schoolgirls as we work through this story together, constantly placing ideas onto the table and fangirling over our favorite boys. we hope you enjoy smol bean, thirteen-year-old george and y/n!

warnings: none

George was thrilled to be on your good side. Fred, on the other hand, was rather peeved off at his twin’s hesitation when it came to pranks now.

George was worried about hurting you again. Seeing your lip tremble and tears well up in your eyes was something he never, ever wanted to see. It nearly broke his heart. You were soft and gentle and delicate. He didn’t want to ruin that. So he was careful.

Charms had already been his favorite class, but now that you were in the seat next to him, laughing yourself into oblivion at all of the spells he purposefully messed up, he knew it was his favorite.

He was cautious, though. He made all of his purposefully messed up charms harmless, just like that one when he’d first met you. He wondered if maybe he could make most of his pranks harmless, too.

“Professor Flitwick is going to give you bad marks!”

When he heard your laugh, he was almost certain his heart had stopped. It was just about the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, and that included his mum’s silly Muggle music she’d play during the holidays on something his dad liked to call a ‘record player’. Sweet as sugar, that laugh was. He did everything in his power to hear it all over again.

“I reckon he doesn’t know a good charm when he sees one!”

Another laugh from you caused another thunderous beat of his heart. George found himself grinning giddily throughout the entirety of the lesson, completely ignoring Fred on his other side, who was looking rather annoyed as he gruffly poured over his Charms book.

When the bell signaled the end of the lesson, you both headed off in your respective directions. George was sitting rather grumpily in Potions with Professor Snape and other third years, very upset about being so far away from you in the dungeons, but his head and his heart had followed you all the way to your Transfiguration lesson.

____________

You were standing at the front of the Great Hall when you’d accidentally bumped into George. Accidentally, and quite literally. You turned the corner a bit too quickly, rammed into someone completely and dropped your spellbooks in surprise. Before you could reach down to grab them, George was already picking them up and placing them gently in your hands. His smile was soft against his rounded cheeks. You felt your own flush pink.

You huffed a bit. George asked, “You look famished! Where are you coming from?”

Your eyes widened at his question; you felt the excitement bubbling up inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you were divulging a lot of information. “Care of Magical Creatures! We learned about Nifflers today, have you had that lesson yet?”

George’s grin only grew alongside his admiration for you; he shook his head and let you ramble on about your lesson. He couldn’t believe that the smiley girl from Charms seemed to be getting cuter by the second.

“Oh, George! I’m so excited for you to have that lesson, they’re quite interesting creatures, you know. I’d love to have one as a pet one day. I’ve just got to make sure not to have a lot of jewelry lying around.”

George let a laugh escape his lips, and you were quite certain that the pink color on your cheeks was only becoming more evident in the sunlight streaming in from the high windows in the hall. You yearned for him to laugh more. “And why is that?”

“Well because they love sparkly things, silly. I reckon you’ll learn all about that when you begin your lesson soon!” you told him. Your heart rate seemed to increase when he reached out and touched the top of your head.

“What about this?”

Of course. The yellow ribbon in your hair. Yellow for Hufflepuff, but also because it seemed to make the color of your eyes stand out. That’s what your mum had always said, anyway. It was your signature. “Not shiny enough,” you replied, trying very desperately to swallow down the nerves that were rising up in your throat, “they tend to like jewels and things, more sparkly. Not shiny hair ribbons.”

“Well I reckon that’s a relief, isn’t it?”

You grinned brightly at him; he playfully tapped the top of your head with two fingers again. You couldn’t help but smile like a fool. “Wouldn’t want those little buggers getting a hold of it now, would you?”

You were almost certain you saw a different type of brightness appear in George’s eyes when you told him, “Of course not, silly! It’s my favorite thing.”

____________

George was running around the castle like a chicken without a head, if you will. Fred was chasing after him, and he could not understand what on earth was causing his twin to become so bewilderingly flustered. He finally caught up with him in the relatively empty common room.

“Mate, what’s going on?”

George had the end of his quill in the side of his mouth and he seemed to be chewing nervously. Fred noticed a bright grin spread across his lips before he hovered over a bit of parchment and finished whatever he’d been writing.

Cautiously, Fred snuck up behind George, but his twin was quicker, and very stealthily placed his parchment into his bag and placed it right out of Fred’s reach.

“What’re you working on?”

“Just my Potions essay.”

Fred didn’t believe this, but George stayed silent. He swallowed thickly as Fred crossed the common room to join Ron and his friends, and when he knew he was safe, he pulled out the bit of parchment again for one final reread. He didn’t want Fred to see what was arguably the corniest letter he’d ever written, in his absolute neatest handwriting.

Dear Y/N,

Red and pink seem to be the stereotypical colors associated with Valentine’s Day. I figured you’d maybe like to wear similar colored ribbons in your hair, since you love your yellow one so much.

Perhaps by the end of our schooling, you’ll have every color of the rainbow.

And don’t worry, the nifflers won’t be able to snatch them. I’ve charmed them, you know. ;)

Yours truly,

Your Secret Admirer

When he was positive that Fred was immersed in conversation with Ron, Harry, and Hermione, George gently pulled out three things from his bag and placed them inside the folded letter: a red ribbon, for your hair; a pink ribbon, perhaps to be used as a bookmark of some sorts, or something; and a rose, for which he hoped you’d consider it a Valentine’s gift.

He grinned to himself as he slowly tucked everything back into his bag, and he skipped nervously out of the portrait hole before anyone could question where he was off too.

____________

Fred was being a right git. All afternoon, all he did was make disgusted faces at all of the happy couples strolling through the castle, and was becoming seemingly more annoyed with all of the floating paper hearts sifting through the air as they attempted to find their respective Valentine’s. He tried very hard to catch them and throw them across the room at unsuspecting students, earning himself grunts of annoyance. This seemed to help lift his spirits, though.

But George, on the other hand, was positively giddy; he couldn’t wait for you to open your gift. This is the perfect way to catch her attention, he thought to himself. He waited all day long, making sure you were both finished with your lessons before stealthily placing your gift right at your spot at the Hufflepuff table.

He spotted you walk in with a few books held tightly in your hands as you made your way over to your table for the feast. George was delighted to see your eyes brighten at the sight of the gift; you’d actually stopped in your tracks and checked the tag for a name maybe a few times too many. You were so cute, it physically hurt him to smile, because he was pretty sure his goofy grin could not be any bigger. He watched closely your smile grow as your eyes skimmed down the note, and when you brought the flower to your nose and breathed in the scent. George found himself becoming even happier, if that was possible, when he watched you wipe a single tear away from your eye before removing your yellow ribbon from your hair, and replacing it with the bright red one. Those were the only types of tears he wanted to see from you. He breathed in deeply; he was sure his heart was directly in his throat now. You looked around the Great Hall, as if the sheer fact of you holding the bit of parchment in your hands would send out a signal to you about who your admirer was. George quickly looked back down at his food, pretending not to notice, but he let his gaze linger a bit longer when he watched you giddily tie the pink ribbon to the strap of your bag, and bring the flower to your nose multiple times throughout the feast, too many times for him to count.

____________

When George had walked into his Charms lesson the next day, he didn’t expect you to tell him and Fred about your secret Valentine’s admirer, but found himself growing both even more nervous and also more exhilarated.

“Look what I’ve got!” you called to them both, hurriedly making your way toward them and sliding in your seat next to George. Fred furrowed his brows in confusion; George stayed quiet, hoping the steady pounding of his heart could not be heard by either of you.

“What’s that?” Fred asked, pointing at the bit of parchment you were removing from your bag. George just smiled a bit. He was overly happy to see the pink ribbon in your hair today.

“Someone sent me a love note!”

Fred looked stunned. “A love note?”

“Yes!” you squealed excitedly; you opened the bit of parchment and showed them both. Fred looked down and read, and George pretended to do the same. He smoothed his hand over it and peered at the slightly smudged date in the corner. He could practically recite it by heart, he’d read and reread it so many times. “Who d’you reckon it could be?”

Fred examined the parchment again. “Why does that handwriting look so familiar?”

George’s heart was pounding thunderously against his ribs, and your eyes began to sparkle at the prospect of Fred Weasley perhaps knowing who your secret admirer was. “It does? Oh, Freddie, please tell me you know, I’d love to thank them personally,”

The majority of Charms class was spent half listening to Professor Flitwick, but mostly you and Fred agonizing over the bit of parchment in front of you. When the bell signaled the end of the lesson and you all had nowhere to be as it was lunch time, the three of you stayed seated.

“It’s just.. so sweet, and considerate,” you continued on, running your fingers gently across the end of the ribbon. Fred was still examining the parchment rather closely. Your cheeks were completely flushed from the excitement of it all. Someone had noticed you, and had gone out of their way to give you a gift, and not just any gift.. A Valentine’s gift! George felt his insides tighten when you suddenly jumped and said, “Ooh, perhaps it’s that cheeky Ravenclaw from my Transfiguration class.”

George cleared his throat and tried not to sound so bloody obvious. “How d’you reckon, Y/N?”

“We needed to work on an assignment together last week, McGonagall partnered us up,” you began to tell them, pulling another bit of parchment from your bag. You pointed down to it, “Look here! We’d been taking some notes, and he wrote this bit here,”

Both George and Fred peered at you quizzically.

“What makes you think it’s him?” George asked.

“Well, he’s got rather nice handwriting, don’t you think?”

“Y/N..” Fred began, looking back and forth between both bits of parchment, “the handwriting doesn’t even match to the one on your love note.”

You didn’t look at either of them. Instead, a lazy grin appeared on your face and you asked dreamily, “So?”

Fred continued on, “I don’t think it’s him. But no worry, we’ll help you figure it out.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” George agreed, trying his best to sound impartial. “Whoever gave this to you must really fancy you.”

Your eyes widened in absolute admiration. They were sparkling and George was certain they were brighter than any stars in the night sky. “You think?”

“I know,” he told you.

It’s me, he wanted to say.

But he held back.

And that’s when realization hit Fred like a ton of bricks; he opened his mouth to begin his normal teasing, when George kicked him very rudely in the shin, and Fred had to bite down on his lip to keep from muttering words he very much knew his mother would not approve of. George shot him a Lay off, you prat, sort of look, and then turned back toward you. Your eyes were still glistening, your grin was still bright, and even though you hadn’t the foggiest that it had been him to gift you these things, he didn’t seem to mind. He meant it, too. Helping you figure out who it was. But he was in no rush, and it was okay if you didn’t figure it out.

He’d tell you one day.

tag list: @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @geeksareunique @insearchofnewdreams @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait @lumos-barnes @thatfuckingliardavidtennant@slytherinqween @xinyourdreamsx @skiving-snackboxess@wildfire-whizbangs @dwarfwizard-from-panem @diary-of-an-onliner @answer-the-sirens @woakiees @black-widow-fangirl@theheirofnightandday @summerstardust @whysoseriouspadfoot@chocok22 @myhopesareanchoredinyou @siriusblackisme@illusivedaydreamer @zeeneee @writingwitchly @wolfpotter12@obsessedwithrandomthings @carolinesbookworld@shadowsinger11 @pit-and-the-pen @summer-writes @peachesandpinks @gweaslvy @alpinewinchester

#George weasley #fred weasley #fred and George weasley #Weasley twins #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley reader insert #George Weasley imagine #Weasley twins imagine #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #George Weasley fanfic #George Weasley fanfiction

[2manyfandoms2count]

#MarichatMay Day 24

Long post ft. a Reveal, Marichat, lowkey other sides of the lovesquare and fluff :3 Hope you guys enjoy! xxx

Based on the prompt list by @marichatmay

---

Day 24: Confession

“Purr-incess? I might have to confess something.”

“What have you done this time?” Marinette sighed, barely looking up from her newspaper. She was reading the fashion pages, regularly bookmarking pictures from the Paris Autumn Fashion Week report. She wasn’t so much interested in the stars as she was in the trends that were emerging, although there were a couple of good shots of Adrien Agreste that would definitely be making it to her picture-board.

Had Marinette been focusing on Chat Noir instead, she would have noticed how fidgety he was, a lot more hyper than usual. He paced around her room, biting his claws in a nervous habit. Ever since he’d found out Ladybug was, in fact, Marinette, he’d done his best to conceal his own identity, while secretly trying to get her attention, but not knowing how to. He hadn’t meant to follow Ladybug Home. In fact, he hadn’t realised he was until he had gotten close enough to Marinette’s flat. He’d been blinded by a familiar red flash just as he prepared to jump onto her balcony, and seen his friend casually walk out from behind the chimney, fishing in her bag to get a macaron out for the red being that floated next to her. 

Chat had been meaning to visit Marinette that particular night to welcome her back after her holiday. Which, now that he thought about it, matched Ladybug’s own time off. He thought about all the times he’d missed the connections. How Marinette had never been akumatised. How fast Ladybug appeared when the attacks happened at school, how well she seemed to know the targets. How the only time he’d seen both Marinette and Ladybug together, Trixx had conveniently been amongst the kidnapped Kwamis. How similar Ladybug and the illusory Marinette had looked, down to the hairstyle. For somebody whose main line of business was looks, he certainly had been very blind.  

Chat had almost collided with a wall as he ran back to his room, laughing about his discovery and the irony of him calling Marinette an everyday Ladybug. Knowing his Lady, she probably had been panicking inside at the thought of being unmasked. Yet it made so much sense that the most caring, mindful and genuinely kind person he knew was the person behind the mask. How had it escaped him for so long?

 He’d spent the rest of the Summer pondering what to do with the information. Should he come clean to Marinette? At least about him knowing? She was the guardian after all, surely it was only a matter of time before she ended up knowing about his identity anyway.

When school started again, still unsure about what to do, Adrien had probed Alya and Nino to figure out if they also knew. Alya being hot on LB’s tracks all the time, surely she must have been aware that her favourite superhero was her best friend. After talking with her, he concluded that either she didn’t know, or she played her cards reaaaally close to her chest. She’d let something slip about Marinette liking him, though, which, once he’d calmed the butterflies in his stomach -the girl of his dreams liked him back-, had lead him to spend a lot of time trying to get closer to her. He thought it would be perfect; he’d know the truth, but she didn’t have to.

Except that to everyone’s disbelief, Marinette had gently rejected Adrien’s date invitations. Once. Twice. Three times. Alya could not fathom what was going on in her best friend’s head, and she wouldn’t tell her. She just said she had a secret crush, but that she couldn’t say anything more. Adrien’s heart ached a bit, but guessed that after all the time he’d made her suffer by calling her a “good friend”, it was normal that she had moved on. He might have been slightly jealous, but he had respectfully backed away. 

Until tonight. Chat Noir had been visiting Marinette (just because she wouldn’t date him didn’t mean he didn’t want to hang out with his friend), and she’d left him for a bit to get some croissants from the bakery. Left unsupervised, Chat had skimmed through her latest sketches, her talent never failing to impress him. And that’s when he’d seen her diary, open wide. It had been pushed back behind her computer monitor, probably when he’d arrived. He really hadn’t meant to pry, but as his gaze landed on the page, he saw his name. Chat Noir. 

His curiosity getting the better of him, he had read the diary entry, his cheeks warming as he read her silent confession that she liked him. She seemed a little conflicted about her feelings, but his bad puns were the main thing she held against him. It was all he could do not to waltz with her when she came up the stairs. 

Marinette mistook his delight for over excitement at the thought of eating pastries, which she faced every time she gave Chat anything to eat. She refrained from worrying about his eating habits, given that he’d admitted to being a high level, part time sportsman (he wouldn’t say which sport, but the fact that his right arm muscles were a bit more developed than his left had made her assume it was tennis). His enthusiasm had made her smile, but she hadn’t paid much attention to it as she opened the magazine Chat had brought her.

“I might have agreed to us going on a double date? Adrien Agreste asked if I could organise a dinner with Ladybug, and well, I didn’t want to be the third wheel so I said we’d both go...” Chat was making it up as he went. This could be a solution to his conundrum. An opportunity to tell her who he was, that he knew, and (he could dream) to make out with her on the Paris rooftops.

“You what?” The magazine fell flat on her lap as all colour drained from her face. 

“I’m so sorry, I know I should have asked first, but he has a photo shoot opportunity for us and wanted to meet her in another context first... And Ladybug said yes.” He looked straight into her eyes as he iterated the last sentence, daring her to contradict him.

Marinette gaped at the audacity. The blatant lie. It hit her that there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say except accept the proposition. The way Chat looked at her told her he at least suspected there was a link between her and Ladybug. She couldn’t call him out on Ladybug’s supposed agreement to go. Outright refusing the dinner invitation would be fishy. 

She took a deep breath before replying. “Okay, fine, then.” She could always make up an excuse closer to the date.

Her answer took Chat by surprise, but he did his best to hide it. He promised he’d be in touch as he left, and pressed a longing kiss on Marinette’s forehead, drawing a bright shade of crimson to her cheeks as he did so. 

---

Ladybug swung from chimney to chimney on her way to the rooftop. She’d decided it would be Marinette bailing tonight. How could she explain getting there otherwise? And after all, it was Ladybug whom Adrien wanted to see. 

She landed at the meeting point, expecting to find the two boys she’d ever had feelings for. Instead, only one was present.

“Good evening, Adrien.” She smiled. Her romantic feelings for him had melted as her relationship with Chat bloomed. Adrien’s recent interest in her had further confused her, but she was certain now that her heart belonged to a certain leather-clad cat. “Has Chat not made it yet?”

“Actually, he has.” He gave her an oddly familiar smile, one she wasn’t used to seeing on him.

“Oh?” She asked, discreetly looking around. She noticed the candle-lit table in the center of the rooftop, a single rose laid on one of the two plates. Ladybug stared at him blankly, her brain taking a minute to register the information. “Is he not staying for dinner, then?”

“Just as much as Marinette will.”

“Do you mean...”

“Plagg, claws out.” Adrien called out, holding his hand out. A black blur cycloned towards his simple, silver ring, and in a green flash, the model was replaced by her partner.

Her face was tense from trying very hard not to gape. Her jaw would probably have hit the floor otherwise. 

“You knew.” She managed to articulate.

“I did.”

“Tikki, spots off.” She felt more comfortable speaking as herself. Which she knew was stupid. She was Ladybug. And Adrien was Chat Noir. “I can’t believe you managed to make me fall for you twice.” She knew there were more pressing matters. They were out in the open, they’d both transformed. They now both knew who the other was. But for once she let her heart speak for her first.

“In my defense, you claw-ly have a type.” He chuckled. They were facing each other now, close enough for his hand to come and cup her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

“As if you don’t!” She snorted, her eyes lost in his green ones. They reflected the flickering candles in a warm way, making her feel at Home. 

“Never said I didn’t.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead. On her nose. On her cheek. “You know, I lied the other day when I said I had to confess something.” He whispered as he continued trailing kisses on her face, behind her ears, just below her jaw.

“Oh yeah?” She sighed, savouring the moment.

“My actual confession is, I love you, my Ladynette.” He smiled tenderly as he drowned into the sapphire of her eyes.

“And I love you, my Chadrien.” 

Their lips found each other like two butterflies as they stood in their own bubble, the Eiffel Tower erupting in lights behind them as the clock struck the hour.

#slightly cringing at the ending #but i actually didn't know where i was going until i got there #and then i just sort of embraced it #marichatmay2020 #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #ladybug #adrien agreste #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous reveal #confession #elle writes

[statticscribbles]

Ghost

Summary: Kurtz/Reader Request: using the song Ghost by Jacob Lee

You nudge the window open, letting the sound of the rain offset the music you have faintly playing. You pull the book closer to you, balancing your notebook on the chairs arm as you scribble notes and quote ideas for your english essay. You frown when you smell smoke wrinkling your nose as you stand on the chair about to close the window. You hesitate when you hear talking, nervous about being spotted, you don’t think anyone who’s out back behind the school smoking wants some random person eavesdropping.

You catch the eye of the figure under the window, when you stick your arm out to close it. “Hey there.” You don’t say anything closing the window sharply; you can hear his laugh muffled now; your face heats up as you try to shake the thought of his smile. You focus back to your book not moving when the bell rings and ignoring the look from the librarian. You knows she won’t actually kick you out. You’re distracted, humming even though your playlist ended hours ago and you’re halfway through the last chapter when a hand nudges it out of your grip, folding over the corner. “Missing lunch isn’t healthy.” You freeze at the voice from the boy under the window.

“Kurtz.” He smiles again holding his hand out. You smile back shaking it. “This is where you tell me your name..” He nods and you jerk back as the Ghoulies pull him away from you. “Kurtz come on; Lance said the Serpent’s are itching for a fight. You can play later.” James, one of the head Ghoulies shoves him towards the door. He nods turning from you; you watch his smile replaced by a frown and brush it off as him being upset about however he was going to play, you shiver at the implication and tuck your book into your bag; deciding to take his advice and make your way to the lunch room. You settle for breezing by it, hearing the screaming and laughing; you know there’s at least one fight happening.

You keep your head down like usual. Staying in the library whenever you get the chance. You keep the window open where you sit; refusing to admit to yourself you’re hoping to hear more of Kurtz, to find an excuse to talk to him. You catch him smoking and each time he offers you a half smile rolling his eyes when you jerk the window closed. He’d been sick the past few days, or maybe the rain had been too heavy, whatever reason he wasn’t at his usual spot and you tried to mask your disappointment.

You watch a figure stumble in, soaked and dripping on the carpet you watch as they stagger towards the back, near the computer room. You think you can hear them muffle a scream. You stand and move towards the room they most likely went into. You step through the doors watching nervously as a figure slumped against one of the tables looks up. “Hey.” You frown at how his voice slurs, you wince as you notice the blood on the side of his cheek. “Don’t worry about it, from the fight in the cafeteria.” “That was weeks ago.” You speak and he smiles wincing as you can see the cut on his cheek reopens. “Kurtz, what happened?” “Nothing.” He leans forward, letting your hand brush against his cheek. “Let me help?” You half question, pulling a cloth out and wiping is carefully against his cheek. “Sorry it’s not the best, but that doesn’t look near as bad with that blood gone.” You assure him and he nods. “Thank you.”

“Y/n. Are you alright? I thought I heard you scream earlier, was that just the pain?” “Yeah pain.” He seems to tense, you can see it in his shoulders. You nod to him, trying to convey you wont talk more about it. “It’s nothing just a stupid Ghoul thing.” You hum slightly nodding for him to continue. “Part of being with them. Have to go against one of the higher members at random times. Lance thought it’d be funny to throw me against Shank.” “Shank?” “No one you should concern yourself with.” “Most would say the same about you, you know that right?” He laughs nodding. “You want me to look at that later today?” “You trying to ask to come over?” You look to the ground nodding. “If you want.” “We got partnered on that history project anyways.” “History project?” “Yeah if you ever went to class you’d know.” “I go to class, sometimes.” He laughs and you can’t help but smile with pride.

You’re standing by the flag pole nervously watching the group of Ghoulies, you can tell they’re waiting for someone, and when Kurtz steps out they straighten up. Seeing his back you manage to get a proper look at the jacket he sports, black leather all the way around, a few studs against the back, around the patch of a skull wrapped with chains. You frown at the Ghoul mark but wait wondering if he’s going to turn. He doesn’t but you can see him talking, pointing back towards the school. One of the ghouls nods towards you and you look away, you can see Kurtz look back at you and nod, the other Ghoulies shaking there heads and pulling him away. You can see him pull back from them and you try your best not to look to hopeful when he turns towards you. One of them reaches out and tugs him back, looping there arm around him and grinning darkly at you. You can feel a hand on your shoulder once Kurtz disappears from your vision. “He’s useless to concern yourself with.” Is hissed into your ear, by the time you turn to where the voice comes from you’re alone by the flag pole once more.

You watch Kurtz closer after that, you fingers drumming against the desk as you sit in the back of history, he nudges you when the bell rings and you walk slightly behind him as he makes his way to English, you’re surprised to see he shares it with you and the teacher seems even more surprised to see you sitting in your seat next to him. “Come over today.” He hums flicking through the copy of Brave New World. “I thought we were reading Fahrenheit 451.” “ That’s next semesters-“ The teacher rolls his eyes as you nudge the bookmark back in place, three chapters from finishing. “Brave New World it is. Yay orgies and drugs.” Kurtz snorts smiling at you. “Kurtz is there something you’d like to share about Mr. Huxley’s work?” “Yeah sounds like his idea of a utopia was just the Ghoul’s Friday night.” The teachers not impressed scowling and giving him detention.

“Sorry Y/N guess we have to postpone the history project again.” He laughs under his breath and you roll your eyes. “Well I’ll definitely have to come over Friday, can’t miss out on a real life Brave New World experience, you think I’ll get extra credit if I take pictures?” You wink and snicker, catching the teacher’s eyes in a glare. You try your best not to beam when he give you detention. “Well then Y/N don’t tell me I’m a bad influence on you.” “Not at all, if anything I’m a bad influence on you; making you miss Ghoul meeting and-“ “SHIT!” Kurtz slams his fist onto the table and the teacher looks unimpressed. “Kurtz what have-“

“Fuck off.” He hisses standing and walking out of the room, you watch as the teacher doesn’t look up as you move to follow him. “Kurtz?” “They told me if I missed one I was out.” “Well that doesn’t seem anything like a decent gang.” “What?” “I mean if they’re going to kick you out cause you don’t show for one meeting seems a little extreme, plus they’d have less members if that was an actual rule.” “I know but I can’t-“

“Cant what? They need you more that you need them.” “No I’m; I’m nothing without them.” “So you just came into being with a little leather jacket? An undying sense of loyalty to a gang you met when you started high school? It’s been years with you in them; you really think they’re going to throw you out cause you miss one meeting?” He nods feverishly and shoves his bag into your hands. “Can you meet me in the library? After this meeting.” “Of course.” You turn starting for the library, no point in going to class when there’s only one left.

You’re sitting in your usual spot watching the door. You don’t mean to snoop but when you shift moving Kurtz’s bag next to yours you can see the bright cover of the sketchbook. You assume the meeting has just started so you pull it out carefully opening it. You skim through the pages, mostly half finished sketches, and colour combinations; you laugh at the sketch, clearly done form his point of view, your arm reaching out to close the window, the top of your head just visible. You turn the page watching and the sketches end up more finished but almost an unrecognisable style; the bright colours are what throw you off the most, before it have been almost completely pencils and now it was neon in comparrision, paints and chalk colour faces and clothes outlandishly bright. You note in place of a signature all that’s written is a squashed ‘jangle 2 ½ tubes; twenty minutes.’ You try your best not to think about this being the day of the fight; how the serpents have neon blues and greens dripping from their faces and the knife one of the Ghouls has drips the same.

Kurtz doesn’t say anything and you debating telling him you looked through his sketchbook but decide against it for the moment. He’s brought you back to his house, pulling his books out gives you the excuse you need. “What’s that?” “Sketchbook, mostly empty, ghouls don’t like me doing art, says it distracts from the gang.” You nod but he laughs catching you frowning. “Don’t agree with them?” “If they think you drawing is distracting what on earth do they have to say about me?”

“Well they don’t like me socializing outside of the gang and the thought of me dating outside of it isn’t something they consider.” You swallow leaning closer to him. “If you’re already distracted by art;” You nudge the sketchbook from where it sits between you on the bed scooting into the space made by it. “Why shouldn’t you be distracted by something more enjoyable?”

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