#i guess i wanted some sort of closure?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drawlfoy · 3 months

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benefits of journaling p.2

read p1 here!

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: recreational drug use, language, mild gore, snakes, a mouse gets eaten (thoughts and prayers), tom is a little bit gaslighty, the quality of my writing declines sharply

a/n: note that this is not finished at all, but i'm not planning on finishing this series unfortunately :/ i just have too much going on. this is unedited, unrevised, unoutlined, etc. so adjust your expectations accordingly. i just kind of want to get this out so i've given u guys at least *some* semblance of closure for this series. (UPDATE: now that i’ve written this i’ve changed my mind. i will be working on the next part. i forgot how much i love tom)

wc: 6.7k

enjoy !

This time you were unceremoniously dumped into a hard wooden library chair. You gasped as you braced yourself against the hard table in front of you, drawing in shaky breaths as you gathered your bearings.

A loud bang startled you into wrenching your gaze up. Tom had dropped a thick book with an ebony cover right next to you, nearly atop your hand.

“Here you are,” he said pleasantly. “Happy reading.”

“Do you think I can take this back with me into my world?” you asked. The cover was smooth under your fingertips.

“Unlikely,” said Tom, dropping elegantly into the chair beside you. “You’ll have to read it here.”

You gulped. “Alright.”

The papers were yellowed and fragile against your touch, and you couldn’t help but wonder just how old it was.

“Any section you’d recommend starting with?”

The book was around 700 pages with tiny, fine print.

“Perhaps the beginning.” Tom waved his wand and wordlessly summoned a stack of books, lifting one up and beginning to read for himself.

You’d thought that you’d be less intimidated knowing that he was also doing something besides staring at you reading, but the back of your neck still prickled as you pulled the book to the edge of the table and began to dig in.

It was bizarre, reading next to a boy like this. The only one you ever studied with before had been Ishan, and he hardly counted. It was different with Tom. His presence hung in the air around you, a tension so tangible that it wasn’t unthinkable that you might feel something if you let your fingers sift through the space between you.

Despite all you’d told Tom, spending time around him made you unfathomably nervous. He was too good-looking to feel even remotely normal around him, and it was all you could do to hope that he didn't notice how much you blushed whenever he spoke to you.

The book he’d given you was dense and horrific, detailing magic so ugly and foul that you felt dirty just reading it. It covered topics you’d heard of before, like cases of the Imperius curse or the misuse of love potions or the nature of dark magic.

But there was nothing pertaining to Tom’s situation.

“Can’t you at least point me towards a chapter? Or…a general section of the book?” you asked him.

Tom lifted his gaze from his work, quirking a brow. “Having trouble?”

“This is going to take me forever to read.” You motioned at the width of the book.

“Then I guess I’ll be seeing much more of you.”

You couldn’t fight back the flush that spread across your face. “Well, this is an easily solvable problem. You really ought to just point me to the most relevant part.”

“And here I was, thinking I was doing you a favor,” said Tom. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment you thought you saw the slightest suggestion of a smirk on his lips. “Given that you’re such a glutton for knowledge and not at all singular in your academic pursuits.”

“That’s not—” You paused when you saw the amusement on his face. He’d been playing with you. “I’m flattered that you remembered. I suppose you’re right.”

And since you refused to let him win, you flipped the book back open and picked up right where you left off.

It was really stupid to feel so light at the fact that Tom had remembered a sentence you’d said verbatim, because even if it implied that he’d thought about your last interaction enough to commit it to memory, it was hardly a surprise. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do in his empty version of Hogwarts except read books he’d probably already read many times before.

You snuck another look at him a few chapters later. A few waves had fallen across his face, dangling over his brow. For a moment, all you could do was keep yourself from reaching out to tuck them back into order, to know what it felt like against your fingers.

But that was a boundary you hadn’t crossed yet—if you even could. Who knew how the rules worked in this dimension?

You resolved to believe that you couldn’t touch him. That it was impossible. Because if you believed that, maybe you’d stop wanting to.

“You never ended up telling me if you were a Parselmouth,” you realized aloud after you’d completed another gruesome section about ritualistic Dark Magic.

You watched him closely but didn’t detect even a glimpse of surprise.

“I didn’t,” he agreed smoothly. He didn’t look up from his page.

“So? I gave you a secret. Many, actually.”

“I think you already know.” He turned the page, dark eyes darting across the next.

“Well—” You paused, worrying your lip between your teeth as you realized that he was right. “What’s it like?”

That was what prompted him to finally lean back in his chair and lift his gaze from the book to your eyes.

“What’s it like?”

Repeated back to you, it did sound very silly.

“I mean,” you said, cheeks hot, “What do you even talk to snakes about? The weather? Whether or not there’s enough mice in the area?”

“It’s unlikely to find snakes that do more than listen to me,” he said. “Most aren’t very good conversationalists.”

“A boy in my—our, I guess—year has a pet ball python,” you told him. “I just don’t understand why he’d want one. They don’t seem like very good companions.”

“Why not?”

“Because they have no emotional depth,” you said. You could feel your voice slipping into the tone you used when you tutored younger students, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You’d researched this extensively in the library after the Incident in third year when you were looking for any good academic reason for how terrified you were of Malfoy’s pet. “They have no limbic system, so everything for them is about survival. There’s no—no mutual concern or love like you’d get from something normal, like a cat or an owl. As their handler, you only matter because you’re what keeps them alive. I don’t think I’d ever be able to get over that.”

“So all your companions have to love you?” Tom was resting his chin in his palm now as he looked at you. “They’re worthless otherwise?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you responded. “But I like my company to see me as something more than an avenue for survival or a means to an end.”

“Their companionship isn’t enough?”

You blinked. Everyone else that you’d given your reptile spiel to had completely understood. You couldn’t quite figure out why Tom wasn’t agreeing. “It’s just nice to be cared about, don’t you think? And it’s…it’s nice to care about something without it feeling meaningless.”

“I imagine that that’s true,” Tom said evenly.

Something deep inside you twisted at the implications of his answer. You’d sort of forgotten that he grew up in a muggle orphanage and likely didn’t have any sort of emotional closeness during his early childhood. But he was so pretty and sharp and witty that it was hard to imagine no one caring for him. Perhaps that had changed upon his admission to Hogwarts. He had said that witches and wizards found him charming. You could attest.

You passed the following Potions lab with flying colors and a perfectly brewed Draught of Peace that made even Snape nod approvingly. It was thrilling. It was incredible. All you wanted to do was get Tom’s diary out right then and there and document it as it happened—as if he were right beside you—but you refrained. You told him that night instead, when you were back again for another reading session.

You were falling into his world on a daily basis, devouring as much of the book as you could without forgoing any conversations with Tom. He’d been impressed to hear about your potion in his own very Tom way. He didn’t tell you outright that he thought that you were brilliant or smart or incredible. Instead he seemed entirely unsurprised, like he thought you capable of nothing less. Somehow that made you glow more than any explicitly stated praise that he could’ve offered.

When you weren’t reading, you were walking around the grounds with Tom and just talking, much like you used to write to him. At first you’d been nervous and uncomfortable with being as open with him in person as you’d been in writing, but Tom had a funny way of making you feel seen. Despite his slight aloofness and obvious air of pretension, he listened to you and appeared genuinely interested in your life by way of remembering things you’d said months ago.

Like when you’d told him off-handedly that it was raining back in the real world and that it was your favorite weather, and ever since the Hogwarts you were transported to was constantly overcast with torrential downpours unless you two were walking outside.

You still never dared to touch him, though. That was a line that you refused to cross. Tom seemed to hold the same opinion, keeping a wide berth around you whenever tactile contact was in the realm of possibility.

“How did you become a Parselmouth?” you asked him one day while you were taking a break from reading and walking through the Transfiguration Courtyard.

His eyes narrowed as he turned to you. “Do they not teach you about Parseltongue in Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore?”

“No,” you said. “I’ve only ever heard about it by reading a book from the Restricted Section. It was very vague. All I know about it is that it’s the language of reptiles.”

“No one becomes a Parselmouth.” Tom turned his attention back to the walking path, adjusting the cuff of his robes for just a second. “All Parselmouths are born. It’s entirely hereditary.”

“So did you have to learn it?” you asked. Your interest was piqued—you’d never heard of a language that was passed through genes.

Tom shook his head. That one rogue strand of black hair had escaped its orderly wave, just like how you remembered him from his yearbook picture. “I’ve never had to think about it. I’ve just always known how to say what I want.”

“Do you think that you could…” Your voice trailed off and you swallowed thickly. You weren’t even sure why you’d started asking him that question. Of course he couldn’t teach you Parseltongue. You didn’t even really want to know it, either. You’d never use it. But you hated being told that you didn’t know something. That you couldn't know something.

“We can give it a try,” he offered.

You dared to glance back up at him and found him already looking at you. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“I don’t know.” He appeared to be making a valiant effort to quell a grin. “I suppose it has something to do with your approach to acquiring knowledge. One could almost call it…gluttonous in nature.”

You sent him a glare.

Tom shrugged, properly smiling now for the first time in front of you. He had shallow, almost perfectly circular dimples. “Anyway. I’ve never taught anyone before. I actually don’t believe it to be possible, but we might as well give it a go.”

“You’ve never tried?” you asked. “None of your friends at Hogwarts asked you to teach them?”

“No,” he said. “No one knew I was a Parselmouth. I kept that a secret.”

“Why?”

He shrugged again. “I enjoy my privacy. Right, then. Serpensortia.”

A large, hissing snake appeared at your feet, thrashing about in the grass as it unhappily acclimated to its new environment.

You yelped, leaping nearly a foot in the air. Tom simply stood still, watching you with an amused expression on his features.

“Having second thoughts?”

“No,” you said through gritted teeth, refusing to let your eyes move from the wriggling snake in front of you. “I’m just—surprised.”

“It won’t hurt you.” His voice was low, gentle. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not,” you said, but the slight wobble in your tone betrayed you. “Just—get on with the lesson, alright?”

He stood silently, his head tilted in concentration.

“What’s it saying?” you found yourself asking. “Is it—I dunno—threatening my life or something?”

Tom sent you a look that you couldn’t quite decipher. “It’s scared of you.”

“Really?” A spark of smugness lit up within you.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“It’s expressing how upset it is at how suddenly I’ve conjured it. Apparently we’ve interrupted the start of its meal.”

“What do I say if I want to apologize?”

He appeared to consider your request for just a moment before opening his mouth and making a hissing noise that you didn’t think you could replicate if you had a thousand years.

The snake immediately quieted and stopped its thrashing, its tiny head lifting from the ground to regard Tom curiously.

He looked back at you, expectant.

“Again, please,” you said. “A little slower this time. I didn’t quite catch it.”

He obliged, going through each syllable separately.

You felt very much like you were back in muggle school before you’d found out you were a witch, being forced to read out a passage in French. The sounds that came out of you were clumsy and not at all what you thought they’d sound like.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you accused. “For the record, I know it was bad.”

He didn’t address it beyond just the slight upward twist of his lip before he repeated it again, syllable by syllable.

You tried once again with the same outcome.

“Your tongue should be a little behind your teeth,” he said. “You have yours too far back on the roof of your mouth, which is why you’re losing control. Try again.”

This time, it came out much cleaner. The snake took notice of you for the first time, its dark scales glistening under the cloudy sky. It hissed something back. Tom’s mouth split into a grin.

“What did it say?”

“It wants to know if you have any food,” he told you.

“What’s ‘yes’?”

Saying yes in Parseltongue was much easier than saying sorry—it only took two syllables, both of which were made up of sounds that you were pretty sure you had in the English language.

The snake was giving its full attention to you now. Its forked tongue stuck out for just a second.

Gulping, you accioed a small stone into your palm and cast a quick charm to transfigure it into a mouse—something that you’d learned years ago.

You set it on the ground and watched the snake lunge.

“Gross,” you said under your breath, wincing as it began to swallow it whole, its body twisting and contorting as it shoved it down. “I—I think I’m done with the lesson now. I’ve learned enough.”

“You really didn’t need to feed it,” Tom pointed out helpfully.

“Yeah. I know that now. I just felt like it deserved something for the trouble.”

Once the snake had succeeded and the only evidence of the mouse was a bulge in the adder’s scales a little past its head, it lifted its head again to meet your eyes, its tongue slithering out as it made a sharp hiss.

“What’s it saying?”

“It thanked you,” said Tom. He was giving you that look again—like he was reconsidering you.

“And if I wanted to say ‘you’re welcome’?”

“I thought you said you were done with the lesson.”

You rolled your eyes. “Consider this my last request. I’d like to be polite.”

Tom let out a sigh, then made a sound that glided from a long S to a few sharp, pointed consonants.

You clumsily mimicked him, feeling like your tongue was much larger than you’d ever bothered to notice.

To your surprise, the adder slithered towards you, dragging itself onto the rock of the courtyard and in front of you. It coiled around your shin, slowly pulling itself up your body.

“Tom!” you whisper-screamed through your teeth.

“It’s alright,” he said.

“Do something!”

The snake continued up your leg, looping once around your waist as it continued its ascent up to your shoulder. It was cold and oddly heavy, its scales clammy against the bare skin of your neck.

For one terrifying moment, you thought that it was going to coil around your neck and squeeze until you asphyxiated. Your breath caught in your throat as it came around behind your neck, both ends dangling around your neck as you were paralyzed with fear.

Then it did the most peculiar thing; it stopped, just hanging in a loose hold around the base of your neck, its face nestled into the collar of your robes.

“What’s it doing?” you whispered. You tried to ignore the lump in its body that you could feel at the side of your neck.

“It’s resting on you,” said Tom.

“Why?”

“Because it likes you.”

You stared at him, floored. “It does not.”

He hissed something to the snake around your neck. It responded with something you couldn’t even begin to understand.

“It just told me so,” said Tom.

“How do I know you didn’t just make that up?” you said, mentally crossing your arms across your chest but refraining since a snake was taking residence there at present.

“You don’t trust me?” asked Tom. “I’m hurt.”

Before you could respond, you felt the slow, languid movement of the adder as it lifted its head from your collar. Without thinking, you offered it your hand, watching in quiet fascination as it slithered around your wrist.

“Hi,” you said shyly, like you’d speak to a nervous cat.

“It won’t understand—”

“I’m aware, Tom,” you interrupted, sending him a look before turning back to your wrist. “We’re bonding. Bugger off.”

He held his hands up in exasperation. “Bonding? Are you going to take him back to the real world as your familiar?”

For a moment, you actually considered this.

“Because that’s a terrible idea,” continued Tom, crushing your dream right then and there. “Adders are venomous. Once you don’t have me around, you won’t be able to communicate with it. It’ll probably bite someone.”

“Then perhaps we should start brainstorming ways to bring you back,” you said. “For safe snake handling, if nothing else.”

Tom didn’t say anything to this; instead, he reached out and gently unwound the adder from your wrist, his skin not brushing yours once.

“Surely there’s someone wondering where you are,” he said once the snake had been deposited on the ground. “You’ve been here longer than usual.”

“Do you not want to get out of here?” you asked, frowning. “It hardly seems like you’re trying.”

“I’ve been doing research when you’re not around,” he said simply. “I think I just need to theorize for a bit longer—figure out the best course of action.”

“The process would be sped up significantly if you let me help.”

“I won’t ask that of you. It’s very complicated magic—” He paused for just a moment, noticing the derisive curl of your mouth. “—Not that I think you incapable, of course. But you’ve better things to do. It would distract from your exams, and I tend to work better alone in this stage of research.”

“Oh,” you said, hoping the hurt wasn’t showing on your face. It made sense that he would want to work on this alone. You understood not wanting to have to explain things to people when you could already be going down a rabbithole that you’d deemed important. Plus, your current Tom rendez-vous schedule was eating enough time as it was. But it still stung.

“You’ll be the first to know if I stumble across anything conclusive,” said Tom.

You snorted. “Obviously.”

“Well—” Tom stopped himself. You thought for a moment that you detected the slightest flush across his pale skin, but that was likely because of the chill outside. “That was more clever in my head. Sorry.”

“I imagine that being in solitary confinement for half a century might addle your mind a bit,” you offered diplomatically.

“My mind is not addled.”

“I was very graciously giving you an easy out.”

“Someone is probably wondering where you are,” he repeated, his jaw tense. “So I’m going to send you back now.”

Without giving you another chance to argue, you were catapulted back into your desk chair.

“You look like you could do with a night out,” Lucy observed as she watched you storm into your dorm and send your satchel flying through the air to land messily on your bed.

“Casting my first and last Unforgivable on McLaggen would be preferable,” you said through gritted teeth.

He’d been your partner today in Arithmancy to work on a partner problem set. It apparently wasn’t enough for him to be dreadfully stupid and slow—he had to be an absolute chauvinistic arse about it. Whenever you attempted to correct him, he’d look at you with so much amusement that it made your head pound.

He didn’t even need to say anything—the look in his eyes told you that he didn’t even see you as a person.

The last person to treat you so dismissively had been Pansy Parkinson, but at least she’d been smart. And a witch. McLaggen dripped with conceit and smugness and was disgusting towards the most pureblooded witch on a good day.

It’d been nearly 3 hours and your blood was still boiling.

“Well, I can’t arrange that,” said Lucy. “But I can tell you that Hufflepuff is throwing tonight. McLaggen probably won’t come—Ernie hates him, and he’s the one who put it all together.”

You considered this, looking longingly once at the bag on your bed. You hadn’t done anything with your friends in forever; nearly all the time you had was spent either studying or with Tom.

The Hufflepuffs were always gracious hosts, too. The last time you’d gone, they’d given you something to smoke that had smelled like a meadow on a sunny spring day and made you feel like you were floating. You’d giggled all night with Lucy, clinging to one another. You’d gone on some tirade about how much you loved her, touching her face and tearing up as you said something about how you didn’t know what you’d be without her. Lucy’d beamed back at you, her face wide open with raw gratitude.

It had been sappy, but it had been fun and one of the few positive memories you had from the disaster that had been O.W.Ls season.

“You know what,” you said slowly, watching Lucy’s face light up, “I think that’s just what I need.”

Tom could wait.

Lucy squealed and got right to work. In seconds, all the clothes you’d brought from home were strewn across her bed as she scrutinized each one.

“I thought this was just going to be, like, a chill thing,” you said.

Lucy picked up a sequined top, held it up to your chest, and wrinkled her nose. “Too loud.”

“Lucy—”

“I never get to go out with you,” she interrupted, yanking a black slip dress from the pile that caught the warm overhead light. “Thoughts? We could do some fun earrings or something to dress it up.”

“Are we not just going to sit in a circle and smoke again? This feels a little overkill.”

“Well, it’s not,” said Lucy, throwing it at you. “This is hardly a ballgown. Plus, this is your annual outing. Dress to impress.”

You rolled your eyes and slipped the straps off the hanger, throwing it over your shoulder as you turned around to change.

Lucy continued her rampage, ooh-ing and aah-ing upon seeing it on you and immediately cornering you with a scary looking brush.

“For your eyes,” she said, like that made you feel any better.

“What?”

“Close them.”

You squeezed them shut, willing this to be over. You’d had your own experience with muggle makeup, which was tame and not at all exciting. The Wizarding World always had interesting takes on beauty tools, like charmed kohl that could turn your entire eye black if you weren’t careful enough.

Something cool and wet swiped across the corner of your eyes. Lucy mumbled something under her breath, and there was a slight ruffling at the end of your lashes, like a light breeze had swept through them.

“Open.”

You blinked, your lashes feeling a little heavier.

“Pretty,” said Lucy, nodding seriously. “Hang on. Do you have a lip color preference?”

You stared. A lip color preference? “Er—whatever you think makes the most sense with my undertones.”

“You would say that,” Lucy replied, already holding a wand of lip gloss. “Put this on.”

When you turned to look into the mirror she was holding out, you nearly started at your reflection. Lucy had done something insane with your lashes, curling them up and adding length that didn’t look too obvious. That weird tool she’d used on your eye had created a sharp, clean line that followed the contour of your lashline and licked out at the end.

You looked really pretty. Not quite Tom Riddle level pretty, but pretty nonetheless.

“Thanks,” you said, turning back to Lucy after you’d applied the gloss she’d given you. It smelled faintly of something that you couldn’t quite place—like old parchment and the memory of walking through the library in the middle of the night. It was the strangest scent you’d ever encountered in a lip product.

Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs did not disappoint. They’d bribed house elves into bringing an entire spread of food that was fragrant and under a constant stasis spell to keep an optimal temperature. You spent the evening chatting with your Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff friends and feasting on ripe slices of pineapple and bites of strawberry that stained your already glossy mouth a vibrant pink.

Then Hannah Abbott reached into her pocket and pulled out a stash of corked bottles.

“Party Potions,” said Lucy in wonder as you both stared at the swirling liquids.

You’d heard of them before but had never personally had one. You weren’t entirely sure what they did, in all honesty, and that stressed you out enough to keep you from giving them a whirl.

They were different vibrant colors—one an opalescent pink, one a vibrant orange, one a blood red, one a deep, midnight blue that reminded you of your house colors.

“Anyone want one?” asked Hannah, motioning to her pile. Terry Boot raised a hand and plucked the orange one from the table, uncorking it and downing it in one go.

“What do the different colors mean?” you asked. The longer you looked at them, the more you were mesmerized.

“I don’t remember,” admitted Hannah. “Nothing crazy, I don’t think.”

“You don’t think,” you repeated.

“Just because I don’t remember why I bought each color doesn’t mean that I would’ve purposefully bought something that did bad things,” Hannah told you. “Here. Take one. It’ll help you relax.”

The midnight blue potion sat on the fingers of Hannah’s outstretched palm.

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“I promise it’s nothing too intense,” said Hannah. “You’ve smoked before, right? I’ve had one and it was honestly just like getting crossed. You’ll be fine.”

At the mention of smoking, common sense flew out the window. The last time you’d been offered an illicit substance in the Hufflepuff Common Room, things went really well. Who were you to deny that again?

“If you’re sure it’s alright for me to have it,” you said. The bottle pulled easily from Hannah’s hand and into your grip.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Lucy was grinning at you widely.

Up close, the midnight blue wasn’t solid—there were specks of silver in there, like thousands of stars littered across the night sky. It was stunning. You felt almost bad uncorking it and downing it, but you didn’t give yourself a chance to second-guess.

It tasted like lavender and honey and something burnt that was horribly gross but faded away with time and went down like water.

“You didn’t save anything for me?”

“Sorry, Luce,” you said, swiping the back of your hand across your lips.

You weren’t feeling anything yet. Or were you? Was this how you normally felt? The ceiling of the Hufflepuff common room definitely didn’t move, right? And Lucy typically wasn’t outlined in a fuschia pink. That you were sure of.

“Whoa,” you said dumbly.

“I think Y/N’s feeling something!” called out Hannah. “What’s it like?”

You stared at her, watching as a warm brown that reminded you of English Breakfast tea with milk stirred in surrounded Hannah’s edges.

“You’re such a good person,” you said, feeling tears prick at your eyes, because Hannah Abbott truly was. “And so are you.”

You turned to Lucy, trying your best not to cry. “Did you know that you’re the color pink?”

Lucy nodded gravely. Later she would laugh about this, but not now. “That’s very kind of you.”

You spent the evening in a daze, staring open mouthed at your friends as you saw different colors swirl around, some overlapping and blending.

It was beautiful. Then the sadness kicked in. It wasn’t clear to you exactly what caused your sudden rush of melancholy—but all of a sudden you were staring at the happy people dancing around you, the colors blurring and mingling, and all you could think about was Tom. Tom, who was all alone. Tom, who might never get out. Tom, who was destined for an eternity of loneliness.

“I’m going to go back,” you said to Lucy, tugging at her sleeve to get her attention.

She frowned. “Aw, why? Are you not feeling well?”

“The potion Hannah gave me is making me feel really tired,” you said. It wasn’t a lie. Your eyelids were heavy and the thought of curling up under your blankets sounded better than anything. Well, almost anything. There was something you needed to take care of first.

“Booooo,” said Lucy, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Do you want me to walk you back?”

“No! I mean—” You gulped. “You’re having fun. I’ll be fine getting back. I think Ron’s on the rounds in our part of the castle. He’s not going to write me up.”

“You sure? I’d be happy to take you.”

You started pushing her in the direction of the other party-goers. “Very. Go have fun. I’ll see you when you get back.”

By the time you’d burst back into your room, your chest was heaving with exertion from sprinting up the stairs as you wrenched open your desk drawer and pulled out the journal.

Tom you wrote. Can you let me in?

He didn’t answer; instead, you were falling through space and into the warmly lit Hogwarts library from the 40s.

“Tom!” You couldn’t stop the grin that came across your face.

“Oh—hello.” Like always, Tom was standing tidily a polite distance from you, his hands tucked neatly behind his back. Unlike always, he was staring at you like you’d just shot his dog.

“Is everything okay?” The potion you’d taken was definitely still in effect. An inky blackness was hanging around his shoulders—a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin.

He swallowed, his eyes darting up and down. “Yes. Sorry. You just look a bit different.”

“Oh. Yeah, I was at a party. Did you know you have a black aura?”

“What?”

“Your aura is black,” you repeated, slower this time.

He just stared at you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, averting your eyes. Maybe he was insecure about having such a lame aura color. It had been a bit rude of you to point that out all willy-nilly.

“I’m not—” Tom stopped, pressing his lips together before continuing. “I’m sorry, is there a reason why you asked to see me? Surely you don’t mean to read after you’ve just stepped out of a party?”

“Oh,” you said, and suddenly you remembered why you’d come. A somberness dropped over you. “I was just…I was having so much fun tonight. And then I thought about you.”

He stayed silent.

“What’s going to happen to you if I can’t get you out?” Your voice wobbled as tears pricked at the back of your eyes. “Are you just going to be stuck here forever? Won’t you be lonely?”

When he didn’t immediately answer and opted to stare at you in shock instead, you continued.

“Because I keep thinking about what might happen if something happens to me or I lose your journal,” you confessed, now ardently choking back tears. “I really worry about you. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t help you leave.”

“Are you…” His eyes darted up and down you again. “Drunk?”

“Hardly,” you said, swiping angrily under your eyes as you collapsed onto the loveseat that you so often read on, pulling your knees to your chest. Then, quieter: “It was just some potion a friend gave me.”

“If you’re so worried about something happening to you so that I’m left alone…” You weren’t looking up at him, but the increase in volume told you he was coming nearer. “...May I suggest not taking mystery potions?”

Before you could issue a retort, the loveseat cushion shifted to accommodate the weight of a second person, sending you toppling over to the other side.

Right onto Tom.

Your hands went flying to the opposite armrest, fingers digging into the worn blue velvet with a death grip as you righted yourself, pushing your knees from where they’d landed sprawled in Tom’s lap.

Which you could actually touch, by the way. The implications began rolling in once you were back on your respective side. He’d been solid and warm and completely void of any attributes that may suggest he was a ghost. Which meant that it was probably possible to…

No. No. You weren’t going to think about that right now.

“I didn’t realize I could touch you,” you heard yourself saying, staring at him in wonder. “I just assumed I couldn’t.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Oh.”

And for purely scientific purposes (no reputable academic came to a firm conclusion based off of a single trial), you reached your hand out and experimentally poked his forearm again.

“Wow,” you said.

“Will you stop that?” said Tom.

“Yes.” You retracted your hand and placed it firmly in your lap. Then, because your manners hadn’t completely abandoned you: “Sorry. That was rude of me. I just sort of assumed that since you’re—well, whatever you are—it’d be like touching a ghost or something.”

“Whatever I am,” he echoed, looking off into the distance with what you could only describe as a very harrowed expression.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, but you weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for.

Instead of responding, he buried his face in his hands, heaving a heavy sigh as his fingers tangled into his hair.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He just shook his head, scrubbing his face with his hands once before he let them fall.

“Er, all right then,” you said. “Would you like me to leave? I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“You really shouldn’t worry about me,” he finally said. The awkward, slight pauses between his words gave you a sneaking suspicion that he was choosing his words very carefully.

“Of course I’m going to worry about you.” Now that you knew that you could touch him, nothing stopped you from reaching out to flick his arm indignantly. “We’re friends, and I like to think that my friends would worry about me if I was stuck in journal jail. Or whatever this is.”

He was still staring at where you’d touched his arm.

“...Unless you don’t want to be friends,” you added, suddenly feeling a little silly for jumping to such rash conclusions. “Which I’d understand. I can give your journal to someone else. A Slytherin, maybe. Someone a little more your speed.”

You decided to blame the potion for the obvious hurt that had seeped into your voice at the prospect that there was someone else who was better suited as his confidant.

“I don’t want you to do that,” Tom eventually said. He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Then what do you want?” The strength in your words surprised even you. “I don’t understand you. You tell me you want to get out, but you still won’t let me help you. You let me talk to you and come visit you and read with you, but then you expect me not to care. It doesn’t make any sense. You don’t make any sense.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” said Tom, thumbing the ring he always wore around his finger. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“So help me understand!” Your voice rose sharply, echoing off the walls of the empty library.

Tom finally turned to you, his face split open with something so uncharacteristically raw and open that it takes everything within you not to gasp.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” He drew in long breath. “Not right now. I need more time.”

“Oh, a half century wasn’t enough?” you retorted. “Need another?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Tom, an edge of franticness in the way he spun the ring around his finger quicker. “I never thought that I’d—I didn’t think I’d ever be found. I wasn’t supposed to be found.”

You didn’t know what to say to this. Instead, you sat there with your hands clasped tightly in your lap, eyes set on the floor, your mind racing with all the implications of everything you’d learned.

A moment passed. Then another. Once it appeared clear that you weren’t going to say anything back, Tom spoke up again. “You’re angry with me. I understand that this is…” He paused. “Unconventional. But I am grateful you’ve found me, and I’d really rather prefer that you don’t give me away to another student.”

You were just about to respond when—

“But of course I’d understand if you did,” he added hastily.

It was the most unnervingly emotional speech you’d ever seen come from Tom, ever the stoic, and under the influence of the potion that Hannah had given you, it was almost enough to make you give in and move on. But not quite.

“You said ‘supposed to’.” Your eyes still didn’t move from where they were trained on the scuffed wooden floor of the library. “You said ‘I wasn’t supposed to be found.’”

“That’s right.”

You turned to look at him, inky black aura spilling over his equally dark hair. “‘Supposed to’. Like you knew this was going to happen. Like this wasn’t an accident.”

And the change you saw in him was so miniscule that if you hadn’t been spending enough time studying his face, you might not have noticed it. But you had, and the slight dilation of his pupils and twitch of his jaw was enough to betray his panic.

Then his mouth split into a smile and his face smoothed over, his eyebrows furrowed with just the right amount of concern. The shift was startling, like he’d slipped on a mask. “Of course this was an accident. Do you really think that I’d choose to be stuck here for eternity?”

“That’s—” You paused, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“I wouldn’t,” he pressed, and this time his arm came up to drape over the back of the couch. You tried your best not to think about how you could feel warmth radiating from it, how if you tilted your head back, you might brush against it. “Are you sure you’re well?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll send you back,” he said, a polite smile set on his lips. “You should really get some rest.”

And for the first time since you’d first discovered the journal, you fell asleep feeling a little bit afraid of Tom Riddle.

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you

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vincentbriggs · 8 months

Note

Good sir, I am hoping to pick your brain. I’m making an 18-century (“pirate”) shirt as a gift to my friend. He wants tie closures on the neck and cuffs instead of buttons. Might you have any insight or resources for this? I’ve seen the ties in at least one of the extant shirts I’ve viewed online. I’m still pretty new to the sewing gig and I’d like to minimize inventing metaphorical wheel as much as possible. Thanks in advance!

It's very unusual, but do know of one example! (Not that extant one though)

But first - Link to my most thorough shirt construction blog post. (It's a few years old and I've improved a few little things in my technique since then, and I mean to finish writing a new and better one before the year is over.)

Ok, ties on shirts! I'm assuming this is the extant one you're talking about? Tbh I'd discount this one entirely if you're looking for information on 18th century men's shirts because I don't think it is one.

Besides the attached ties, the sleeves are extremely weird. They're cut off and have no wristbands!! This would make it quite impossible to wear under a coat, the wristbands are an absolutely essential part of an 18th century shirt. I also don't see any reason to believe this is actually 18th century when it could just as easily be 19th century, and considering how short the slit is I think that more likely.

(Lots of auction sellers like to say "late 18th century" about things that are like... yeahh maaaaybe that's plausibly from a very fashion forward guy in the late 1790's but it's much more likely early 19th century. And with court dress they sometimes just straight up date it several decades too early. Look at lots of examples and always question everything, because museums don't always date things correctly either.)

I think I remember seeing someone mention once that it was a 19th century workman's garment of some sort, but I can't remember where, and all we've got to go on are a few pictures and a brief caption from a seller who doesn't know what they're talking about. It does look like it could have been worn over another layer though, and the fabric is very coarse. It could also have been altered at a later date for theatrical costume, which is something the Victorians did to A LOT of 18th century garments.

So just ignore that shirt!

The vast majority of 18th century mens shirts close with 2 or 3 buttons on the collar, but there is a style that uses ribbons. It appears to have been fairly common in the late 17th and early 18th century, and then slowly dwindles as the century goes on. I have a section for it on my shirts pinterest board with 64 examples. Ooh, wait, 65, just found a new one.

The collar is made with little to no overlap and one buttonhole on each end, and a ribbon is threaded through them.

Portrait of Carl Gustaf Tessin, 1728.

Sir Charles Howard, 1738.

I actually made one of these last year!

The collar doesn't sit as well with the ribbon as it does with 2 buttons, but once you put a stock over it it's fine.

Nearly every single depiction of an 18th century shirt I've ever seen (and I've spent a LOT of time looking) uses sleeve links on the wristbands. (Which I have a tutorial for! They're really easy to make!) I do sleeve links on most of my everyday shirts because I like them better than sewn on buttons. When the wristband is this narrow, sewn on buttons don't sit very nicely.

But! If your friend wants ties on the wrist in a historical way, I do know of one single example, and it's this guy!

Giovanni Maria delle Piane, Portrait of a nobleman. No date given, but if I had to guess I'd say 1680's or 90's. Very late 17th century looking fellow.

We can't see his collar closure, but I think it's very possible that he has a matching red ribbon holding that closed.

Personally I wouldn't want to try these, because they look like an absolute nightmare to tie by yourself one handed. But the good news is that you could make just regular wristband that take sleeve links and they'd work for this too, since both just have a buttonhole at each end! I aim for a finished wristband length that's 10-14mm longer than my wrist measurement, with the buttonhole being about 4 or 5mm in from the edge, which gives me enough ease to wear them comfortably with sleeve links, so if you do that then he'll be able to wear them both ways.

#ask #shirts #18th century #17th century #me

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kitorin · 10 months

Text

one more time.

contents. 6.031k words (gave up on proof reading i'm sorry-), second chance romance, hurt to comfort, author + psychologist reader, swearing, nsfw (not smut just mentions), getting drunk, one nightmare, abandonment issues, kaiser’s terrible with people, it takes a while for kaiser to appear

part two to this

a/n. i guess you could read this as a stand alone, but a lot of the details won't make as much sense (like they'd have a lot more relevance and meaning if you've read part 1). and you're being referred to by your first name by your nephew for the sake of keeping it gn

"y/n?"

Your nephew's question brings some of your attention towards him, with the rest focusing on the road. Rain droplets raced along the windows, and he must've gotten bored of guessing which one was the fastest.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"When are you getting married?"

The innocent yet so significant question made you choke on your own spit. It was unexpected for a child to not gag at the idea of intimacy and love, let alone one questioning your marital status.

"Why are you asking something like that?" You carefully dodge the question, given that you have little to no experience with any sort of romance, the closest to love was an eternity ago. Despite graduating from college already, nothing about that had changed.

"Well." He begins explaining himself. "Mama and papa met each other in high school, they got married when they were younger than you." Unlike you, your sibling had a quite successful love life, already married and with a child. The fact that they were even high school sweethearts seemed to only accentuate your sorrowful envy.

"Your parents were lucky. Not everyone gets to meet the person they love forever in high school. Even if they do not everyone ends up marrying them." It was a difficult approach. You wanted him to fully understand the possible outcomes of love but didn't want him to avoid it entirely. "Love is dumb luck. Sadly, not everyone ends up loving someone who loves them back."

"Hmm." He sounds like he's deep in thought, which also surprised you given that he was still young and oblivious to these sorts of discussions. "Were you unlucky? Is that why you're not married?"

The query stung a bit. Not necessarily because it hurt to be reminded of him, but because it wasn't mere misfortune. It was ultimately up to him to act that way.

"Hmm, I guess. Your father got all the luck I suppose." You chuckle, an attempt to conceal that your heart was begging for some sort of closure, even after all this time.

"But that's not fair."

A sigh leaves your lips as you continue. "It isn't. But that's just life."

"What happened to them? Did they not like you?"

"They did at one point. I think. It was pretty obvious but after I liked them back, they became a bad person" It felt so weird. You've bottled up all the memories and emotions, sealing them away from the world, yet with this tiny child you've decided to open up. It's odd, but not uncomfortable.

"They're dumb."

"You can't say that. It's not their fault for not liking me-"

"But you're amazing. You always spend time with me since Mama and Papa are too busy to. You bring back yummy snacks and tell the best stories. You even teach me so many new things. You're the best person ever."

Although misery from the past had been reawakened and nurtured at the topic of the conversation, his kindness seemed to combat that, you can't help but grin.

"I'm glad you appreciate that."

"You deserve better!"

That makes your breath hitch up, a weird, indescribable sensation accumulates in your chest, and for the first time in a while your eyes begin to prickle.

You blink away the sensation. Three, simple words uttered by a literal child, yet it seems to affect you so much to the point you're moved to tears.

Because no one ever told you that.

No accusations of you being delusional and crazy. No sort of discomfort inflicted through others attempting to make it public.

It was what you've been waiting to hear for so long.

"Thanks bud. Keep this a secret from everyone else, yeah?" You come to a stop at a red light, turning towards him with a grateful smile.

He mimes zipping his lips. "Of course!"

"I know everyone's asking about me getting married, but it won't happen."

"Why?"

"Because." Because you feel undeserving of it. Because you're terrified of being abandoned like that again. Because you're simply just scared. "Because it just won't. I'd rather focus on making sure you and your parents are happy."

"Am I supposed to do that when I'm older?"

"Maybe not to my level. Make sure you treasure your family, but your lover too." Now that piece of advice makes you wonder what it'd be like if you got lucky.

"I don't want to get married even if I'm lucky. I want to be cool like you and take care of family too."

"Then do that. But don't close off your heart completely. Your dad didn’t think of love when he was a kid, look at him now. But it's completely okay if you don't love anyone." Obviously, you'd support him no matter what, but a part of you desperately wished that he'd be lucky enough to never experience what you did.

He nods but changes the topic. "What about you? You seemed happy when you talked about that person. A different kind of happy."

What was that supposed to mean?

"It's just nostalgia."

"That's a hard word. What does it mean?"

"You'll learn when you're older. Promise." And with that you dodge the topic of love, adjusting the conversation to one about the new Doraemon episode he watched the other day.

"Holy shit Ness look at how good they are at this."

"Fucking useless."

"Please help me with trig, I'm begging you. Really? Thank you so much."

"That's such a bitch move. Class average was so low, yet they're still scared of showing their high B. Fucking pussy."

"I love you."

Fuck.

Another nightmare. It's only a mess of his words, both the good and the bad; followed by overwhelming dread and fear swallowing you. A wave of relentless cold engulfing you and drowning you in the depths of torment.

The dream leaves you drenched in sweat and panting. It doesn't fucking make sense. It's been years, you were only kids and now you're an adult. Yet it still leaves you so affected. You don't even clearly remember what he looked like. Only the cerulean orbs and the blonde wolf cut.

Most people brush off any sort of heartbreak in high school as trivial and temporary, yet yours has clung onto your heart so persistently, that it still constantly haunts you.

Nothing's working. Attempting to date others only accentuated your paranoia and abandonment issues. Trying to open up to trusted ones caused the words to get stuck in your throat, to the point it feels suffocating. You even wrote an entire book about it; sure, it was effective in expressing yourself and it was a huge hit and profitable, but something deep down still hurts.

You keep trying and trying, heart craving for closure. But the only way you'd satisfy that miserable desire is through meeting him.

Only you know that so damn well.

Maybe that's why you keep fiercely trying. It's your own way of hopelessly trying to escape him.

But it's futile. It's so draining.

It doesn't matter though. It should stop soon. It's such a stupid thing to be sad over. You're successful, a now bestselling author known for your beauteous expression of love and hurt, while still working as a psychologist. You've achieved something majority of people couldn't do, and you're seeing the fruits of diligence and hard work. But it still hurts.

You do your best to shrug off this sense of dread, focusing on what's important.

"Thank you for today!"

Your nephew wore his signature grin, one that was adorable and so full of joy. It was almost impossible to not smile back at him.

With the commencement of school holiday, you decided to take him to a nearby soccer match, France vs Germany. You didn't know anything about soccer, but he loves the sport, constantly practicing and rambling about Julian Loki (a.k.a. his favourite player of all time) You got extremely lucky, if it weren't for Yoichi and his connections to the JFA you wouldn't've been able to surprise your nephew. Yoichi wasn't prepared to see you constantly thank him ("You're my closest friend, your nephew's a good kid too. Lemme coach him some day!"). He even managed to get you three VIP seats.

"Yocchan, how do I win more? I want to shoot the most goals in my team!"

You passively listen to Yoichi's advice for your nephew, as you can't understand or contribute to the conversation much. It's impressive how people play with this many people watching. The whole stadium was flooded with people, except for the VIP section but that was purely due to how expensive it was.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to France vs Germany!" The commentator booms, earning a cheer from everyone. You expected it to be loud, but not to the point you think your eardrums would burst.

The event went on normally. Player names were read out, with an energetic screech from your nephew when it was Loki's turn. At this point in time, you were pretty laid back, given that you recognized no one.

"Aaaaand Germany's ace and forward, Michael Kaiser!"

You froze.

Michael Kaiser, the Michael Kaiser from back then?

Finally, you have a vivid image of what he looks like. His blonde hair was partially dyed blue, the pretty shade slowly fading out, and navy roses decorated his neck. Red eyeliner adorned his almost feline like eyes. He looks almost unrecognizable yet he's still the boy who had a crush on you.

Suddenly, VIP seats weren't so tempting anymore. Suddenly, you want to drag yourself out of there and ask Yoichi to supervise your nephew.

But he still looks beautiful.

"I hate that bitch." Same Yoichi, same, you silently agree with him. "He's insufferable and a fucking prick."

"Language." Although you'd agree with him, it was a bit too early for your nephew to start speaking like Yoichi (though you wouldn’t mind him learning how to verbally defend himself from Yoichi).

It's only 90 minutes. There's over 20,000 people. Kaiser won't notice. Besides, high school was years ago. He's a professional player and seemingly a famous one, he would've met plenty of players and coaches, too many to even remember your existence.

You suck up your fear, the three of you cheering on Loki.

"Do you think I can be like Loki?"

The game concluded, and to your nephew's joy with France's win, 3 - 2. To be honest, you were still clueless about the sport, but you could at least tell Loki lived up to his name, rapidly scoring and leaving his opponents in the dust.

"Of course, you could be better than him!" You appreciate Isagi's support but that probably wasn't the right thing to say in an environment full of soccer fans. Nor the smartest.

"I'm going to head to the bathroom, I'll meet you outside." You hurry away, ready to get out of the stadium.

You were being too paranoid earlier, obviously nothing would happen. To a national athlete like him, someone he hurt all the way back in high school, someone who he entirely ignored for a few years too.

"Fucking found you."

As if the universe was transpiring against you once more, you're dragged into some unknown corridor, a hand silencing you.

It's him.

Michael Kaiser, now a full-grown adult. His high school popularity bloomed into real world fame and glory now. While your success had sprouted from seeds of hurt.

Now you're pressed up against a wall by him again. This time with his arms having an iron grip on your shoulders, roughly pushing you against the wall.

You can't help but reflect on last time something like this happened. But instead of childish affection it’s aggressive and rough, with his aquamarine eyes clouded with something unreadable. That wasn't particularly new, but what changed was that the foreign but hostile glint flickering in them.

All Kaiser does is stare, hair messy from the match and breathing unstable.

You don't say anything either, you can't even think properly, let alone find the right words to say.

"I've waited for this for so fucking long. You're too distracting."

His arms wrap around you, tightly, as if his life depended on it.

You can't move. Your body won't let you. It's not like you were petrified with fear. It was more so all the conflict of emotions. You weren't sure if you wanted to reciprocate the hug, scream for help, or spit in his face and swear at him.

"Kaiser... Please let go."

He abides, partially, changing back to his original position of holding you against the wall.

"No."

"Please?”

" You always fight back when you're uncomfortable." He wasn't wrong, you didn't exactly hate being in his proximity. You hated how he treated you, and how he's suddenly here again.

"You don’t mind this, right?”

Despite his words, his releases you, allowing you to run away whenever.

But you don't.

Because even though it'd be smarter to run away and never see him again, the tiny hope within you is still pleading for closure, and Kaiser himself.

"Kaiser, I can't, my nephew-"

"Is with Yoichi." Kaiser brings his face a lot closer to yours. "If you wanted to run away, you would've already."

Both of you remain silent, as your cheeks heat up at his touch and presence. His hands reach towards your face to caress your cheeks, the roughness of his calloused hands contrasting your soft skin. Annoyingly, you whimper at the unfamiliar sensation. It earns a cocky smirk from him.

"Cute, you really haven't changed."

"I don’t want to see you."

"Why? We both know you would've already kicked and slapped me if you really hated me."

"Because" Because he scarred you beyond words. "Because you hurt me. A lot." Your voice cracks up at the end, he's the one person you didn't want to be vulnerable around, both before and after heartbreak.

For the first time in forever, there's something vaguely readable in his eyes. Was that regret? Sorrow? Guilt? Empathy, even?

"I know, I could tell-"

"Then why did you do it?"

You've given up on sounding stoic, evident anger was displayed in your voice.

"I tried everything, dating other people. Yet you still haunt me to this day." Years of accumulated feelings were finally released. "Just when I finally figured out, I liked you, you fucking did that then, and then." The rest is cut off by him.

"... You liked me back...?" There's a significant shift in his tone, from cocky and confident to vulnerable and shocked. "You, liked me...?"

"Of course I fucking did Michael." A quiet gasp leaves his lips at the sound of you finally using his first name again. "You were so sweet and was always there no matter what, until you decided to hate me for no reason."

"No, I've never hated you-"

"Just stop lying. Please. First you lie about loving me and now-"

He swallows the rest of your words with a kiss, denying your claim. The kiss gives you butterflies, your cheeks heat up even more and his lips taste you and him; sweet and irresistible.

When he's done his face is flushed as well, lips swollen. His chest rises up and down, he seems more flustered from the kiss rather than the actual match itself.

It's back to the uncomfortable silence, his hands gripping your shoulders tight and various emotions clouding your mind and heart.

Without a word, Kaiser just leaves.

The action evokes a nostalgic yet dreaded emotion, it's just like how he initiates whatever he wants without considering anyone else.

You swallow your hurt, leaving the hallway and finding Yoichi and your nephew.

You don't lie to your loved ones. You’d rather die than deceive your nephew or your best friend Yoichi. But tonight, was an exception.

It's not like you wanted to make Yoichi baby sit your nephew ("Sorry, work suddenly called me in), but you were too hurt to spend time with anyone.

The bar's loud, all the noise drowns out your thoughts, as you're up to the nth bottle of alcohol, no one was keeping track.

It's out of character for you to drink so much, but the state of being disconnected from the world, not having to deal with any worries was irresistible.

"You're drinking a lot." A stranger seated next to you comments, you don't bother questioning who they were.

"I desherve it." You slur out, evidently flat out wasted. "I hate men! Especially the German ones." A few glares were probably received after you said that.

"Why's that?" Their calm tone juxtaposed your upset and livid one.

"Because, because, this bitch leaves me heartbroken for years, appears out of nowhere, kisses me and." You're cut off by a hiccup. "Disappears again! I, I-" You're a complete mess, hiccupping while chugging down alcohol, and now sobbing with tears messing up your expression.

The stranger doesn't respond, taking a quick sip from his own glass.

"Did you know," You begin explaining, despite them not asking. "I did so much. I never wanted to date much but I tried to so I could forget him. I even went to a party, and I'm scared of those. Heck, I wrote a whole ass book! At least I can monetize my pain."

"You must hate this guy."

"Beyond words, he's the reason why I think everyone will leave me, but I still feel like I have some kind of hope. If you want to know more, you should read my book." Now you were self-promoting, but the alcohol diminishes your shame. At this point it wouldn't be surprising if people were concerned about how much you've drank. "There's no point of a stupid psychology honours degree if I can't fix myself."

All they do is chuckle, still calm. "I'll read it, and I'm sure he likes you back if he kissed you. There's nothing about you to fix."

You burst into laughter; you sound borderline manic. "That's what I thought after he said he loved me." Another glass, swallowed down by you with ease.

"After all, there's no way the Michael Kaiser would actually love me."

The next morning you wake up, with a splitting headache and swollen eyes.

You try to get up and get started with the day, but the lights are so blinding, only amplifying the splitting headache.

How much did you drink?

Now you start remembering last night, the (probably) unhealthy amount you drank, your inconsolable bawling and that mysterious yet kind stranger. Your immediate reaction is to grab your pillow with plans of screaming into it, out of embarrassment, praying that you'll never meet that person again and that they'll forget who you are.

Wait.

Since when were your pillow cases white?

And where did your bookcase go? What about the drawings from your nephew and childhood you cherished and decorated your room with? And what happened to your clothes, since when did you own white robes?

Shit.

"Finally awake?"

Your eyes have finally adjusted to the light, and blinding white melts into something, no, someone.

Kaiser.

He's seated at the end of the bed, white robe matches yours, with his exposing his toned and muscular chest, and the navy roses blooming on his neck.

What the hell happened.

It's as if your fight or flight response was triggered, and your brain decided on flight with full confidence, you scurry backwards, avoiding him like the plague.

"Did we-?" The new and completely different outfit and waking up in his bed were obvious hints.

He blinks.

There's no fucking way.

"Did you at least use protection? If I get fucking chlamydia because of you, I'll ki-"

Kaiser laughs. So hard that it sounds like he can barely breathe.

"I didn't say we slept together. The y/n who never understood anything remotely sexual, instantly assuming we went that far." He composes himself, "No, we did not fuck. You were too drunk to consent."

"Then..." Your hands grip at the robe.

"Nothing happened. All I did was give you that to change into"

Alright, now you've confirmed that you don't need to get tested for any STDs or STIs.

"Goodbye then, where's my stuff?" As you try to get up, his hand holds you and your shoulder down, denying your question.

"Don't run away."

It's so ironic for him to tell you that when he stopped talking to you, avoided you, and even went as far as treating you badly. Anyone would want to run away if their first love who had scarred them emotionally randomly reappeared in their lives.

You remind yourself to remain rational, to stay calm and respond maturely, to deescalate the cascading sentiments overwhelming your heart, like a proper, polite, and perceptive adult.

But you don't want to be an adult. Not when it feels exactly like your high school years, ones where you had stayed up late just to innocently fawn over Michael Kaiser. Only for your heart to be a toy, one that he had thrown away and ruined merely because he had enough of playing with it.

You're a scared teenager alone in your room again, fearful of everything, heart closed off to the point not even you could fully comprehend what it was feeling.

You just want to run, to run away from all your problems until they'd give up hunting you down, until they found other prey to pursue, until you could live at peace with your scars.

When people mention 'confronting your fears', most would imagine someone fearless and undisturbed, someone who knows what they're doing. Yet you completely contrast that curated image, a troubled individual who wants to return to how they were before their irremediable suffering.

"Don't give me that crap. You're the one who fucking did that to me."

He's the one who decided to poison you with the suffocating fear of abandonment.

"You never cared for me in any way, why should I bother listening to you now?"

To break your heart was one thing. To do it out of nowhere without explanation after years of captivating affection was another.

Kaiser remains silent, expression still stoic.

"I hate you."

That's what you've told and convinced yourself for so many years, yet something inside of you refused to fall for your self-inflicted dishonestly. The part that miserably prayed that Michael Kaiser would one day go back to the boy who was head over heels for you.

You've managed to forget this torment for years, but all he's doing is ruining it, making it even more difficult to get over him and the indescribable hole in your heart.

But now, it doesn't seem like you're the only hurt one.

By the end of your speech, you're panting, despite only staying still in bed. You still have so much more to say, but you're already in disbelief that you've finally expressed the hardships plaguing you, and to the reason for said burdens.

"Why'd you hurt me?" And it finally happens. Tears. Ones that had hid from the world, cowering at the thought of another witnessing this pathetic vulnerability. “Everything would be so much easier if you never appeared again, but you had to randomly appear again to kiss me, only leave again.”

He finally speaks. Voice equally soft and weak as yours. “I know I did. And I know it wasn’t right. But I never wanted to, I never wanted you to hate me or end up hurt. I’ve always wanted the opposite.” Kaiser shuffles closer, hand inching closer towards yours, not daring enough to hold onto it.

He inhales, deeply, as if this whole ordeal had an emotional toll on him too.

“I didn’t avoid you because I hated you, or wanted you to get hurt. I wasn’t trying to play with your emotions either. I was young and foolish.” For the first time, he’s readable, evident sorrow painting his features. Right now, he was a complete juxtaposition of his image on the field, assertive and lionhearted to now frightened and uncertain.

He’s not done yet. “I’ve always liked you, from the day we started talking. I wanted to love you properly, to take you out on nice dates and to be a boyfriend no one could ever compare to. I was just… scared.” The Michael Kaiser admitting to fear was something new. “Scared of ending up as a disappointing lover or you never reciprocating. I ran away yesterday because I was a coward. But I don’t want to stay as one. I refuse to."

Kaiser continues. “It feels unreal, the idea of you liking me back when you’re so perfect. You’ve always been mature, diligent, and hardworking, your future seemed so bright with how academically proficient you were. At the time I was so unsure of myself and felt so inferior, it doesn’t justify anything I’ve done but I wanted to rather hurt instead of being hurt.”

“You, think I’m perfect…?” It’s such an innocent question. The praise seemed to melt away the resentment accumulated within your heart, and momentarily you forget wanting to leave.

“Of course, I do.” There’s still the same vulnerability in his expression, but this time it’s complemented with a soft smile. “I mean, look at you. You always got the top marks, and you’ve achieved a dream of entering the psychology field. I still love what you wrote about PSTD.”

How did he know that?

“I never mentioned my job.” He still remembers that one piece you wrote, a task that your English teacher had given. You were allowed to write anything you wanted to, and that was the birth of that PTSD essay, which Kaiser had found impressive for the level of detail it had.

“Your books state it.”

And how does he know about those too? You used a pen name for privacy and to avoid any attention to your personal life and loved ones.

“I never mentioned being an author.”

“You certainly did last night. I quote ‘you should read my book’.”

Wait.

A wave of realization crashed over you, the poor individual you complained to about Michael Kaiser was Michael Kaiser himself. Now the memories are flooding in, the declarations of hate, the miserable murmuring, and your stupidly embarrassing behaviour.

But even after recalling all the events and details of that night, you don’t remember providing a title and your pen name. It’s a complete secret, not even Yoichi or your own family know.

“I didn’t tell you the novel name though?”

Kaiser’s now grinning, but there’s still the soft feel to demeanor. “I’m a bit of a fan. ‘Where the Sea and the Horizon Meet’ is my favourite." It’s the book you wrote about him.

“But how did you know I wrote it?” Anyone can write about their tragic first love and the bitter yet beautiful saccharinity it entails. Your pen name didn’t allude to your legal one in any manner, and you dismissed any questions that interviews that attempted to intrude into your personal life.

“Because I instantly knew it was about you, about us. I’d never forget that day, right before English. When wanted to tell you I loved you since it was so pretty that day. I missed bothering you. I missed you.”

He actually remembered?

All this time you had assumed it was a memory that had been sitting at the back of his mind, only to be forgotten so easily after a couple of years.

You don’t say anything. It’s so confusing and overwhelming, the person who hurt you did it out of the fear of hurt, yet still missed you.

“You didn’t forget?”

“No. You were the first and only person I’ve ever loved.”

First… and only too?

You hadn’t shown any signs of auditory hallucinations recently, right?

Even though he himself just said it, it’s still a fever dream to you, unreal and fictitious.

Did you hear that right? You’re the first and only person he’s ever loved; all those touching memories were real, that heartfelt proclamation of love wasn’t fake.

Despite Kaiser’s confession to being in love with you, there was the tiny part of you that was still convinced that you were dreaming; that none of was real.

Because someone who completely destroyed you so long ago shouldn’t be able to waltz back in so easily.

Yet every part of you is begging for him to come back.

You haven’t said anything for a while, only lost in the storm of thoughts while trying to navigate the seas of your emotions.

“Same.” You whisper, you wish you had said something more than a simple agreement, but it’s all you can muster. And it’s true. No one else had been that loving with you. “I don’t hate you. I hate the pain I felt.” You take back your claim, and he looks like he’s received the best news of his life, relief washing over his features.

“I know, which is why, I would never do again. That’s if, if you’re willing to give me another chance.” He finally has the courage to hold your hand with his own, fingers ghosting over your knuckles. “I want to love you. Again. This time properly, and until I learn how to do perfectly.”

There’s an undeniable fear of you have of vulnerability and love, yet the offer is so tempting.

Is the risk really worth it?

You’ve always depended on logic and rationality to make decisions, and here, it’s clear that trusting someone who hurt you isn’t a smart idea. It’s common sense, but something about him makes you want to oppose your usual ideals; to get hurt over and over again until something works, to finally break down the walls you’ve miserably built, and to expose your heavily guarded heart.

“I love you y/n.”

It doesn’t the possess the same grandeur it did that day, years ago, but it still conveyed the same passion, laced with his true feelings for you.

Only this time, you say it back.

“I love you too… Michael.”

“Am I allowed to kiss you again?”

You permit his request, pressing your lips against his, and it tastes just as saccharine and tempting, but this time it’s now garnished with satisfaction.

“Congratulations on your wedding, Kaiser!”

A smile tugs at his lips as his teammates congratulate him, well pleased with how the event had been turning out so far. His parents were overjoyed about you and the occasion, and everything was running smoothly.

It’s been around three years since you had given him another chance.

You looked flawless, the outfit you chose complemented all your tones (though he’d argue that any colour and shade would’ve looked beautiful on you).

Kaiser couldn’t find the right words to describe how euphoric he felt. The closest to this happiest he’s ever gotten was when you accepted his proposal.

He's relieved and buzzing with a sense of pride. Not the typical, cocky kind, but the kind of proud where he’d be able to happily tell his younger self about all of this, that it all works out in the end, that he eventually makes up for his actions; that he ends up marrying his long time crush.

Everyone was happy, at least, except for one person.

“I can’t fucking believe you’d date and marry this man.”

Kaiser snickers at Yoichi, someone who he’s been competing against constantly and has been his rival for years but is also your best friend.

“I swear, he’s not that bad. But I understand if you’re disappointed.”

“Excuse me, I’m the perfect boyfriend and husband.”

“Oi, did you hear something? Must’ve been a fly. Didn’t expect any here.” Michael’s jaw drops at being ignored by Yoichi.

“Shit, I’ve forgotten the bug repellent, my bad. My mother might’ve brought some.” Michael lets out an exaggerated gasp at the betrayal.

“You guys are so mean.” You and Yoichi grin at his faux pout.

“Well,” Yoichi begins to slip away. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone; I’m going to go say hi to Kunigami and Hiori again. Kaiser I’ll kill you if you ever hurt y/n.” He waves a small bye to you before running off.

“Someone seems to trust you a lot.”

“I- “Before Michael can try to defend himself and respond with a witty comment, your nephew interrupts, with his parents following from behind.

“y/n! Congratulations!” He comes running towards you with a bouquet, so big that it was almost the size of him, it’s a miracle how he’s able to carry it. You quickly accept, hoping that it wasn’t a hassle for him to bring it.

“Thank you. How’d you carry these? They’re too big for you.”

“He insisted.” Your bother replies to you, his wife nodding. “He said he wanted to be the ones to give them.”

A hand playfully ruffles his hair. “Thanks bud.” Even after years he still has the same kindness and enthusiasm.

“We’re going to say hi to everyone, are you coming?”

“Can I talk to Michael and y/n more?” They nod, reminding him to be polite and greet everyone afterwards.

“I can’t believe you’re dating the Michael Kaiser though.” Kaiser stands with pride at your nephew’s disbelief, about to make a confident statement until your nephew continues. “You better behave properly, you clown.”

Again, Michael’s jaw drops and the sight has you biting your lip to avoid laughing uncontrollably. Your nephew runs off to his parents, saying that he wants to see his grandparents.

“Since when did he talk like Yoichi?” He nudges you, still shocked at being called a clown again. “He even waited for his parents to go. And he ran off immediately. ”

“No idea, but I like it.”

“Of course, you do…” He takes a few moments to stare at you, dazed by your beauty and seemingly in a trance. “You’re stunning.”

“What’s with that suddenly?”

“It’s not sudden, you’ve always been cute. And pretty. And just perfect in general.”

“Someone’s cheesy.” But your smile is out of control.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Giving me a second chance.” The morning you woke up in his hotel room comes to mind, and although you were conflicted on whether to let him back into your life again or not, you don’t regret anything.

“Liebling, I’m truly forever grateful for it.” His hand takes yours, planting a kiss on your knuckles.

Because it’s been amazing with him. From the small yet sweet things like how he'd pay attention to literally everything about you, and remember every time detail about you to his grand proposal by the beach, the one that was located near your high school, the one outside of the window when he first declared he loved you. You adored it all; the connection you and him had that no one else would ever understand, to how the sun sunk into the sea, breathtakingly beautiful. Even the aftermath of arguments because he always refused to deal with them immaturely, knowing the consequences of not doing things right better than anyone else. The mere thought of you crying could bring him down to his knees.

Now, if someone were to ask you about Kaiser you'd end up stumped, thinking of all his actions of love, from always defending you no matter what, even if it's him against the world and the media, to how he constantly teases you (he never shuts up about how you assumed you had slept with him when you woke up in his hotel room.) He's your everything, your boyfriend, lover, your own proof reader and soon to be husband.

Now, you'd describe him as your favourite, someone you adore beyond what words could capture, not even your experience as an author could ever change that.

“I love you, so so much. I would die for you Liebe.” Kaiser eagerly kisses you, and no matter how many times he does you never get sick of how he tasted, or how soft and tender they were.

“I love you too Mihya.” You breathe out, crimson dusted all over your face as you’re panting in between words.

He really wasn’t lying when he said wanted to love you properly.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #michael kaiser angst #michael kaiser #alexis ness #michael kaiser x you #fluff #second chance romance #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x y/n #hurt to comfort #bllk x you #bllk angst #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you

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nagy-bari · 3 months

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after 4+ years and some slow letter exchange they finally meet up again.

wife's design by that teaser dropped (not confirmed) and backed up by the daughters (eye shape, hair color and shape)

and yes they are over 30, and Chilchuck's nerves/job sterss caught up with him, and hey maybe the wife was also a little stressed? who knows? maybe i'm just a sucker for older characters?

sorry for the mess of image placing, read the pages from right to left aaand for my handwriting, if you cannot read, check the pic descriptions.

based on the headcanons of the wonderful Fumi from right here,

i'm a sucker for slow re-build, i want them to talk and settle back into being close friends, i'm okay with no romance but please let them talk, and check up on each other from time to time, maybe roommates if they feel too alone later on, just please please let them have closure. and friendship.

but if they do make up and rebuild their marriage as well, i won't complain. i just think they would have little games of surprising the other cause they have to re-learn all the quirks and new habits, but falling into old habits and jokes would be just sweet, like rediscovering why you love someone as they are is just- the best? like yeah i love you cause of this and this and this and it's amazing be it your friend or family or partner (i guess? no personal memory on that but following the old greek love is more than romance yada yada i'm rambling)

#chilchuck's wife #chilchuck tims #spoilers #heavy speculations #original fanart #original fanart comic #help i'm worse than Marcille with this #i know i should give them their privacy #like yeah we'll never know #but i wanna see them being okay! i need to know they can talk still!

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yanderes-galore · 2 months

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Hello, can you do og Bonnie with prompts: 24, 36, and 57

Sure! Me and @okchijt had a lot of fun doing this one! This is much different than my usual stuff and this one is strictly platonic! I hope you enjoy despite the different take :) This is more like traditional FNAF than my usual "Sentient AI" takes, plus it leans into more of a horror story. Take it as a breath of fresh air I guess, lol.

Yandere! Bonnie Prompts 24, 36, 57

"Don't you believe in fate? Fate wants us to be together...!"

"I'd hate to hurt you but... if you keep this up I might have to."

"You're stuck with me, like it or not."

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Murder/Child murder mentioned/implied (It's FNAF), Blood, Fear of abandonment, Trauma, Kidnapping implied, Violence, Mind break, Dark/Horror themes, Darling nearly vomits, Forced/Dubious companionship, You're childhood friends.

You recall when you were younger that you played with a boy at Freddy Fazbears. You would always have parties there for your birthday and when you met him he always came to yours. You remember the smell of pizza... the sounds of the arcade... and watching the animatronics sing and dance.

You could barely recall his name but you knew his favorite was always Bonnie. He was confident and prideful, always doing things to impress you. He was always in your fonder moments of the Pizzeria.

One day... your best friend said something weird during a party. He told you to not follow the "yellow rabbit". You found it odd why he was so suspicious... but you followed his warning.

After that and you went home... the Pizzeria closed down... and you never saw your best friend again. Freddy's used to be a place that brought you two together. Now... despite what the media says... you feel it took away the closest friend you had.

Years passed since then, allowing you to become an adult. You could never get over what happened that day. It got to the point that you needed some sort of closure.

Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria was mostly abandoned, except for the occasional Night Guard. You got word that the last one mysteriously quit according to some news. Against your better judgment and wanting to fill your need for closure... you prepare supplies and break into the mostly abandoned building.

Once inside you push aside your fears. You feel like you don't belong here... that you should leave. Yet you keep blaming yourself for the death of your best friend... for not being there... so you trek on.

You walk by with a flashlight through the dark building. You pass the animatronics... still idle and untouched for who knows how long. Your goal is near the back... where you last saw your friend before he was never seen again.

You're oblivious to the sharp pink eyes staring you down as you turn the corner.

Walking down hallways you come across a door near the back. Your flashlight shakes in your hand as you reach out. Something in your head tells you to run... something instinctual... but you open the door anyways.

You enter the room and search around. Your flashlight flickers as you catch strange stains in the room. Even worse the smell of something rotting fills your nose.

You walk in the room and search softly. After sometime you hear the door close shut behind you, causing you to jump with a loud scream. You spin around, only to freeze when your flashlight illuminates a bunny animatronic in front of you.

Bonnie.

You can't seem to explain it... how did it get here? Why was it silent? Why did it seem like it was staring-

"I can't believe it's really you... it's been years! I didn't think it was true but you really are here! You even knew where to look...." The bunny speaks, his voice both familiar in the sense you heard him sing... and something else you have trouble recalling.

Bonnie's talking... Bonnie's talking and he knows you. You're stunned, staring at the bunny with confusion and fear. Then the stench of rot fills your nose again and you get an idea... along with the urge to gag.

Maybe you just want closure... but...

"Jeremy...?" The name feels foreign for a moment, like it was locked away in your mind for years to prevent trauma. It's a stretch... but the bunny seems to perk up at the long forgotten name.

"Yes, that's right! But... I go by Bonnie now. That's my name now." The bunny... Bonnie responds.

Your mind begins to spiral.

"How... none of this can be possible... what-" You whisper to yourself. Was this the closure you needed? Was this what you wanted? Was this a nightmare? Now there's more questions....

"It can't be a coincidence! We first met here and became friends... this place is important to us... and here's where we meet again!" Bonnie's tone is full of excitement, his eyes never leaving you. "Don't you believe in fate? Fate wants us to be together...!"

When his words set in your mind continues to spiral. None of this should be possible. There's no way you're meeting your best friend again... but in a robotic suit. Maybe you're sleep deprived... maybe-

"I-I need to leave... I need to get out of here, this is a trick-" You whisper before trying to gun it for the door.

But it all happens so fast... too fast.

Next time you know you hit the wall. The breath is knocked clean out of your lungs as you collapse onto your hands and knees. You wheeze and cough... all while glowing eyes stare down at you.

"I'd hate to hurt you but... if you keep this up I might have to." Bonnie warns sadly, ears drooping when he sees how hard he hit you. You don't entirely hear what he said, the stress and adrenaline ringing in your ears. You only shake as you try to breathe again.

Bonnie realizes his mistake and shakes his head, deciding to change his tone and try this all again.

"I'm really sorry... I forgot how fragile you can be... especially now." The bunny laughs softly, playing it off as just a playful joke.

You feel sick. However, now that you've seen the true power of the robot... you decide it's best not to make it angry. You go quiet, looking up at the bot. This seems to please Bonnie.

"We have a lot to catch up on! We have all night! Perhaps even an eternity... as I don't plan on letting you go again...." The bunny coos, staring down at his old friend.

You try to protect, going to open your mouth. However... Bonnie's look turns threatening and you quiet yourself. Upon obeying the silent threat you're scooped off the floor in a tight hug.

"You're stuck with me, like it or not." Bonnie whispers softly as he holds his best friend. In response tears fall down your cheeks as you feel your mind slip away. Was it the rotting smell.... or was it because you met your friend again?

You finally cave and hug the animatronic back tightly. You feel his soft fuzz on your skin as you try to find comfort in him. You can barely contain your sobs.

"Jeremy... I'm so sorry..." You whisper. You aren't quite sure what you're apologizing for. His murder? For him losing his humanity? For not coming back sooner? For not dying with him?

Does it even matter anymore?

You have your friend back... you have closure... nothing else matters but your best friend.

#yandere five nights at freddy's #yandere fnaf #yandere fnaf 1 #yandere bonnie the bunny #platonic yandere

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connorsnothereeither · 3 days

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So like, a while ago I did a little update on the Brink fics, and I figured it was worth giving a kinda sad update on my other Fable fics as well.

At this stage, there are no plans to continue or finish Your Skin Beneath My Teeth (the second book in the Blood series).

I know this is probably disappointing, because I know a lot of people really loved the Vampire AU. But from a personal writing level, I’m just sort of unhappy with the direction of the books, and I don’t have the time to commit to rewriting them. I’m not invested enough in my own story, and while that’s a shame, I don’t know if there’s much I can do without just giving myself time to stew on it.

There’s also a logistical side to things as well. Fable is coming to an end in less than a month. I feel like it’ll probably take me months to finish the Brink series still first, which are the fics I’m personally more passionate about. And at a certain point, I don’t want Fable to be the only thing that consumes my writing for the next year+. Not to mention the time I want to dedicate to other SMPs and creative projects I’m involved in, like Cantripped, Bound SMP, and Terramortis, with even more stuff in the works.

On top of all that like… I’m just a guy, ya know. I’m a full time student, work part-time most days of the week, commute between 2 major cities regularly, and I have other things that just deserve my time more.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in fandoms for years, I know it’s shitty when fics you enjoy never get an ending. But I hope that like, people get where I’m coming from with discontinuing it, I guess.

Besides, there is, technically, an ending for Blood. I’ve had the ending written since the end of the first book (it’s just getting there that’s the problem) and so if people would like, as some sort of closure for the story, I would be happy to release that here on Tumblr or on my Kofi or something. Maybe I’ll make a follow up post with a poll.

I might as well mention that there is likewise no plan to “finish” the Band AU, but since that was always a collection of one-shots, there was never really a plan or end for any of it. It was always kinda disjointed without an end in sight lol.

I’m not saying that I’m NEVER going to go back to these fics. Just that it’s unlikely. But who knows, maybe someday I’ll crawl out of the dirt to finish them-

If you did only follow my Fable fics for the Blood books though, I’m sure some elements of my other fan works might appeal to you, if you want to give them a go! The horror/contemplations of humanity are the key theme of Brink, and the mystery/thriller, high stakes political conflict mixed with interpersonal melodrama is the focus of Cascading Skies, my new Bound fic. And of course those and so many more things are just key elements to like all of my storytelling my canon characters lol. But if none of that ticks your boxes, it was great to have y’all along for the bloody vampire ride :D

Anyway this was me getting sappy about setting aside a project I worked really hard on lol. Sometimes you gotta do that and sometimes that’s okay, and that’s an attitude I struggle with but am getting better at. I know don’t owe y’all any kind of explanation for this, I could have just stopped and let it die, but I wanted to give one. More for me personally really; I needed to say something about it publicly to like… fully cement in my mind what I decided on a long time ago. Anyway, catch y’all later when I’m not incredibly tired, and hopefully with a more silly goofy post ✌️

#fable smp #fablesmp #fanfic

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wishingstarinajar · 1 month

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I know, I know I'm a scratched record

But I'm dying to hear your thoughts on the Wakfu finale when you get to it!

I just finished watching it and it's uuh... hmm. I read people saying the finale was "satisfactory" but I am not fully on board with that sentiment.

Too much left unanswered, not enough wrapped up, too rushed to get to the end.

I know the Waven game is a continuation of sorts, it takes place decades after Wakfu's conclusion so that game might hold some answers or closure, buuuuttt... I'm not interested enough in the game to play and find out. I guess I've grown a bit tired of the whole cross-media info/lore some franchises love to do (like Blizzard and covering important info across the Warcraft games, books and short stories).

Wakfu season 4 obviously has an open ending, no matter that it is the final season, so who knows what might follow. I'm just a little saddened that the story picked up a little too late this season but the animation, particularly during action scenes, was pretty great... when not using the same static images of characters xDD They loved that a little too much but I understand the budget wasn't that big so I can't really fault Ankama for it.

Did I like this season? Mmmyyeeaaah, it's a mixed bag. Better than season 3 but not better than the first two seasons or even the OVA episodes. Glad it exists but I don't feel super satisfied with its conclusion.

HEAVY SPOILERS ahead, so be mindful but gonna share some thoughts:

Seeing Joris play a bigger part in the second half of the 4th season, and him vibing with Adamaï made me very giddy and happy. Love that for them, hope they become good friends. And thank fek neither of them died. RIP, Qilby, Armand and Brakmar (maybe?). The guys who needed to redeem themselves got their chance, at least.

Goddess Eliatrope was a big disappointment and an unlikeable character but I guess that was kind of the point...? Angry that she totally ignored Chibi and Grougal, like what the fuck even? Didn't even show a hint of acknowledgment towards them. What if they wanted to meet mom, huh?? And what even happened to Baltazar and Glip, who were in Emrub with the same kids that were asleep in Goddess Eliatrope's belly? What did she do with them?

But hey, at least my headcanon that the Sadida and Eliatropes will combine into a single kingdom/people (which I also wrote about in my Rebirth fic) actually happening was pretty satisfying x'D It even has Wakfu-infused trees, om nom nom.

A little frustrated with Necroworld (not the same Necroworld from the Transformers: Lost Light comics) because it's supposed to be a different planet in some other universe but it had dofus (dragon eggs) and races of the Twelve like Sadida, Sram and Sacrier. It was pretty confusing... Imo, it should have been something similar to The Upside Down (Stranger Things), or an alternate version of the world of Twelve rather than a completely separate place. But eh...

Why did nobody care about the state Inglorium was in, or that the Gods have disappeared? That bothered me so so so soooo much during the first two episodes; nobody non-Eliatrope or non-demigod cared that their God/Goddess was... well... gone. Aside from God Iop, where are they?? Hated the disinterest, hated the silence around it. Guess that's a mystery that will be unraveled in some other media.

Yugo grew tall and handsome and I'm not afraid to say it. Happy for him, though him suddenly growing so quickly was a bit silly. I figured there would be a time skip to justify his 'growth' that we saw in promotional images and teasers. Won't complain though, he deserved to finally be in a body that reflects his actual age, it took him long enough!

"Bootleg Alys" from the Dofus movie made a cameo in episode 11 which made me snerk. (I noticed a few more background characters from the movie that were re-used in episode 11.)

And that's all I have to say, at least here on Tumblr. It was quite a ride.

A big thanks Ankama and all the Kickbackers that made it possible; this show had its ups and downs over the past decade but it was enjoyable and loved. It still holds a special place in my heart and I will keep a tiny eye out for more Krozmos stuff in the future (like Welsh & Shedar, gimme!!).

#wakfu #wakfu season 4 #spoilers #q and a

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sidekick-hero · 5 months

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I want you to want me

(Teen | wc: 922 | steddie | prompt: open mic night for @steddieholidaydrabbles | tags: exes, open but hopeful ending, inspired by my favorite movie of all times 10 things I hate about you)

"Come on, Eddie. You've been moping around for weeks. Let's have some fun like we used to, man." Gareth was practically whining at Eddie and it was getting on his nerves.

"No way, man. I'm not moping, I just don't feel like going to some dumb-ass party to watch preppy jerks get drunk and barf in the bushes."

Never mind that the one person he actually wants to see won't be there. He'll still spend every second looking for that familiar shock of hair he loved running his hands through. He dreams about it still, can still hear the way Steve sounded when he tugged at the strands at the back of his neck.

He wonders when it'll stop hurting so much to think about him. To miss him like a fucking limb or something and still be afraid to even call him. What could he even say? I'm sorry for breaking your heart and I understand you hate me. The problem is that while acting like I cared about you for money I actually went and fell in love with you, so will you please give me another chance.

Yeah, sure.

"You're not even listening, dude. Harrington has really gotten to you," Gareth huffs, sounding genuinely upset. Eddie has hurt enough people he cares about, so he gives Gareth a look that says ‘I’m listening’ and Gareth rolls his eyes at him, but continues. "I told you about the open mic night, Will's reading one of his short stories and asked me to come. Me. This could be my chance. And you owe me man for all the crazy shit I helped you with while courting a jock of all people. So you coming or what?"

Gareth’s right, is the thing. Eddie owes him for everything, helping him in so many ways to make Steve fall for him. Coming with him to this stupid thing is the least he can do. He doesn’t have to like it though, so Eddie throws his arms up in the universal gesture of ‘fine, whatever, but I'm not going to enjoy watching you make goo-goo eyes at Will Byers’.

Gareth's rubs his hands together like some sort of super-villain with extremely fluffy hair and Eddie regrets all his life choices.

Open mic night is just as awful as Eddie thought it would be. There's this girl, something silly Thompson, and Eddie feels like he's listening to a small animal giving birth as she sings the national anthem. It's deeply disturbing.

He lost Gareth as soon as they entered the bar and Will spotted them and waved Gareth over. And that's a good thing, he's really not in the mood to watch them fall over each other.

They've been in this hellhole for almost an hour when he spots something that makes his stomach do somersaults while his skin starts to tingle all over. A shock of mousy brown hair, messier than usual, probably from Steve running his hands through it nervously.

His breath stops as he sees Steve climbing onto the stage with a single sheet of paper in his hand, chewing on his full lower lip as he stares out at the crowd. Eddie wants his eyes to find his. He is afraid that they will.

"Hey, uh, everybody. My best friend thinks I need to find some closure? Or something. Maybe she just likes to see me suffer for being an asshole in school. Anyway, I, uh, I'm just starting, I guess."

Eddie's stomach plummets at Steve's words. Closure. He should leave before he has to listen to Steve tell him and everyone in this room how much he hates Eddie.

He's not sure if he'll survive the damage to his heart, but he deserves the pain, he knows it. So he stays.

To everyone else, Steve must look calm, maybe a little embarrassed to be up there. But Eddie sees the way the hand holding the paper trembles, the way his eyebrows knit together, and the self-soothing way the fingertips of his other hand keep tapping his thumb.

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick, It even makes me rhyme. I hate the way you're always right, I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

Halfway through, Steve's eyes find his, and even with the way Steve pinches his nose, there is no way to stop the tears from streaming down his face. Eddie's heart breaks again for the man in front of him. God, how could he have been so stupid and selfish to accept an offer from Carver, of all people, to woo Steve so he could make a move on his sister Chrissy?

When Steve’s finished, he almost runs off the stage and out the door while Eddie stands shocked, Steve's words ringing in his ears.

But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

Maybe they still have a chance.

#steddie #steddie drabble #steddieholidaydrabbles #slowly trying to get back into writing so this daily drabble thing is a great idea #my writing

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cherry-blossomtea · 6 months

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I’m super mega not interested in discoursing about this so if you disagree please just scroll but. I suppose people being confused about Rosmontis’ role in Lone Trail is sort of expected given that she is like. Only referenced but she is and has been a Rhine Lab kid from the beginning. I can’t remember if Rhine is mentioned explicitly in her files but I think it’s at least referenced that Loken Watertank was funded by RL, and then of course she does pop up briefly in Dorothy’s Vision, so I for one really enjoyed getting some much needed closure on her story. Besides which. The entire plot of Dorothy’s Vision was predicated on the Rosmontis experiment. So.

As for the argument that it took the place of Ifrit’s character development. I mean sure I would always be down for more Ifrit Screen Time because she is daughter. But to be honest she’s kind of already had that character development I think people wanted off-screen. I see a lot of “well I shouldn’t have to read the manhua to know what’s going on in the story” and that’s fair (even if the manhua is free and is better than like 90% of the VN but whatever) but just going off her module and her oprec it’s clear that she’s growing up fast and developing a strong sense of responsibility. I think she’s forgiven Saria and Silence and she’s too laid back to care about much more, and that in and of itself was a delight to see in Lone Trail. We just happen to be catching the tail end of her character development and I for one felt just as much a proud mama bird as Silence. She got plenty of screen time it just wasn’t…her growing up I guess? But we already have quite a lot of that even without the manhua.

Literally my only Ifrit Complaint was that she didn’t get a confrontation with Parvis, or show any sort of emotional reaction to him being there whatsoever which was. Out of character for sure, thinking about her module. But that was about it, and I still enjoyed the wrap-up with Parvis and Silence. Ifrit is one of my favorite characters and LT got my stamp of approval so do with that what you will.

#SHE DROVE A CAR #yes she stole the car BUT SHE DROVE IT #like whatever this was the PARENTHOOD EVENT #mama duck doctor and their ducklings #arknights #lone trail

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pennyserenade · 7 days

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wish you were here.

chapter five - fade into you | ao3 link | previous chapter

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella) rating: t (teen) tags/warnings: angst, brief mention of infidelity, alcohol word count: 2.1k summary: Mariella and Javier continue to feel their way through a friendship. a/n: sorry this is taking me so long to write. love you

A tattered floral scrapbook of Mariella’s sits, face up, on the table. She stands in the corner of her kitchen, looking at it as though it has wronged her in some way. And in some ways, it has.

In one hand she holds a glass of water and in the other, her telephone. Henry Rath’s number has been typed in, and her fingers hesitate to dial it. The trip down memory lane has proved to be a bitter one. So much of her life had been documented in that scrapbook, from graduations to weddings to the first house, to the very last birthdays she and Henry would spend as a couple together. It was hard to ignore him when he was all there—a little piece of him merged forever with a little piece of her.

She knew it wasn’t fair, what she did to him. Or rather, what she’s doing to him. In the past three months, he’s left a handful of voicemails she’s deleted before even finishing. She screens most of her calls, just on the offhand chance that it might be him, and each time it makes her feel wrong. At first, it started off with good intention—she wanted to leave him alone, to let him go back to his life. But eventually, the more she thought about what they had done, the more ignoring him became less altruistic. Every time she hears the phone ring, she thinks of him in that hotel room and that little girl that hung on his hip, and she wants as far from it as possible.

She places the telephone back in its cradle. The excuses are endless: it is Tuesday and she works tomorrow, so she shouldn’t start something she doesn’t know she can’t stop; he probably isn’t home from work yet; he’s likely forgotten about it and to call and remind him now would be cruel; his wife could pick up; closure isn’t the sort of thing either of them are particularly good at.

Mariella picks up the telephone again. She waits patiently as it rings.

“Hello?” Chucho answers.

She leans back onto the counter, swirling the water in her cup. “Hey, Chucho. I was wondering if Javi’s home.”

“Javi?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, Javi. I never thanked him for helping me with my classroom last month and I’d like to.”

There’s a beat of silence before Chucho speaks again. “Javi’s always home, just never know where,” the man laughs. “Would it be alright if I had him call you back? I gotta go find him.”

Mariella glances over at the scrapbook on the table. “That’d be lovely, Chucho. Thank you.”

When he hangs up, she moves over and closes the book shut. If she wasn’t so goddamn sentimental, she might throw the whole thing away but she is, so she can’t. Instead she tucks it away in the cupboards over her oven, where she’s stored a lone bottle of tequila for about two years now, and then she sits back, waiting. The phone rings a few moments later and she doesn’t hesitate to answer it. “Hello,” she picks up.

“Mariella?” Javier asks. His voice is low, almost a whisper.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner. I wanted to thank you for the classroom. I’ve been using it for about a week now, and it looks wonderful.”

On the other end, she can hear him shift with the phone. “It was no problem,” he replies softly. Then, after a pause, he says, “How are you, Mari?”

“I’m good, Javier.”

“That’s, uh, that’s good.”

“How about you?”

More movement. “I’m good too.”

“My dad says he hasn’t seen you in the movie store as of late,” she says. Javier coughs awkwardly.

“No? I guess I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy avoiding me? ‘Cause if so, I assure you that’s a safe zone. I don’t work there during the school year, remember?” It’s meant to come out teasing, but, at the current moment, she lacks the exact humor needed to pull off the weight of that sentence. She punctuates it with a laugh that is more of a huff than anything.

He protests. “I—That’s not why.”

“No?” she asks simply.

“No, not really. There’s just been a lot to do around here. We got new horses. There’s a fence that needs to be built. Chucho just needs me more than the television does.” He attempts to laugh, but it sounds forced. She doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Think you could spare an hour or two to go get dinner with me?”

“You want to get dinner?” he sounds in disbelief.

She can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. One of my new student’s parents owns the bar downtown. They gave me two coupons for a free dinner.”

“Oh,” he replies. “Well, I’ll have to get cleaned up. Can you wait?”

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll meet you there at, uh—“ Another pause, “—how about seven?”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright, see you then,” he replies.

“Yeah, bye,” she adds awkwardly, hanging up.

Slumping her shoulders, she lets out a deep sigh. Why must everything feel so fucking hard lately?

—-

“Thought you didn’t go to bars,” Javier says, bringing his beer to his mouth. He’s teasing, she can tell: that slanted brow, the pursued lips working hard not to press into a comely grin. She takes a sip of her own drink, and shrugs her shoulders.

“I don’t,” she hums in response.

The dinner crowd at the bar is surprisingly large, but conversation is easy to have. It’s nicer, really, in a place like this - too busy to have to worry if the table next to you is listening in. Not that she and Javier have ventured to any topics unsafe for public consumption. They’ve been good, drinking their beers, making small talk the way one might with a friend they’ve grown apart with. It’s got an intimate air to it, but it’s stilted for a strange, heartbreaking reason.

They don’t talk about all that happened weeks ago, or why they’re sitting here now. Mariella doesn’t mind, really. This is the thing she enjoys about Javier, what she has seen in him since the beginning: he isn’t interested in brewing in the past. If she were a better woman, this might worry her, but luckily enough she isn’t. She understands all too well the temptation to look forward and never backward.

The beer is making her feel warm and pleasantly buzzed. In the corner, there is a jukebox playing soft country songs and some people are dancing slowly in the middle. She and Javi watch them curiously, resting back in their chairs.

“How’s the teaching going?” He looks back over at her.

“It’s going well. The kid’s are as brilliant and witty as ever,” she smiles softly. “How’s the farm?”

Javier shrugs his shoulders. “It’s work. For the first time in months, I’m finally getting a full night’s rest, though, so I won’t complain too much.”

“I’ve always loved that piece of land,” Mariella says, looking back at the dancing patrons. “Miles upon miles of greenery. And the horses! I love driving up and watching them run.”

This makes Javier smile. “Chucho is proud of it and he should be, I suppose. I certainly appreciate it more now than I used to. In Colombia, it was like that—beautiful, I mean. And so green. Standing out in the fields sometimes reminds me of being back there.”

“Do you miss it?” she asks, before she finds the sense to know better.

Javier’s eyes rake over the crowd, too. He watches a young couple in the corner for a bit, smiling as the boy’s hand gradually works its way lower on the girl’s back. Before he touches her ass, Javi looks back to Mariella, his smile faint but present. “Sometimes,” he answers.

“I’d love to go someday.”

“You should,” he encourages. “It’s magnificent, really, unlike anything else. That shit they say in the news—it’s true, but not nearly that bad. Not for regular people with clean hands.”

Mariella shakes her head. “Just when I thought you had me sold, you had and go say that.”

“What, your hands dirty?” he narrows his eyes.

She holds her palms out. “Red,” she nods, though they aren’t. He breathes out a quiet laugh.

“I think you’d be alright—but go to Mexico first.”

“You sound like my mother,” she laughs too.

Looking over at Javi, Mariella debates whether to ask him if he wants to dance or not. The beer has made her feel a little more relaxed, but she’s not without her reason. She remembers the first day they met - really met - and how he said he didn’t know how to dance anymore. She also remembers the kitchen, and the incident that has driven them apart for a month.

Before she’s given the chance, a woman stops in front of the table. She’s pretty — big blue eyes, an endearing grin — the kind of woman for whom the country accent was made to be spoken by. “Javi,” she says, someplace between shocked and amazed.

Mariella feels bad at first, thinking this is going to be another one of those small town run-ins he hates, but when she looks over at him, she can tell it’s not. Something softer takes hold of him, something almost tender. Mariella feels almost like an intruder as he says, “Hey, Lorraine.”

Lorraine’s eyes meet Mariella’s, and then go back to Javi’s. Javi understands. “Mariella, this is Lorraine. She’s my—“

“His old friend,” she finishes for him, extending her hand for Mariella to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve known about you for years. You’re all your Daddy talks about on Sundays sometimes.”

Lorraine can’t be much older than she is—maybe five or six years—and yet she seems so much more mature. She looks like what Mariella feels she’s been trying to attain her whole life: this perfect, well-rounded, soft-spoken girl who says words like ‘Daddy’ and manages not only to sound sincere, but sweet.

Mariella shakes her head and smiles politely. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Lorraine glances over her shoulder, holding her finger up to a man standing by the entrance. “My husband,” she supplies, looking back at them both. “Listen, I better get going but I just wanted to say it’s nice to see you out and about, Javi. A lot of people here missed you.” Lorraine looks over to Mariella. “And really, it’s lovely to meet you, Mariella. I wish I had more time to sit and chat, because so many people have been telling us about your school. I’ve got a little one about school going age, and I’d love to put her in it.”

“Oh,” Mariella says, “Well, I can give you my number if you’d like.”

“Could you?” Lorraine smiles. “Oh, that’d be lovely.”

Mariella reaches into her purse and rummages around for a pen. When she finds it, she takes one of the napkins from the table and quickly jots down her information. “I wrote down my home number and the school’s. I wouldn’t mind answering any questions you have, but if you’re interested in enrollment information, the office number will be most helpful.”

Lorraine nods. Her hair bounces with her head, and Mariella can’t help but feel like she’s encountered a real life Barbie of sorts. She can imagine that she and Javier must’ve been real good friends, but it doesn’t do anything more than amuse her.

“Bye, Javi,” Lorraine says, throwing up a hand. She pats Mariella on the shoulder on the way out, “Thank you again,” she says softly.

Mariella rushes out an “Oh, you’re welcome” and Javier offers a wordless smile. They both watch her return to her husband, but Mariella returns her eyes to Javier long before he does to her. She watches the way a frown takes over his lips.

Javier brings his beer back to his lips, seemingly shaking the encounter off. The tenderness is replaced by whatever was there before. It’s no less kind, but certainly not as intense.

“She was my fiancée, once upon a time,” he explains. Mariella wouldn’t have asked, but she’s happy he’s willing to give her that information freely. She nods her head, not saying anything in reply.

Her eyes return to the crowd, and they both settle into an introspective silence. Mariella forgets she ever wanted to ask him to dance in the first place. For a little bit, she even forgets her own troubles, too.

She didn’t entirely know why she had called for Javier like she had earlier. He’d been on her mind, sure, but no more than Henry. In fact, a lot less than Henry. Something inside of her had told her to do it, so she had. She’s happy she did, now.

Misery loves company they say, and she thinks she might’ve found herself a companion in one Javier Peña.

#javier pena x reader #javier pena #javier pena x you #javier pena x female oc #javier pena x oc #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x female oc #javier peña x oc #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic

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gamerbearmira · 5 months

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🌻 Omg, Polar Express AU without Cocooned looks so cute! The Cocooned looked cute to begin with, but I'm a sucker for AUs where Mira has a reason to not have a gift or even just gets to have a gift, lol. You said you have a snippet already planned or made for it, so does this mean you have ideas set out for it? Basically, I have QUESTIONS.

How long does it take Augustín to realize that his Christmas Magic is what kept her from getting a Mardigal Gift? And does he ever reveal to Julietta any part of this, such as what he does every Christmas Eve or even just why her daughter doesn't have a gift when he figures it out? I have a thought that he would tell Juli only after she starts freaking out about why Mira has no gift (though in the privacy of their room, because she looks the type to only freak in her bedroom where she can stop being "the strong one").

RIGHT??? I LOVE AUS LIKE THAT TOO. Guilty pleasure tbh. I guess it just gives me the closure the movie never did (except in the one kids book where she DID have a door but shhhhh

ANYWAY YEAH I DO HAVE IDEAS❗❗ I think Julieta was the only one who knew. Agustín might have implied it to everyone else, but since he never explicitly stated it, they just. Assumed he really liked trains and Christmas 😭😭 He told Julieta because she didn't want her waking up on Christmas Eve and wondering where he went 🥸

He does sort of assume she might have it. But it's only ever confirmed when Agustín gives her a silver bell and she hears that stuff. Sure the other kids might hear it, but Miranda heard it the first time. So, he sort does some other things and makes the deduction that yes, she inherited Rojas Christmas Magic and not Madrigal Gift Magic❓❗

An idea I had was Mirabel did get a room, but she also had a train she could summon (FAR smaller than the Polar Express; think of those trains they have at zoos or amusement parks). Basically she went around as a "conductor in training" and basically gave people rides to where they needed to go. Or just for fun. The trains makes its own tracks, cause magic, duh, but she can go just about anywhere with it.

Anyway, because I never expanded on this au. I never really had many ideas. But as you all know, I'M ALWAYS HAPPY TO SEE YOURS 🗣🗣🗣

A stupid. Joke I had in my mind was Mirabel would always ring the bell. And Alma would be like "what is that ringing???" Implying that she believed in Santa and Christmas lol

#my asks #my asks are open #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto Agustín #conductor Agustín au #polar express #the polar express #polar express au

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psychelis-new · 2 years

Text

pick a pile: "In the fall"

take a breathe and choose the photo/number that calls you the most to read about what the upcoming autumn season may have in store for you.

don’t take the reading too seriously. only take what resonates with you and leave the rest. remember that is a general reading and some things may not resonate with you. Also, you're in charge of your life.

(photos found on unsplash)

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1 - 2

3 - 4

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pile 1

Pile 1 you may have a tendency to look at the small details, at the little thing that doesn't go well and worry about it, instead of seeing the whole picture and trying to just go with the flow and enjoy all the good that is going on around. Could be a sign of perfectionism that might have been instilled in you in your childhood (you needed to do all perfectly to be acknowledged - that's a very painful trauma, sorry). Or maybe there's some sort of difficult realtionship you need to find a way to end.

This autumn you're learning to talk about your feelings, to let it all out. To be acknowledged no matter what. You're ending this painful cycle with the past. Things are gonna change for you: I only see abundance, freedom and happiness. You'll learn to show love to yourself, to take care of yourself and your needs, both emotionally and physically (you may gain financial independence too, or be more wise with how you spend your money). You're going to value the importance of healthy relationships, made of equal giving and receiving.

You may embark on a new journey (I guess you'll start a completely new cycle, after having learnt all the lessons you needed to), I also see travel for many of you - so you may end up starting a job or new study course in a different place. You won't be alone though, so you don't have to be scared. Let your Guides help you (I don't feel it's gonna be just your Guides: you may find your soul family somewhere, or anyway meet new people that will be part of your life - for some, it can also be a new romantic interest). Stand strong through your battles (especially inside yourself): you're being prepared for what's to come; and remember to focus on your goals and what you really want to get. Find your yin/yang balance.

songs: home is far away | epik high ft ohhyuk; the worst | jhené aiko

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pile 2

I'm channeling a song about "break" (can't really remember the band performing it and it's driving me nuts) so you may find a break into something (maybe some betrayal coming to light) or some annoying stuff. Or, for some, could be a painful break up/goodbye (doesn't have to be romantic, it could be family, friends, colleagues, school mates...).

Whatever I'm channeling 3000 other songs. I mean, guys...

You may be in a kind of stressful period and this may block a bit the blessings/new starts that are due to come to you. I think there's some closure with the past that needs to be done (for real: some of you may think it's already closed, but probably the other party, or a trigger, may make you see things differently). For others it could be about finding out something from the past, in particular: some people judging you or trying to block you or just having done something behind your back. For as much as it may hurt to find these things out, don't let this get to you too much. You're not responsible for others' feelings/doings (and in general: if you're doing a good job, chances are haters and sabotaging people will come to you very easily). Just be clear about where you stand, about your feelings and boundaries. And stop this inner battling you're being self-inflicting: it's not worthy. Remember poison only affects those who drink it. Don't drink that, let others do ;). Don't stress over things that won't help you grow anymore. Ofc, feel all the pain you need to feel cause it's not good to sweep stuff under the rug and pretend to be okay when you're actually hurting; but then let it go. Let the past stay in the past. Find your emotional stability: do not turn into someone you're not, don't let the pain change you. You're strong, you can control your mind and heart and don't let things get to your core and change you. Manifest a new start, manifest peace, manifest control. You can have it all. Again, just beware of people that may be willing to hurt you again (learn fast your lesson about it so it won't happen again, and you'll be able to receive your new blessings) during your journey, or random traps of your mind (in particular).

(if you feel called to check pile 3, do that)

songs: a drop in the ocean | ron pope; it was bliss | settlefish

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pile 3

You may be coming out of a tough period of shadow work/healing (or a tough period in general). I see a huge bright smile and lot of light. A message may arrive out of nowhere for some (it'll bring a good news, something that will make you "estatic").

I see this autumn you'll keep working and learning, practicing a lot of self care but also learning new skills for what you want to manifest in your life. And you're also have more strenght and will to manifest (I mean, you deserve accolades, even more than before. Keep going!) You're being more open and confident, especially about your ideas and feelings. You won't hide yourself much anymore. You're be more into yourself, your beautiful amazing special self. You'll totally be in your power, and won't shy away from it, no matter what. You'll be in the light. You'll put down to work and get whatever you want. And you know you will, cause you are in charge of your life, you are the architect of your life, so keep building!

Self sabotaging, self inflicted pain, or having others hurt you or control you, won't be a thing anymore. Things will completely change for the better, you'll reap the fruits of all your hard job. Your Guides will always be by your side guiding you, also along your spiritual journey - may mean you're being spiritually awakened/enlightened during this season, and be more balanced between your material and spiritual light. For some, it can be that you're going to finally accept your mission here as a lightworker/tarot reader/astrologer/... and learn more about it/how to do it at your best. You may have struggled in the past to fully accept and welcome that, maybe you didn't fully believe you were good enough/were not ready to take on that journey, but it seems that now it's time.

For some, you might meet someone that will guide you through this spiritual awakening (or maybe you will meet your destined person/especially if you had drems about them - btw, some of you may have had dreams about your mission here too. Either way dreams may be relevant, you may be getting lot of important downlods there or foresee future events).

(if you feel called to check pile 2, do that)

songs: dreaming of you | selena; i love you | frank sinatra

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pile 4

Pile 4, let's immediately start with an angel number: 222. For what I am getting, you'll be more organized, and you'll prioritize yourself and your needs much more than in the past, You may start a new diet, exercise more often, meditate, or just be more in tune with your body as well. You will be looking at things differently, giving them the importance they actually have. Also, you will try to live with less stress, to let things go with the flow, control them a little less and enjoy more. I am getting a very funny/lighter energy: no matter what happens, you'll try to find the bright side even in the darkest times (not in a way that doesn't validate your feelings or that you won't be sad/hurt: more in a way that show you understand the real worth of what is going on. You've grown/will grow emotionally).

Some may receive an important message, especially through social media.

You'll indeed learn to look at the bright side (tarots confirmed). You'll learn more about yourself too, and to trust your inner guidance with determination. You won't doubt your inner feelings anymore. You will be ready to work towards your dreams, and find ways to make them come true. If you dream about starting a relationship (could also be about bettering the one with yourself tbh)/finding new friends, or reinforcing the one/s (could be friends/family too) you're in, evrrything will arrive/happen, so don't worry much about it: keep working on you and get ready for it/them (it's gonna be amazing). Everything will start so suddenly that you'll be surprised: maybe you'll still be doing some inner work, when things will start to shift in so many ways. Don't worry, keep giving to yourself (even your inner child, give them attention), and keep being balanced and focused. It all will pay off in ways you cannot even imagine now. Remember to keep the lessons you learnt from the past always with you and don't let yourself be easily fooled by things (be mindful and objective).

songs: and i | ciara; girl's not gray | afi

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