— Lost Signals & Tunes, Coriolanus Snow

if you see me getting manipulated by a brown eyed schizophrenic cult leader leave me alone i’m exactly where i want to be.

Elliot (NSFW)

* = Haven’t read yet

~ = Favorite

- Show, Don't Tell~

- Morning Sex*

- New Kid

Hi! If you’re still taking requests, could you do a Lottie x reader where she gets a vision of her gf being injured so she stays by her side to protect her?

PAPER CUT

pairing: lottie matthews x reader

word count: 1238

notes and warnings: i did lottie a lil dirty in this one she is the embodiment of my anxiety in this fic. very mild TW for mentions of self harm (its just mentions of lottie cutting her hand to give the wilderness blood like in the show ykyk). also i promise i wasnt on crack writing the end of this w the cookies

It felt like you were being haunted by a second shadow.

You didn’t really mind it. You loved every second you were able to spend with Lottie. But ever since you’d gotten up this morning she’d been extra close to you, following you from room to room, sending you an excessive amount of texts to check on you between the classes you taught at the wellness center.

She had even gone with you to the farmers market, which, due to her great distaste for life outside the compound, tended to be an extremely rare occurrence. Even there she would hardly let you out of her sight, tried to carry everything for you, almost wouldn’t let you drive and volunteered to instead, which you declined. She had been off somehow, all day. Anxious.

She got like that sometimes, you noticed. Whenever she saw something or met someone that reminded her of her time in the wilderness, or her time in Switzerland. There was a need on her end to be close to you, for in solitude was when the memories came. Normally you were fine with it. It was a privilege for you to give her the comfort she desired and needed.

But somehow, you thought that today was different. It wasn’t just a desire to be close to you that had her by your side but something else accompanying it, as if she were worried about you, as if something might happen.

In the car on the way home from the farmer’s market, you’d finally had enough. She had again tried to stop you from driving, saying she was concerned about the traffic, but she had been so erratic all day that you’d seen right through the excuse.

“Lottie,” you sighed, turning the car on and turning out of the parking lot, “what’s going on with you?”

She was silent, and you looked over to see her lost in thought, and you wondered if she had even heard you.

“Lottie,” you said again.

She jumped, as if you had hurriedly woken her from sleep, and she met your gaze with slight alarm.

“Are you okay?” You asked, though you knew the answer.

“I’m fine,” she said, and even gave you a forced half-smile, and you were going to let the matter drop when you saw her tracing the scar on the palm of your hand — you knew what this always led to, the blood, the sacrifice.

You pulled the car over. You knew it was a bit of an overreaction, but the farmer’s market had been in complete chaos and with Lottie’s multiple attempts to keep you from driving, you were nearing your limit.

“Lottie,” you said with all the patience you could muster, “you need to tell me what’s wrong. Please. You’ve been following me like a shadow all day, and while I love your company always, it feels like there’s something else going on. If it involves me, I have to know, and if it doesn’t, I’d still like to know so I can help you.”

She didn’t meet your gaze, just kept tracing the scar on her hand, almost like a child. Until suddenly she did look up, finally meeting your eyes, and you could see the terrible anxiety in her gaze. “The visions came back,” she said simply.

You sighed. You never knew what to say about the visions. Part of you thought it was all in her head, that she needed to see a therapist about it, that they were delusions. But another part of you, a part of you that you tried to subdue, knew there was more to it than that. That something in the wilderness really had called to and captivated those who would listen, and that being had never truly left.

“What did you see?” You asked.

She hesitated, fingering through the slight tangles in her dark hair. “I saw you. And blood. You were cut, I think, I’m not sure. But I didn’t want you to get hurt. I think that’s what it wants, blood.” She looked down at the scar on her hand. “If I can just give it what it wants, maybe…”

You shook your head, taking her hand. “I’m going to be fine. Maybe it wasn’t a vision, maybe it was just a dream, or… I don’t know. But nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m right here. And you don’t need to give it anything.”

“You can’t know for sure,” she said, her tone becoming increasingly ominous. “You haven’t seen what happens when we refuse to give it what it wants, if it feels neglected or suppressed.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. The way she described it to you, the hunger of whatever being she believed watched her, was haunting. There was nothing you could have said to convince her that she was wrong, and part of you didn’t really even know if she was.

You took her hand, shaking your head. “Nothing is going to happen, okay? And even if something does happen, we’re prepared now, right?” You turned her hand, gesturing to her scar, which you could tell she had tampered with a little while ago. “Please don’t do this anymore.”

She attempted to protest, but saw the look you gave her, how deep your concern for her ran. She relented, nodding. “I won’t.”

You believed her, or at least as much as you could.

Attempting to lighten the mood, you reached into the backseat, pulling out a small paper bag. “Anyway, while you were going fucking ham on the macrame booth at the market, I got us these,” you said, opening the paper bag to reveal three cookies.

“Shit,” you stopped, ripping your finger away from the bag. The bag had cut your finger, had given you a paper cut. The slightest bit of blood came up out of the cut, coating it, and suddenly it clicked in your mind. “Lottie,” you said, smiling slightly, resisting a laugh. You showed her your finger, and she paused.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, and you could tell the worry she wore was dissipating. “A fucking paper cut… I had a vision of you getting a fucking paper cut.”

“Your third eye needs to chill a bit,” you teased, and she smiled, rubbing her temples. “You okay?”

Lottie nodded, chuckling. “Just give me one of those cookies.”

“I think I should have two of the three. I mean I did bleed for them, so…”

“Well, you wouldn’t have if you had listened to my warning.”

“Split the cookie?”

“What kind are they?” She asked, genuinely invested in the custody of the third cookie.

“Chocolate chip.”

She reached for the cookie. Chocolate chip was her favorite. “I think I deserve the whole thing, then.”

Quickly you took possession of the third cookie, holding it by your head, opening your mouth to take a bite.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Deciding she’d had enough of a rough day as it was, you obliged, splitting the cookie in half and giving her the half that was slightly bigger. “See, you left me alone for a little while and came back to find me with cookies. Everything was fine.”

“Yeah, but if I’d been with you, we would have gotten four cookies and we wouldn’t have had this horrible custody battle.”

“Questioning my cookie buying skills, hm? I hope there’s a paper cut in your future.”

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Taglist: @ladyveela @thedeconstructionist @cordeliass @christies-fleur @traumatisedfangirl @goodeday2u @paulsonsratched

( ig ) ( tt ) ( twt )

Miguel o’hara sketch fo today ’ .🔎🖇️

goodness i’m so tired of seeing this over and over again, both on ao3 and on tumblr.

do not tag your fic as reader-insert if they’re an original character!

that’s literally the opposite of a reader-insert, which is when the character is a blank slate, devoid of any physical characteristics such as skin/hair/eye colour etc and without a name.

there is no such thing as “reader is an ofc, not y/n.”

again, that’s just an original character, not a reader-insert. do not tag it as a reader-insert.

you’re clogging up tags that don’t apply to your story. write all the ocs you want, go ham and crazy and etc. but use the right tags for the love of god.

i’m sick of having to scroll through dozens of oc fics and getting tricked into clicking on a story i thought was a reader-insert just for it to end up being abt a white woman with a ~quirky~ name 🤷🏽‍♀️

getting that august feeling (things that have ended endlessly are ending again)

Hotd writers love parallels so you already know this image will be recreated with them on opposite sides

“judas, must you betray me…with a kiss?”

— lost time | ron weasley

+ ron weasley x witch!reader

boy, the lack of ron fics on here is saddening. my goofy king is so under-rated so i just had to write someting. this is purely self-indulgent because i'm obsessed with auror!ron and miss hogwarts. can you imagine dancing with ron in auror robes? swoon.

tags: fluff, getting-together, aged up/adults, after hogwarts

You're not sure how long you've been staring. It might have been an embarrassing amount of time — if you cared to check.

Time has been good to him. He is taller than you remember, lankier than ever, cheeks hollowing out and accentuating his strong, angled jaw. He's dressed in Auror robes no doubt, the thick black material cutting into the pale, freckled flesh and contrasting tastefully with his fiery red hair.

You spot Harry Potter beside him, who, to no one's surprise, is surrounded by a swarm of people as Ron snickers at him from the edges of the group. Harry throws him a disgruntled look. Their boyish tendencies make you smile, as your mind's eye turns back in time, to your years at Hogwarts.

While most people in your year had been obsessing over the Boy who Lived, you had had your eyes set out for his best friend. He had been, after all, your then closest friend's brother. But nothing had ever happened except for him once borrowing a quill from you and then he was someone else's.

And now, years later, there's just a small flutter in your heart at the sight of him. The dysrhythmia induced by a school girl crush has long disappeared but he's plenty handsome and that is hard to ignore.

"If you'd like me to introduce you, you need only say the word," Ginny's voice stirs you out of your daze.

You blush, tearing your gaze away from the red-head and look at the witch beside you. There's an all too familiar glint in her eyes that makes you frown. You had already caught up with each other several minutes ago, delighted at finally being able to meet each other at this Hogwarts Reunion, which was otherwise impossible because of your busy schedules.

"It's Harry you should be worried about," you retort, gesturing at the sea of innumerable witches he has now disappeared amidst.

"Ron's not seeing anyone at the moment," Ginny notes nonchalantly and you almost choke on your drink.

"It was a school crush, Ginevra," you mutter, but your words sound hollow to yourself as you watch Ron Weasley tilt his head back and laugh at something Luna Lovegood had just said.

"If only you had told me before year seven...," she mumbles, trailing off into her own thought. Only when Harry, Ron and Hermione had famously left their last year at Hogwarts to go on a quest to save the world (a story that was now a bed time tale for the new generation of wizards and witches) did you confess to Ginny that you had had an unrequited crush on her brother. But then the world almost ended, lives were lost and you lost touch with your only link to the Weasleys.

"If only. Too bad a dark, evil wizard was trying to kill us all," you mutter and Ginny throws you a look.

"You're actually perfect for Ron, you know," she remarks and you sigh, sipping the last of the enchanted beer.

"Why are you trying to play cupid, anyway? Do you not have people to meet? Hear Slughorn's looking for you," you say, in a vain effort to change the subject.

"He was?" Ginny asks, suddenly perking up and looking around with a troubled expression.

"If he asks for me again, I was never here," she whispers, slinking off into the crowd and out of sight.

Finally managing to shake off the flaming presence of one, adamant Weasley, you weave your way towards the bar. You order another round of the butter beer and look off to your left and back, only to find yourself standing beside... Ron Weasley himself.

"Hi," you say, a little out of breath, having been caught like a deer in headlights. He looks shocked too, not expecting someone to ambush him at the bar counter.

"I'm Y/N L/N," you add, trying to compose yourself and smile awkwardly.

"Oh...Y/N...?" his expression remains blank.

"Ginny and I used to be close...," you say, trying hard not to let the disappointment shine through in your voice.

"Ahh," Ron mumbles looking away and you're not convinced that means anything to him.

You wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You're about to make a run for it and apparate, to save yourself from the embarrassment, when Ron speaks up.

"You wouldn't happen to be the girl who set Dean and Ginny up back then, did you?" he asks, as he gestures for the bar tender - Mrs. Rosmerta's son you've learnt.

You frown. "No, I don't think that was me. Why?" you ask, curious.

"Oh they were trouble, don't know why anybody thought they were a good idea," he mutters and you chuckle.

"'Suppose it's better having your best friend date your sister," you note, grateful for an excuse to keep the conversation going.

Ron turns towards you. "You'd think. But every time he's home, she takes up all his bloody time," he murmurs, so very sincerely, that you can't help but laugh.

"Don't tell him I said that though," he says, turning his head to look at Harry in the crowd who has finally managed to find his way to his old friends. "Don't need his head getting any bigger."

You grin. "I doubt it'll ever come up but I'll keep it in mind," you chirp, pausing to take a sip of the drink hat the bar-tender's handed to you.

You fall into easy conversation then, the awkwardness disappearing as Ron's smile gets wider and you start feeling more relaxed. He's sitting much closer to you now, drink in hand, smelling slightly like an old comforter and toothpaste and you're so happy, you've forgotten your drink beside you.

"We had a good run here," Ron is saying. He looks up and around him, at the adorned walls of the Great Hall and you nod.

"She's still so beautiful," you murmur, looking at the ceiling that has been bewitched to twinkle like with sky with stars today.

Ron sighs, wistfully. "Merlin, I miss Hogwarts."

"What do you miss the most?"

"Everything, you know, the food, the teachers, these halls, the dormitories. Blimey, even the classes, the girls—"

"What was so bad about the girls?" you ask, pretending to be offended and Ron's ears turn red.

"No, hell, I mean, it was so difficult to talk to girls back then.... but I'd take that over what I have going on right now."

He looks at you sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.

You frown at him.

"What do you mean?"

"What with work and everything, you know, there's no time," he admits, sighing.

"I'm sure any witch would make time for a wizard like you," you muse, eyes twinkling.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron echoes, quirking an eyebrow at you but there's a playfulness to his tone.

"I mean— you're an Auror— a great, distinctly famous wizard— and a good man from what I've heard," you say, as the red-head's eyebrows shoot up higher.

"And you're gorgeous," you add after a beat, not quite looking at him but Ron turns crimson. It's bold, for your standards and you decide to blame the beer.

"It's not that easy you know," he says after a moment, clearing his throat.

You look back at him through your eyelashes. There's a new shine in his eyes, a little pucker at the corner of his lips that makes your heart beat a little faster.

You're in the mood to play, so you lean over. "Oh, it's not? Do tell..."

"Well, I've been sat here twenty minutes," he says, leaning closer, voice dropping low, "...trying to rack up the nerve to ask a witch out for a dance and been failing spectacularly so far."

A shiver travels down your back and you tongue the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. "Maybe try now?"

Ron suppresses a grin.

"Do you...," he's turned a slight shade of pink and you can't help but smile.

"Do you reckon you'd like to dance with me?" he asks, running a hand through his hair, tousling it and you have a mad urge to smooth it out but resist. There's a blush tinting his cheeks but the bashful grin on his face makes your cheeks heat up.

"I'd like that," you whisper as Ron stands up and bows before you, extending his hand.

You weave through a large part of the crowd hand in hand, to a somewhat empty space is the middle and Ron pulls you close to himself, taking one of your hands in his and placing a gentle one on your waist, taking the lead.

You blush a little, surprised by the charge he takes. You definitely like this cooler, confident Ron with bits of awkwardness and goofiness sprinkled in.

"You're a lot different than I remember," you blurt out, regretting it the minute the words roll off your tongue.

To your surprise, Ron looks amused.

"You have memories from school about me?"

You start swaying to the music, falling quite easily into the step of waltz.

Trapped. "Well...I was one of your sister's closest friends and you were only one of the most famous wizard's best friend," you say quickly, before you can embarrass yourself more by letting out your secret.

The song slows down, as you gently sway to the music, painfully aware of how warm Ron's breath is on your face. The hall is quieter now, the couples swaying silently on the floor as others watch and the gravity of the situation sinks in.

You're dancing with Ron Weasley.

You try to contain the flurry of butterflies erupting in your stomach at the realisation, but it's hard to focus when he's so gently holding you against him. You dance in quiet embrace for the rest of the song, fighting a losing hormonal battle, and just as it segues into something slightly faster, Ron spins you out on one arm.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you from school much," he says softly.

It's nothing— it's a pinch, a paper cut if anything. You already know he doesn't remember you but you can't help the flutter of disappointment in your chest his words.

You roll back into his arm gracefully and look up into his piercing blue eyes.

"Quite a shame really, you'd think I'd not be stupid and remember one of the most beautiful witches I've ever seen," he says, a genuineness in his eyes that makes you falter.

You freeze briefly in your little step, a wave of heat erupting over your chest at his swift words. School-girl-you would've melted into a puddle on the floor at these words, but adult-you knows better and wills your rapidly beating heart to slow down.

"You'd think so," you reply breathily, feigning disappointment and Ron chuckles.

"I'm sorry. You've got to excuse teenage Ron, he was a right git," he says and you can't help but laugh.

"I forgive him," you say. "We were all gits when we were sixteen."

"You know," he pipes again, pulling you away from the center of the floor. The music has turned faster now and by the time he's pulled you to the very edges, the floor is a chaotic flurry of limbs.

"We could make up for lost time."

You quirk up an eyebrow at him, surprised by his forwardness.

"For someone who was struggling to ask me for a dance only minutes ago, you're being awfully direct."

Ron blushes but the grin on his face grows wider.

"Something an old friend told me about letting people know you fancy them when you fancy them," he mumbles and you quirk an amused eyebrow at him.

"You fancy me?"

He smiles sheepishly. "I thought it was obvious," he quips, pulling you closer by your fingers.

"I'd like to get to know you better then," you whisper. Ron smiles down warmly at you, turning your stomach to mush.

"I'd like to get to know you better too," he says, and his smile quickly turns into a smirk.

"Your place or mine?"

i write for harry & ron (and possibly others if inspiration strikes) please send in requests and your thoughts!

how it feels to have thoughts and feelings and problems you lowkey can't talk to anyone about